Atmosphere

Emerging out of Minneapolis, far from the fertile crescent of hip-hop, rapper Slug (Sean Daley) and producer Ant (Anthony Davis) make up the duo collectively known as Atmosphere. Since the group's debut in 1998 it has made a name for itself in the underground hip-hop scene, despite losing some of its original members along the way. Slug is a true lyricist whose rhymes have a storytelling quality to them and often deal with personal issues and are always meant to make you think. For their latest record, Seven's Travels, Atmosphere signed a distribution deal with the California-based punk label Epitaph, because of growing demands for their music. Slug and guest DJ Mr. Dibbs (Ant seldom travels) will perform at the Intersection in Grand Rapids on Nov. 2. Recoil caught up with Slug by phone back home in Minneapolis to talk about hip-hop in the Midwest, the army he's been building and why Atmosphere sucks.

Recoil: You're taking a break right now, but you just did the first half of this tour out west. How did that go, what were the turn-outs like and how did people take the new material?
Slug: It went very well. The turn-outs were all great. The new material is so-so, you know Atmosphere kind of sucks, but the best part was the response to the other groups that we took with us. They're all Minneapolis groups - the Micranots, Brother Ali, OddJobs - and they're all just fucking killing the audiences and it's really good for them to see this and it's really good for me to see this. There is a really good family thing going on.

R: Why do you say Atmosphere sucks?
S: They were way cooler years ago. They're just not as good anymore, and plus that rapper, I mean, he's always fucking whining. He always fucking raps about his girl this, girl that, broke my heart, whatever man, it's fucking dumb.

R: The new record doesn't sound like that so much, not that I noticed.
S: You know what? I think you're right; on the new record I didn't really notice it either. In fact, the one or two times I did notice it, I strongly believe that the rapper dude was just personifying as a woman. I think that there were other things that he was actually saying but he personified through talking about a woman, especially that 'bird' song ("Bird Songs Why the Caged I Know"). It's weird, when I listen to that song I interpret that as, like, he's talking about America and he's talking about the bald eagle, that nasty little bird that he wants to fucking shoot out of the sky but he can't because he fucking actually loves it and you can hear how much he loves it through how he expresses his hate for it and I thought that was really fucking cool, but I don't know that's just my interpretation. I don't know what that dude was really talking about.

R: How is Seven's Travels different from other albums that Atmosphere has done, and how is that coming across in the shows?
S: This record is a record about traveling. It was written pretty much on the road over the last four years and most of the stories were inspired by the touring. Another good example is that fucking bird song, written shortly after September eleven, and we were on tour at the time and it was kind of weird to be out playing shows at that time. A lot of people were in a way different place than where they are in their heads right now. So it's another concept album. That's the other thing about those fucks, those Atmosphere dudes, any record they make, they think it's another concept album, I mean, what kind of art-fuck shit is that. How can a band make nothing but concept albums? It's fucking stupid.

R: I think Pink Floyd did it.
S: Yeah, but not every record. You know, these Atmosphere dudes, I really think they are pretentious enough to think that every record they've made has been a concept album.

R: How did Atmosphere hook up with Epitaph and how has that been going?
S: It's been going really good. Those dudes are really, really nice to us and they're super down for the cause. I'm not really signed to them, I basically just licensed them a one album for distro (distribution) deal. They're doing distribution and I didn't want anything, but they still provided a lot of things. There were no real expectations back and forth between the two of us, there was no, 'We're gonna' make a million posters and put them up and make you recoup that and charge that to your bill before you see royalties.' This isn't like that. It's a mechanical deal where they're just doing distro, so the money they spend on it is just them going, 'We're gonna' spend this money 'cause we think it'll help sell more records because we think your whole genre of music is important to our kids.' I guess they see how closely related these two scenes are, and not only that, but how many of their kids are coming to see Atmosphere nowadays. I'm really excited about Epitaph because this is the first time I've ever met anybody that was just down for the cause like an older brother, not trying to be some kind of skanky neighbor that's trying to make money off you. They're not really trying to make money off me.

R: That's definitely cool.
S: It's really cool, especially for what I'm attempting to do. Slug never wanted to be a fuckin' star. He'll act like it and he'll do his little song and dance, but I'm trying to build a fuckin' army. I'm trying to like, A: not just be an influence on these kids and provide what KRS One and Big Daddy Kane provided for me when I was a kid, but also, B: build this army that has to be dealt with. An army of motherfuckers like Brother Ali and motherfuckers who are actually making music that is honest to them and who they want to be and who they are, because I'm seeing how this stuff is affecting kids and I remember being fifteen and how important an album or a book or a film could have been as far as steering the direction I went, and quite honestly, how it did steer the direction I went. It's no coincidence that I grew up listening to an Afro-centric, self-righteous, knowledge of self, do-it-yourself and make your own life better type of hip-hop, and now it's my turn to expand on that and give my version of that to somebody who will in turn pass it down and keep going, but also just for the advocate kids, the kids that are into it. Fuck man, if I can get a bunch of fuckin' frat-boy kids to start listening to what the fuck I gotta say, I might just change the world accidentally. And I know there's a feeling to it, I'm getting old. I can't jump around on stage at thirty-eight years old. What is a fifteen-year-old gonna' hear from me, 'Wear your seatbelt and brush your teeth," stuff like that? I have to do what I can do to invest in this army to continue to grow and make the army bigger and bigger and bigger until we get rid of all the dotted-line liberals and everybody can accept each other's differences but know that they still are on the same team. The vegans don't have to hate the lesbians no more, and the lesbians don't have to hate that batch of fuckin' people and batch and batch and batch when really, you're all like-minded in your beliefs and you're letting the other side take control because you're too busy fucking bickering with each other over little details.

R: What do you think of the hip-hop scene in the Midwest, being from Minneapolis?
S: It's got its advantages and its disadvantages. One of the major advantages is that you pretty much had to teach yourself how to do it. There was no big-brothering or mentoring going on. Naturally, its disadvantages are you're in the middle of nowhere, and who's going to hear you? You can scream all you fucking want but how far is that scream really going to reach? But the advantage to that is that it makes you work a little bit harder. R: You are playing here in Grand Rapids in November, which is not a place that has a lot of hip-hop shows. Do you get excited about playing somewhere that is not oversaturated already or would you rather play a place that you know is already friendly to your music? S: Shows in places like Grand Rapids are better. I've never played Grand Rapids before, but I've played Ann Arbor quite a few times now and that's part of the whole Midwest thing again, is that the kids take it a lot more serious. They're not allowed to take it for granted, whereas in a place like Los Angeles or New York, those kids get to take it for granted, it's a different kind of vibe. In the Midwest these kids hold it so endearingly and they're so excited about it. Even if you suck, the show can still be a good time because the kids will still have a good time with themselves. I appreciate it more.

R: What can people expect to see on this tour?
S: The Odd Jobs are a great group; they have a way of getting across a multitude of moods and vibes and still keep a smile on their faces while they do it, which makes them really warm to watch. They kind of welcome you into the vibe that's about to take place. And then Brother Ali gets on stage and pushes it even harder. He's got a way about him that's super-intense and aggressive, at the same time, he still makes you feel really good about yourself. Then the Micranots come up and take it up another notch, only they start getting political on your ass, so now that you're all opened up to what's going on, [they] start to feed you some vegetables and let you know a few things about life, and, if necessary, smack the shit out of you and put you on the floor for a minute if that's what you need in order to figure it out. And then I come up and kind of pick you up and dust you off and give you a hug and send you home.

R: Sounds like a complete evening.
S: It's a very complete evening. They should have called this "A Date with Minneapolis" instead of the "Seven's Travels Tour."

R: You've been quoted as saying that Atmosphere makes a more successful indie-rock band than rap act, do you remember saying that?
S: I've probably said pretty much anything or everything. I do a lot of these interviews really stoned and I just start talking. I wouldn't necessarily disagree with that quote. In a way, I've become sort of a doorway drug for a lot of kids that are not into rap. I'm a little more accessible than a lot of people, but just to those kids though. Those kids are used to hearing some skinny dude cry over his ex-girlfriend. It's successful to them due to the premise of the music, but then, after a minute, I think they realize there's a little more to it than the fact that this dude made a song that reminded them of their goofy ex-girlfriend. I think they start to understand a little bit about beats and rhymes, and then what happens is I come back to your city and you start talking to me and you're like, 'Dude, I didn't really listen to rap' or 'I quit listening to it for a long time because it got too thugged-out, but I heard your shit and I liked it and then after I heard your shit I realized there's a whole fucking genre of shit like your shit.' It's kind of dope because I think what we're going to see is a lot of my peers as well as myself get more and more successful, and I don't mean money, but reach and voice and power and resource and that's the army I've been talking about.

November 2003