Naeem Juwan Hanks is neither fully serious nor entirely joking, at least as far as I can tell. Speaking by phone from somewhere in Denmark, the MC for party-bangin' Spank Rock is telling me I used some rather goofy quotes from him in a past article and would rather I make him out to be more like a Kanye West–sized god-like genius this go round. Unless, of course, he's joking.
This is the divide in which Spank Rock reside. As the East Coast duo of Hanks and producer Alex "Armani XXXchange" Epton, Spank Rock pull on traditions from stints in Baltimore, Philadelphia, and Brooklyn, marrying grimy riddims and raunch with a conscious backpack hiphopper's inflection and hype man's infectiousness.
Hanks follows the time-tested model of Oakland MC Too $hort, presenting a crowd-teasing and -pleasing persona tinged with light street criticism. Using Hanks's own words, he's "sick wit it," he'll "stick wit it." However, Spank Rock's more licentious and outlandish braggadocio offers plenty of material plastered across message boards that can fuel people's misconceptions (visit www.aircockthrust.com) and can lead to regrettable published quotes.
Still, following a 15-hour drive across Europe, Hanks only has so much energy to bemoan whether being taken completely seriously could and/or should have been avoided in hindsight. "I don't think any decisions on songs, imagery, or in interviews have ever been a real mistake," says Hanks.
"Like with the songs, some people hear [Spank Rock debut single] 'Put That Pussy [On Me]' and jump up to say we're one thing," continues Hanks. "But then other people review 'Rick Rubin' or 'IMC' or 'Chilly Willy' or 'Far Left' and take those songs for what they're saying, not just write me off as a misogynist [who] shouldn't be taken seriously. At a show in Nottingham, some kid requested me to rap the B-side of the 'Rick Rubin' single, so there are people that pay attention to me as an MC and not a stepchild of [2 Live Crew's] Luther Campbell. But few people ask me about my thoughts on gentrification—just asses shaking. There's a lot to the songs for people who take the album home and give it a good listen."
Production-wise, Spank Rock's living-room-produced, full-length debut, YoYoYoYoYo (Big Dada Recordings), is a truly solid game. Disembodied bleeps in choppy glitch-hop manage to be minimalist and mentalist, no mean feat, and adhere together in an insistent grind without falling too far into step. This desire to get unleashed can be heard in the deluge of taut electro-tech and B'more club-flecked clicks and ticks that punctuate each song. On close listen, YoYoYoYoYo does indeed hold some socially conscious codas, but the dance floor is Spank Rock's native forum.
At a shoulder-to-shoulder show in Atlanta, Georgia, in early May, Hanks is at first nowhere to be found. Well, to clarify, he's everywhere to be found. The room is full of young men in hoodies similar to the one Hanks is wearing, and he blends in so well that no one notices as he worms his way to the stage and swipes the microphone to perform the first song from the audience. This is not to say MC Spank Rizzle isn't a commanding presence. From the first syllable and concussive beat, Spank Rock—augmented live by the Baltimore Bass Connection DJs Chris "Rocks-well" Devlin and Ronnie Darko—have the audience in constant motion. The crowd's coochie poppin' spills to the stage and doesn't even pause long enough to notice that during the climax Hanks has slid offstage to collapse exhausted in the van.
"I'm smooth enough like a ninja that no one noticed when I slipped right out of the party," recalls Hanks. "And when people don't notice that I left the stage and are still dancing and don't care about me—just the music—it's a good show."
It's this lack of separation from the audience that is Spank Rock's most laudable strength. Spank Rock may be fucking with you or just fucking around with you, because the group share the same love of exaggeration and perspiration as you. The group bring flair without flash, and they don't need to be Kanye West to succeed.
