Rudy and the Rhetoric

Rudy and the Rhetoric

 Seattle, Washington, USA
BandHip Hop

Classic one-DJ-one-MC hip hop duo. Infective, original beats married with dense and refreshingly intelligent lyrics, R&R takes listeners on a heart pounding, paranoid and dramatic ride thru Rhetoric's bleak dystopian future. Undeniably original, R&R injects passion back in the waning genre.

Biography

Rudy and the Rhetoric is a classic one-DJ-one-emcee duo gaining notoriety in the burgeoning Seattle hip-hop scene and beyond with their inventive beats and refreshingly intelligent lyrics. Rhetoric (born Jon Everist) is the MC and co-producer of the duo. Rudy (born Andrew Willingham) specializes in production and back up vocals for the group.

The young act's idiosyncratic sound represents the blend of two unique personalities. Rhetoric channels his voracious appetite for literature, art, science fiction, mythology and media into his lyrics. Citing various influences including Radiohead, MF Doom, and Pharaoh Monch--Rhetoric's style is dense, flowing, and undeniably original. The glance listener might describe his verses as frantic, cryptic chatter with intense delivery--while the more discerning ear relishes in the subtle metaphors and poetic wordplay that permeate every song.

Rudy's penchant for deviance and taste for the bizarre show through in his contributions to the beats. A natural inclination towards the gloomy fuzz, chaotic and hard hitting music a la Tool, Nine Inch Nails, Portishead, El-P, and Mr Dibbs, Rudy provides a "steel hard" slap and fuzz that is highly accessible yet deeply intricate.

The result is a high-energy mix of intriguing lyrical content laid over visceral, arresting rhythms.


The mounting buzz surrounding the group made mtvU take notice, naming Rudy and the Rhetoric one of the Top-5 College Bands of 2006. They were also one of five acts nominated for an mtvU Woodie Award in the "Most Likely to Break Through in 2007" category.

R and R's strong fan base and unique style have afforded them the opportunity play shows with a number notable hip-hop acts. Highlights include Cool Kids, Buck 65, Mr. Lif, Grayskul, Vast Aire, Sleep, Josh Martinez, POS and Doomtree, as well as local acts like Cancer Rising, Grieves, Onry Ozzborn, and much more.


The end of 2008 saw the release of their anticipated debut album, "The Gutterbrook", a high-concept amalgam of dense wordplay and complex, synthy beats. The duo's unique tastes and painstaking attention to detail make for a level of polish and originality rarely seen in a rookie outing. All beats are produced by Rudy and/or Rhetoric, save one by Onry Ozzborn of Grayskul (the Rhymesayers duo also makes an appearance on one of the tracks).

Rudy and the Rhetoric look to hit the ground running now that their album has been released, entering 2009 with the same passion and energy augmented by new-found momentum.

Media Quotes:

"Home-crafted beats slap hard and heavy like your dad after happy hour, razor synths methodically saw through your skull, the bottom jackhammers your sternum into shepherd's pie, people go apeshit. It's a good thing. The pair have a trademark sound here...Gutterbrook is a steel-hard, paranoid work of PDK-rap, a fresh debut that hints at big things for these two."
Larry Mizel Jr. "The Stranger"

"On the page the lines may read as self-consciously cryptic. But just as [Rudy and the Rhetoric] complement one another in the creation of their music, giving and taking until the track is done, so too do the production, lyrics, and delivery, banding together in (un)holy matrimony. In other words, the songs sound like they went through a process developed by artists committed to the same aesthetic."
Kevin Capp "Seattle Weekly"

"They have been blown up... They have a legion of passionate fans supporting them. ... [They are] extra talented and are really connecting with the audience."
Ross Martin, Senior Vice president and Head of Programming, mtvU

Lyrics

The Gutterbrook

Written By: Jon Everist

AI: Welcome to The Gutterbrook...please keep hands over your eyes at all times. Is this a dream? How long have I slept?

Verse 1

Laser beam stress in my breath; I grind teeth. Cash calf resident spent; I smell beef. Message from the 'plex reach the mind, dystopian confined in the flesh--hold breath grit teeth. Its the Gutterbrook. All aboard the inimical mother ship. Neon vagabond automaton will still your troubled look. I know I'm scratching etches in this history like on a corner screaming at the sky at who will listen. Me: I see the android future wretched destiny of flesh. Detested in the sea of techy veterans I test. That'll be the day--edible Zion--pin the badge of courage on an any man who's dying. Flash up all your proper hand markings on your fist or forehead save you purchase at the markets. Its that history repeating self in fits, listen close kids its that Gutterbrook shit.

Verse 2

Troops with a simian strapped, its all neat. Mechanized sentiment capped in the rain sheets. You split the troubles with your cronies in the gutters while I soul search the sky for memories of rusty summers and…I know we're implanted with chips and managed with it thru vanity scripts standard in kids. I've got a flame in my stare, mech repertoire debonair. Chest plate, city speak gutter slang nestled there. I creep with a fast hold on society's splits, and downloaded a million years of the myths. Human pain, suffering, search for a trusty comforting…playing with the language I articulate its strangeness. And Rudy the fresh look at the anguish, ya'll aint make music your translating the same shit. Its enough to make my frame split utterly—Gutterbrook the remedy to 'bove said company.

Petulance (attached to Gutterbrook)

Clip sin on my wrist, hip shit in the myst, flip the flint on my fist—cigarette bliss. Metal streets peddle feet, enemies in the head of me. Cursing at the zenith in the sky at mind anemones who grasp at a passerby in a conscious winter. The apple pie who Americanized for the fallen system. I rip the gist in grand ebony stones and calibrate the beauty that atoms make in the brains that conjure higher states. Pass along the dunce cap dunny, when this Alice Wondering cat defunct the rap bunnies who are multiplying ugly—every crevice they're erupting—saying.. everything but something, which is nothing. Must have been the wind tickled brain stems calling up the feelings that we always new in dreams. When absurdity inches closer to truth and flesh is resonant, I'm crawling out my aura setting precedent. Caste system'd iron maples resident in columned acres filibust'ing bills and caps for sentiment. If petulant aphid arborous arthropods infest then I'mma rain it clouds of frogs and call it testament—full blown testament. This sleepy child is buck-wild messenger, chomping at the bit to rip a vestige of his precious gift. You can sway in the daisy fields for the summers, homie. Its two for tango if
loneliest number vouches for me. And the grouchy is normy, hoof in mouth the appalling. I'm clicking knuckles, laying bricks, then I'm out in the morning. You rip shit and I'm yawning…your style's bit and its boring. You take the maize out
of amaze cuz you're yellow and corny. The whole peasantry's snoring, when fools dominate the cobble stone paths count up the steps until it propagates. If office room coffers fill with gold and ruddy waters then I'm striding house to house stealing daughters like this…

Whose Heart's Heavy?

Written By: Jon Everist

Boom hold steady, these cats are not ready. For the last time, wrinkling minds I find petty. Hold to the mineral, vitamin and a visceral stance feet planted in the sand under mistletoe. Gimme a kiss, high tide's coming quick and by the time night hits I'll be swallowed in the drift. Modicum of hope is one Odin raven opus song. Devil in their beaks while the world's on its knees like, "Where's a savior when you need him?" Cry freedom. In peace that preceded you might as well of
deleted him. Now you seat him on the top of the throne while you gawk ina prone positioning caught flinching. And caught picking flowers on the straight and narrow's powers. The world ends in 24 hours, I'm Jack Bauer. Cower thief, I'm that death tarot. A poisoned arrow. People claim that I'm Ra like an Egyptian Pharaoh. Split the barrel of the bones, drink the marrow. Leather face heroine stereo vein hellion. Fools flock together in order to feel better so I slow strip my
bow as I flow over chilly weather like.

Rudy hold steady, these cats are still not ready. Whose heart's heavy so you're high to feel steady? (on a street grind medley) Whose hearts heavy? (on a father gone and left me) Put a drink up in your belly. Whose hearts heavy, whose heart's heavy.

Life's like 'whatever' when you've never lived. Drill smith doom reaper national geo' study on sand creatures. Wicked features on a whicker basket skinned preacher. Flesh seether on a virgin under vast bleachers. Sneaky like cathedrals holding evil in the peoples. A fetal heap and he's holding H, he calls them Space Needles. Beads turn to beetles on your skin, that's sin. Hope enough your soul is ruff, rotten, lost in a fame charlatan. I'm dollar bin till my death follow in, what's left? A core of gold and folds hollering. Hope it's all a hologram, a surgical installment plan. Realities for sale, you've failed you can't say no. I'm Douglas Quaid flowing my air up to the masses, what I know can't fill a book so what I don't know is my passion. Piece by piece a puzzle picture painted perfectly. An opus of a serpentine whose only thing is hurting me. I sway stall over the block and grip the canopy. Overstocking remedies for 'woe is me' obscenities. I watch
'The Wire', like a pyro in a fire. Stick my finger in the conduit, amalgamate my arm to it.

Rudy hold steady, these cats are still not ready. Whose heart's heavy so you're high to feel steady? (on a street grind medley) Whose hearts heavy? (on a father gone and left me) Put a drink up in your belly. Whose hearts heavy, whose heart's heavy.

Lucid

Written By: Jon Everist

Eye slits open beholding mold in the folds of this hotel room ghosting, it's cold and the rain's soaking. Must of, could of, had to...yeah I left the window open a
skoach so I go and close it. Notice blood on hands, oh shit. Eye slits open a second time and I find that I'm aligned in my bed, I check my hands....no red. Roll over instead to catch a shower breath power to my fingers, it's the hour of 'now or never'-- i'm flowering. My sight flows over the hostile environments. Throw a shirt on my back; wrap up the neck tie and its fly as shit. Belt around my hip, cop the money clip--coffee tip, murk through the door: enter the violence.

Oh no, what world is this? I hope that it's a dream but yo I heard that hit. I
see a wasteland neighborhood and futurist troops. Duck and cover to the nearest car and hopped in the coupe. Turns out its a taxi on some hover craft shit. This dude don't even flinch whenever bullets they hit. And so I flip, "Get the hell out of here man, hit it" Heard a huff of, "where to brother, the city
limits?" Oh, I don't even know, just go. I'm hoping that the windows will hold these bullets that glow. And so it goes as I roll in the streets I see the police against a crazy riotous fleet, and I see that there's a difference in the structure of the buildings. They're miles in the sky and enveloped in plasteel beams. I would have called enough, and pinched me into waking up. A cold sweat and a sewer
rat jetted straight up in front of us. Choke erupts; swerve up over road and bluff. Air born with whistle wind heading for the remorseless lump on the ground, it's the pounding in your chest. The insight of a finite form meeting with death. Listening the quickening of whistling inhibiting my ears ring, combine car with ground, piercing. "You feel a thing?" No, not even a little bit. Woke up in a screaming heap on a lab table, needles in.

Oh no, what world is this, I hope that it's a dream but yo it's real as shit. What's the difference; get me out of this place. Push the escape button cuz what's
real don't mean nothing. I hold symbiotic, half full human heart it folds so catatonic mold grows probiotic. Hobble sinking in my seat, it's that man thinker. I flipped the blinker arrow pointed on the snuffed sneakers. Doctor's on a robotic cation armament. Whole room shiver stupor metal man drifter shit. Lucid, reality is toothless gumming the fumbling void on the "Wake me on the noon" tip. I know I'm slobbing on a pillow but the riddle that belittles every symbol is fettered to
dream pixels. Sibel the oracle, simple fact is a moral too: I feel this room alive more than I feel my daily grind like...God save me from myself, woke up in a dream 22 years around Orion's Belt. Comatose frozen hyper state annihilate, I've lived 100 life times, wake up out of the chryostate. Is what it
seems when your life is just a dream, took the needle intravenal, Doc says its benzodiazepine. Now I'm fading, operating room's caving. First world is amazing, nurse confirms my head's aching: "Tumor's alive", they never thought it would survive, not only that they said it's fully metastasized. So this is it, once I'm alive I die quick. Eye slits close, shift, wake up in my hotel--oh shit.

Bladerunners

Written By: Jon Everist

Run stubborn kiddy, wiccan witches conjure Furies on a cemetery flurry, throttle groggy goblin options. Cool kid gawkin, I stop and I pop an octave. Notes splittin sides, hip in disguised suit and ties like: Nightlight line up in your hindsight, kid. Trife sight stint up in the, "might as well live..." Hover 'cross the bevel on a 7th level Hell-o operator number nine, how you livin? "Livin fine." Alright,
side split blood O-positive shit, squint dirty under hoodie at the thigh and-waist-hips. Pay me is a safety, a floor to the $550. Chains shake in the daisies for the whores I dial quickly. Mostly on a hootenanny, curl up to the manic. Skinny women's lust for a trusted is mad frantic. Man versus planet
when the demons play the gamut of the whole plot, the universal mind and can't stand it. Branded on my hands is satanic, past landed. I'm free now but never really free, it's semantics. Round the table circle up the Arthur and his bandits. Stipulation's deadly when the moon of mind is famished. Oh, high stepping now, on the skulls of cluttered crowds shimmy to the back escape rapping laughing phantom browed. Thoughts attracted, body feel is the reaction thru my solar plexus. Mind build the body bridge the nexus like...

Chorus:

Lord free me from my head, children on the record trying to save the world is dead. Shadows on the globe. Grip, ready, aim, hold. Go home, focus on the
saving of your own souls.

Discography

"The Gutterbrook" - Released December 19th 2008 on iTunes, Amazon MP3, Napster, Rhapsody, Emusic, AimeeStreet, and other digital and storefront outlets.

Currently has radioplay and streaming capabilities in select indie and college radio stations.

Set List

Sets are usually 30-60 minutes depending on the lineup. Enough material to play for 2 hours.

For larger shows, we incorporate a complicated lighting and smoke system, equipped with powdered confetti shooters for a hypnotic and intoxicating visual performance.

Typical Set...

1.) The Gutter Brook 5 min
2.) Lose One 3 min
3.) The Graves Are Empty 4 min
4.) Blade Runners 2 min
5.) Metal Joints 5 min
6.) Scurvy 4 min
7.) Whose Heart's Heavy? 3 min
8.) Levitate 3 min
9.) Adam Meets Evil 4 min

Breaks and skits will be input throughout the set.