Sharkey: Sharkey's Machine
Rollie Pemberton Condé Nast
"Instrumentalist" is one the most heralded yet scrutinized positions in the independent hip-hop arena. An artist with an existing portfolio ...
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Pitchfork
"Instrumentalist" is one the most heralded yet scrutinized positions in the independent hip-hop arena. An artist with an existing portfolio can lose respect and prominence with the slightest shift in creative direction, while the new kids on the block are often held to high standards when compared to those who preceded them. In the case of ex-hardcore techno DJ Sharkey, his first foray into hip-hop fails not due to superficial comparative issues but because of his own mistakes, and lack of talent and consistency.

Hell, I'm not even sure the term "instrumental" really applies to this album, considering Sharkey only relies on his solo backdrops four times over the course of the album. This is an insecure approach, but it's for good reason: Sharkey has not grasped the concept of the change-up. Listening to roughly the same thing for four minutes at a time is not appealing, so as a long-form instrumental producer it's important to learn how to make beats with movements. Sharkey has some interesting sounds across the span of the album, but some of his sample work is far too poorly processed (sometimes it sounds as if he hasn't learned to equalize samples to create a distinctive sound for himself) and the artists he puts on top of his beats do not flatter him.

Among the guests is a slew of well-known artists, but don't let the big names fool you: They might be the only people more uninterested in this project than Sharkey himself. The highest profile collaboration is "Fuzz" with Cannibal Ox, and although the distorted synth is an interesting effect, Vast Aire settles for a pair of freestyles that reference Jason X, mechanical thongs (and bongs) and rhinestone baseball bats, while Vordul raps a combined 18 bars that offer nothing new other than the term "rap ninjas."

It doesn't get any better. When Cherrywine (formerly of Digable Planets) spins an embarrassingly lame illicit conversation on "Phone Sex" ("We rock and roll, we like The Strokes") and The Pharcyde (well, the members that aren't Fatlip or Slim Kid Tre) guest on the vanilla, acid-jazz coffee shop muzak of "Snobird". At the end of the day, the only person who seems to know the mic is on is Jean Grae, whose tightly delivered vision of a New York apocalypse on "Summer in the City (Lovin' It)" is the album's obvious highlight.

Believe me, the unknowns are exceedingly worse. Zooks from the Spark and Billy Moon ape the Uncle Kracker rap-country formula (and actually don't even do it justice) on "Little Cabin Song". Zooks, who seems to be a Sharkey protégé of sorts, shits all over the place like a stray dog. It isn't just his painfully suburban multi-syllabic style but his lyrics as well. One chorus goes, "I used to skate around the neighborhood/ But now I just jerk off on the internet/ RESPECT!", with a female refrain of, "No, man, no way, he don't wanna skate."

It's interesting that Sharkey's first hip-hop album so closely mirrors Rjd2's recently released sophomore full-length. Both records tackle a diverse array of genres and, to certain degrees, they both disappoint. That said, when Sharkey mirrors Rjd2, the reflection is straight from a funhouse; Sharkey's Machine is a terrifyingly unlikable elongation of Ronnie James' new formula. The most talented artists practically phone-in their verses, the production itself is ultimately unprofessional and boring, the developing artists are completely amateur and the whole exercise comes off practically unlistenable.