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Apothecary Rx, the second release from writer/musician Carl Hancock Rux, marks another stellar release from a growing NYC-based boho-soul collective (which includes under-recognized greats such as Chocolate Genius and Me'Shell NdegéOcello). Their provocative, cerebral “soul” music finds its roots and intentions fused with the personal politics of ’70s Motown (a la Marvin Gaye) and the street-grit fire of spoken-word pioneer Gil Scott-Heron. Apothecary casts a sharp eye at the city Rux calls home and his place as a black man it, creating a speculative beat-poem phantasm full of the sound of city breath–sighing subway brakes, murmuring congested streets, and jackhammer punctuation.
It’s an album filled with pain, poison, and healing energy (hence the title), propelled by an incredibly layered, textured musical collage. “Trouble Of This World” begins with what sounds like Native American chanting, only to seamlessly transform into dance floor beat verse riding a wave of African rhythm and reaping Rux’s deep gravy vocals. Another example is the soaring, dispossessed anthem “Eleven More Days.” It begins with a Tricky-like industrial beat and mutates into a gorgeous glide upwards. Fueled by a gospel chorus that serves as the metropolitan equivalent of a chain gang, the song addresses the harshness of inner city reality. And on the title track, “Apothecary Song,” the combination of electronic tinkering, mutated acoustic guitar, and deep-groove percussion bears witness to Rux’s amalgamating majesty, creating a mother earth psalm about the soul’s transmigration that doubly serves as a lullaby.
With Apothecary Rx, Carl Hancock Rux thrusts himself into the maw of the abyss and comes out converted, creating a minor masterpiece that triggers the synapses and causes the shoulders to shudder. Its mosaic melting pot sounds like nothing else out there.
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