Gold Chains dangling.
Gold Chains, aka Topher LaFata, sprang into the collective consciousness in 2001 with a self-titled EP featuring snappy songs like "I Come From San Francisco," possibly the most unlikely hiphop boast ever. Subsequent hits included "Mountains of Coke" in 1992. Bass-heavy slabs of electronica, as over-the-top musically as the titles imply, Gold Chains' songs are good stoopid fun that get called IDM or electro because LaFata has played a lot of shows with Kid 606. Why not just call it hiphop?
Musically, Gold Chains is sophisticated, with production that's nearly as crisp as the best commercial hiphop, dark, bouncy beats and samples that range from Bollywood bits to free-jazz squealing to country guitar. But LaFata is not a collage artist and his music, as "electro" as it is, doesn't reek of the machine. He likes his bodily fluids too much for that.
LaFata is dirty. He likes to say "pussy," he likes to say "fuck," he likes to rap about fucking and eating pussy. On Young Miss America, his first full-length release, he's mixed in some social commentary as well, on the order of "it's nice to live your life like every fucking night's the weekend," intoned in cadences of deepest sarcasm. Gold Chains oozes contempt, but it's not exactly clear which targets are in his sights. The usual suspects: corporations, commercialism. People with desires revolving around commodities, people with jobs that manipulate desire. Still, Gold Chains is sympathetic to those being manipulated (i.e. all of us). He understands. He wants a revolution (track seven) as much as the next guy in line at the bar, only he's too jittery to wait in a line.
The sound of Young Miss America is heavy and portentous, with Godfather-like string samples. The rhythms, always strong, twist away from and under you-the songs' structures aren't always predictable and there's nothing minimalist about them. LaFata's vocals are repetitive, boastful and vehement, so deeply felt, in fact, that on their own they may win over any listener who's not seduced by the beats. Gold Chains is for sure loud, but not noisy-there are only a few bleeps and twitters to be found. Fittingly, saturated in sex as it is, the disc's last track is called "Let's Get it On"-a tribute to Marvin Gaye?
As horny as LaFata is, a better theme track for Gold Chains would be "Ego Tripping Out." Simpler in structure than many of the tracks, on "Let's Get it On" LaFata and a female vocalist trade verses inviting a fuck, egging each other on. It's a light-hearted end to a party record with the seams showing, the sound of anger, crashes and desperation partially alleviated by good times.