Aside from it being the greatest album cover and title of all time, this album marked the coming out party (no homo) of the baddest motherfuckers to come out of Oakland since Todd Shaw. It may not be their best album, nor their first, but it’s definitely their defining moment. A year after their debut “Kill My Landlord” dropped, in the 9fo Boots Riley and Pam the Funkstress returned to the rap game minus a member, but with more focus and style. From the first beat on the album, the illest usage of McCrae, George & Gwen’s “The Rub” (the same sample that Red & Meth murdered for “Cereal Killer,” and M-o-b-b bastardized on the Free Agents tape) it was clear this shit was funky fresh. “Get down, get down, get doowwwn” And the transition from Boots telling the story of chopping it up with Mr. Coke and Mr. Mayor to the breakdown of the orchestra’s violins and the just as funky beat dropping for Rockerfeller, Getti and Trump to rock over is the hardest back to back beat duo to introduce an album since “The Chronic.” And way more hilarious than Dre’s unintentional studio gangsterisms. This is purposeful prodding at Boots’ sworn enemy and America’s biggest gangster, The Man. From the lowest bass knock to the top of Boots’ fro, this shit burns from end to end like a blunt of the stickiest funk. There’s Pam’s sickest solo set, E-Rock’s return on “The Name Game,” and Yay local legends Spice-1 and Forty Fonzarelli lamenting about little lockdowns on “Santa Rita Weekends.” Aint nothing about this album that aint classic. Now listen for yourselves...