You really, really need to hear Arkansas Bo's new mixtape

Arkansas Bo has one of those deep, gravely voices muddied by a thick, East Arkansas accent that probably gets him called "country" even when he's in the country and probably inspires non-Southerners to try to press him to say words that'll bring it out in full ("Bo, say sugar. Say Arkansas."), but it's also the sort of voice that almost certainly gets him loads of play and one that's distinctive enough that it might make him some money in the rap game in the not-too-distant future (I can't help fixating, though, on a post-rap-fame role it would be truly pitch-perfect for—the voice of a cartoon bear. Arkansas Bo as the voice of a ne'er do well bear with a good heart, who dispenses free advice to the animals of the forest when he's napping against logs or terrorizing campers. Maybe, it just occurs to me, my fixation has something to do with the way he delivers his sometimes-intro, possible catch phrase in the making—"It's Arkansas Bo, might get in trouble for this, but who gives a fuck." It sounds just like Yogi Bear. Like "Hey there, Booboo" Yogi Bear. Hmmmmm. Maybe in this age of re-dos, we can get Arkansas Bo as the new, Southernized Yogi Bear. Let's shoot for 2012.).

Anyway.

Bo raps with Goines in Suga City, under the umbrella of the diversely talented and connected Conduit Family, which is led by Epiphany and Ultimate Hustler Brian Rikuda. Since forming in 2002, the duo's put out dozens of sturdy, low-key ditties and one fairly successful single, "Biggie," a hilarious ode to big asses that was in radio rotation locally for a while. The group's Myspace bio suggests that "Suga City" is this sort of rap utopia they've imagined, sort of like Outkast's Stankonia or 2 Pac's Thug Mansion, somewhere "free from all of life’s daily drama, where you could just sit back and represent for all the slickest and flyest." Tonally, that ideal has been obvious from the beginning, and increasingly so, as Bo and Goines have slowed their pace, letting their accents stretch out over minimal, slow-jamy production (I've only heard them do it live once, but one new track is built only on what sounds like someone making motorboat noises with his mouth—the innocent, little kid version, sicko). Lately, though, their sound belies its content. Lyrically, they've become increasingly focused on diagnosing the problems around them—on the streets, in the club, in the rap scene—as if "Suga City" is less a utopian ideal than a goal.

Arkansas Bo keeps up that dichotomy on I Know That's Right, Vol. 1, his debut mixtape, speaking, in that deeply Southern basso profundo, on the "issues" over laid-back, classic-soul samples from the likes of Teddy Pendergrass, The Lost Generation, The Temptations, and William DeVaughn. He touches on everything from the bullshit of the streets, the illogic of stepping to someone who looks at you funny, a societal lack of parental discretion, to close-minded critics who say he's not "real" because he doesn't rap about bangin'.

On the simmering "Jim Brown," he seems to sum up his philosophy:

"I stand tall on everything that I believe in/trying to make power moves to make everything even/trying to make ways for my folks to enjoy the finer things/Ain't no more brothers like Malcolm, Huey, and Martin Luther King/Yeah I do songs like "Biggie," but it's on some rap shit/givin' you what you want just to fit into the demographic."

Several bars later, in a line that comes across a little better in the song, he raps, "I got a plan, catchin' all my sisters and brothers with the illusion/then I'll hit em with real on some other/want to spit the truth for ya." It's the old hide-the-medicine-in-the-ice-cream trick: Bo's out to hook listeners with songs about fat ass girls and then sneak the "truth" in on 'em. Hey, we need more artists who believe that music, especially rap, can transform people for the better. But don't get it confused, Bo may be socially-conscious, and when he's looking into the mirror late at night, he may tell himself that all the frivolity's just window dressing, but he's way too irrepressibly sly and funny to ever go all the way serious on us.

Since somewhere around the beginning of Suga City, Bo's called himself Blind Dog Willie Brown. Maybe just because it sounds cool, or maybe because he's really into Crossroads. On I Know That's Right, he introduces two new characters, in what we can only hope we'll grow to be a family of Arkansas Bo alter egos, Sonny Gallons and DJ Slewfoot. Gallons is way cool—sly, slick, and maybe a little wicked. As the lead singer of the a capella doo-wop interludes that pop up throughout the album, he croons brief ditties like, "See you in the streets/see you in the streets/I'ma kick your ass when I see you in the streets" or, with the help of unknown others, a three-part harmony with finger snappin' and way-high notes, "She says she likes the way I diddy bop" (with a whispered lady's voice chiming in at the end, "Sonny Gallons is sooo dreamy."). DJ Slewfoot enters into the mix in the last half of the album in interludes, seemingly as an excuse for Bo to try on radio-jive (it fits snuggly, local radio programmers). He says a lot of things like "We'll allllright," and "I know that's right," and introduces the mixtape's one fully-realized Sonny Gallons track, "Heatwave," featuring Z of Dat Heat as Sonny's brother, Moony. It's "something to play around your kids on a Sunday while your cleaning up your house," he explains.

You've got to admire Bo and Z and the Dat Heat dudes, who produced "Heatwave." It doesn't exactly work, but it's great that they're willing to rap in character and put five hooks on top of a doo-wooped Martha Reeves and the Vandella's track. Idlewild is an obvious touchstone, especially Big Boi's lavish stage numbers, as the "Gallons brothers" rap about how their stage show heats up the club and makes the girls go crazy. With all its bells and whistles, the kinetic pace of the song suits Z's manic, cartoony flow better than Bo's, and both rappers often battle hard against the source track, but the song just pours out such a sense unmitigated joy, a rarity in rap today, that you're willing to look past its flaws and bob and smile and imagine Bo as a bear and Z as a Zebra (of course) in a cartoon movie about cabaret-performing animals on the run (remember, the cartoon rooster was BY FAR the best part of Idlewild).

Whether madcap or probing, Bo's voice was made for the 70s soul-samples, and the combination makes you yearn for windows-down, driving-around weather. William DeVaughn's brilliant but bizarre anti-materialism cum driving around in a fancy-ass car song, "Be Thankful for What You've Got," anchors one of the mixtape's best songs. Bo hones in on the original's pride-doesn't-come-from-a-g'ed-up-car message, detailing the broked-downness of his 87 Buick LeSabre that his friend says sounds like it has a "howla monkey in the trunk," and delivering, in the second verse, the promise of the title. It's a snapshot of the good life in the "Suga Town," AKA Stuttgart, Bo's hometown, idealized here the same way Bo and Goines probably imagined it when they named themselves "Suga City." "Diamond in the Back," as Bo call his song, captures that boundless joy of aimless small-town ridin' around that makes me dizzy with nostalgia and anxious for summer nights with nothing to do. I'll let Bo close things out with 32 bars from "Diamond in the Back":

Shit, I rolls in it every day
playin ol skool jams
feeling real good
not giving a damn
thinking about life
and the gas price
wish i had a job
times sure hard
waving at the chick
damn she thick
look at that ass
ahh, roll passed
there go my nigga
what's going on, dog?
if i had your hands,
I'd cut mine off
I'll holler at you later
we can drink and play spades
need something to eat
stop at poor dave's
grab a wing-ding
and a coca cola
pay for the food
money gettin' shorter
tank on E
twenty bucks left
10 in the tank
10 for my self
rollin through the hood
looking good, Jack
days gettin hotter
still rollin like I gotta...

Download: "Heatwave" and "Diamond in the Back."

Call Bo at 901.483.5592 to get a copy of the I Know That's Right. I think it's $5. And see he and his Conduit and Dat Heat homies at Cornerstone Tuesday at 8:30, where he'll have some for sale.