God, it's heavy in here. 'Fantastic Damage' is the densest, most ferociously detailed, multi-layered, prickly, hyper-intense and possibly deranged slab of hip-hop you'll hear all year. Parts of it are terrifying. Most of it is astounding. Some of it is even comprehensible.
And, as the first solo album from El-Producto, keen observers of New York's underground hip-hop scene would expect nothing less. El-P has been a catalytic force for nearly a decade now, working in determined opposition to what he perceives as the shallow posturing of the rap mainstream. He came to prominence as one-third of the trailblazing Company Flow, who only managed to release one proper album - 1997's classic 'Funcrusher Plus' - before finally disintegrating just over a year ago. El-P is no slacker, mind: as patron and house producer of the Def Jux imprint, he was the man behind the mixing desk for last year's Cannibal Ox debut, the justifiably lauded 'The Cold Vein'.
But if the Can Ox album presented a bleak, sci-fi-tinged vision of New York, it still sounds like a sunny walk in Central Park compared with the jittery murk and imprecations of doom that fill 'Fantastic Damage'. 'The Cold Vein' ended on 'Scream Phoenix', and the possibility of redemption. 'Fantastic Damage' has no such light at the end of the tunnel. Instead, as he moves through his grime-encrusted, junk-studded soundscapes, El-P finds little solace. On the heartbreaking 'Stepfather Factory', he re-invents his own troubled childhood as a science-fiction morality play, describing a dystopian future where abusive stepfathers roll off a mechanised production line. Even the stripped-back sex-rant of 'Dr Hellno And The Praying Mantus' is uncommonly vicious, potentially toxic, as Cannibal Ox's Vast Aire slurs, "Don't make me bite your face, 'cos it ain't like I like the taste."
It's tough, punishing stuff, plainly, but an album that repays close listening. You could get lost in these thick, smoke-damaged sound areas, sifting through the distorted electro frequencies, malfunctioning synths and drumboxes, combing for evidence of humanity between strata after strata of brilliantly-constructed noise. And just occasionally, you'll find it: as the guitars crash and roar on the outstanding 'Truancy', El-P comes out clear and fighting. "This is for kids worried about the apocalypse," he snarls, "Do something . . . Stop talking shit." A shoo-in as one of the year's best albums, already.
