Stankydankytripaliscious

from the LP Aquemini, LaFace Records, 1998



If you’ve ever had the experience in which the time between Thursday & Saturday evening melts into one bleary-eyed whole, then you’re well aware of the importance of having some good, chill tunes handy on Sunday afternoon. I was heavily involved in the rave scene still when this album dropped, and this track was definitely one of everybody’s favorites for the afterglow; it can be tricky to find those tunes which tenderly bring one back to earth, yet still manage to stimulate the mind. Outkast handle the task without a glitch here, opening with a quick drumroll that bursts into the mighty hook which we ride along through the whole track; a chorus of “Damn’s” pretty much sum up the reaction of the listener properly, particularly if you are stoned when hearing this for the first time---that’s all you can say, “Damn!” Just as your ass settles a little deeper into the groove of whatever seat you are occupying, the horns blow, and blow the fuck on oh great and wonderful messengers of brass and wind. There is a brief intro, sung by a friend of theirs, before we get into some real glutinous, southern-fried spoken-word; I could listen to Andre and Big Boi roll on that twang all day long: Andre “…as the plot thickens, it gives me the dickens…I’ve never been there; well perhaps once, but, I was so engulfed in the ‘Old E’ I never made it to the door, you speak of hardcore…lulls lukewarm lullabies in your left ear, competing with ‘set it off’ in the right; but it all blends perfectly, let the liquor tell it…it’s just my interpretation, of the situation…” Big Boi “…the way she moved reminded me of a brown stallion horse with skates on, ya know, smooth like hot comb on nappy-ass hair…her neck was smellin’ sweeter than a plate of yams with extra syrup; eyes beaming like four karats a piece, just blindin’ a nigga, felt like I chiefed a whole ‘O’ of that presidential my heart was beatin’ so damn fast…can’t gamble feedin’ baby on that dope money, might not always be sufficient…go on and marinade on that for a minute…” The soggy, humid air of Atlanta, Georgia in the summer permeates every inch herein, and you almost get the feeling that this is actually the fastest the band can play; I mean, when it’s that hot and wet, and you’ve been smoking mad trees, it’s hard to even move! So, take a moment to thank god, allah, buddah, science, energy, whatever for the invention of central air, grab yourself something chilly to sip on, and let these cats lay it all down for you.