The first collective effort to bear the group name “Backburner” was a 2001 compilation called Big Talk. It was recorded in the basement of a grubby suite of student flats; a five minute walk from the site where The Vault would one day be carved out of the
living rock, and where Heatwave would be principally recorded in 2009. That record was exactly like this one, except for being completely different and not as good. The crate-digging ethic still rules all production, but the breaks have been honed to maximum nod factor and the mixes are thicker than thighs.
The cuts are still pulled from the furthest reaches of hip-hop heritage to illuminate the lyrics they dance around, but now the hands are steadier and every idea comes through with the precision of Jesus Christ Himself cutting a diamond into the shape of a single, delicate rose with His laser-vision.
The words are still a polysyllabic spree of interlocking rhymes, layered meanings and bravado, but now the voices are veterans of an independent hip-hop scene that will chew you up and spit you out into your own face if you can’t hold the attention of a tough crowd, or some stupid blogger.
The heat has baked Backburner; the weather has hardened them, the road has tested them and some thought they might be mad. They now sprint where others trundle, canter where others whinny, and swagger where others fucking suck.
Dozens of albums have been released by groups and individuals flying the Backburner flag, and the dream has always been to squeeze our enormous personalities back into one tight package, and blast that package into space like Zod and that chick and the big dude in Superman II.
Heatwave: Fourteen tracks, sixteen rappers, seven producers, and one DJ. Even these liner notes are the most amazing liner notes of all time, and the CD itself is made of a radioactive compound that reverses aging and improves sexual confidence by up to a factor of nine.
So basically I hope you like getting your face melted off.
- Jesse Dangerously, 2011