Sims: Lights Out Paris

In a month of strong local hip-hop music--go buy Desdamona and Kanser now--Doomtree's Sims is the best evidence yet that talent nurtured at the bottom can surface with sudden force. His voice sounds like Q-Tip crossed with a Beastie Boy, and you can see why the rest of the group jacks into his confidence like a sound system into a lamppost. As with most alt-rappers, I wish he'd swing more. And the Doomtree template of social radicalism-versus-purgative autobiography needs new twists (the posse cut "No Homeowners" is a start). But Sims is better than his good intentions, which are better than most: He begins the album lamenting overworked America ("We just don't have time for passion anymore") and ends by admitting that passion might be overrated (he propositions a girl to "come over here and stand on my spine"). The busy future-noise of producer Lazerbeak (a.k.a. Plastic Constellations guitarist Aaron Mader) keeps you riveted along the way.

A rational maximizer in love, Sims is a classic anarchist in hate--a rare thing even in leftist hip hop. "Frontline," in the punk-rock tradition, calls out an abstract "you" to blast a warmongering ruling class: "I see where you got power from day one, from the slaves that you captured," he raps. "Send them into hell and tell them wait for the rapture/To the daily slaves you manufacture/Master, pastor, same hegemony." When Sims finds a rhyme for "hegemony," we'll really be in trouble.