The Last Poets: Oh My People (Cellulloid, 1984)I don't know if you ever went through one of those stages in your life where all you wanted to do was score yourself some important records. Well, I did. In fact, I spent years doing it. And, if it's I Predict A Griot, pre-hip hop verbal dynamism you're after (and, hey!, who isn't?), then it doesn't get much more weighty than The Last Poets. By the time they made this one in 1984 the band had split into two camps. This is not, generally speaking, a good sign, though it does mean I got this for pennies from that huge charity shop that used to be on Shepherds Bush Green, rather than pay the inflated prices for their earlier (more consistent) stuff. Anyway, much of this record is a bit ropey (I would recommend you avoid the proto-rap abomination, Get Movin as if the life of your loved ones depended on it), but Oh My People is great: a pulpit-levelling call to (no) arms slung, with street-military precision, over a bass line bubblier, and more vivacious, than a pink shower-capped Bubbles Rothermere whacking back cava by the shaving-mug full in a fast-running foam bath. On ice. And drugs. Oh yes...
Enjoy!
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