Intro—by no means the most memorable skit on an album laden with great ones (Kim and Cookie just jumped straight to the top of my favourites list)—sums up a couple of Stankonia’s virtues. To start, “bounce”—from the depths of the earth’s core, to the farthest reaches of space, to the Cadillac rolling down the street blasting the hottest new sound. This is a fizzy, bubbly, gloopy, rubbery, soft-play Adventureland of bounce. Next, that’s a harmonium and backwards tabla you can hear. In other words, this is insanely ambitious. Like, 1999 ambitious, There's A Riot Going On ambitious, Blonde on Blonde ambitious. Whether or not Big Boi and Andre intended to change the face/interface of rap and pop, they did. For me, at least. After this, nothing was the same. Correction: after Ms Jackson, nothing was the same. That beat—featuring, ahoy! backwards congas—blew my natural mind. I can still feel my 12-year-old brain struggling to contain the rush of endorphins when that wrong-way-round k - k - ku - k, k - k - ku - k loop starts. (Can you believe this is the first time I’ve realised how perfect it is that a song about bittersweet regret uses a backwards beat. It's literally the sound of turning back time.) So how did pop and rap become inseparable after Ms. Jackson? The best way I can explain it isn't great, but it goes something like this: Outkast set themselves the Prince-ly goal of recording literally every idea they’d ever had, carved out a galactic-sized sonic space for their exploration, then covered so much ground in the process that once they were done no one could claim a new sound without it feeling like Outkast got there first. The breadth of their exploration also goes some way to explaining Stankonia’s curious amorality, which swings from the criminally retrograde (Snappin’ & Trappin’) to politically fired-up (B.O.B.) to socially conscious (Toilet Tisha, Humble Mumble) to sexually chivalrous (I’ll Call B4 I Cum) to borderline misogynistic (We Luve Deez Hoez) without reconciling the differences. Forget the big picture, that'll take care of itself. But back to that intro. What it doesn’t tell us is anything about Big Boi and Dre as rappers. Now, as much as I like Big Boi (and I think Speakerboxxx is to The Love Below what Plastic Ono Band is to McCartney), I become deaf to everything around me when I know a 3000 verse is coming. That only happens with three or four rappers. I don’t know what gives someone that power, but he has it. “You can plan a pretty picnic but you can’t predict the weather.” What other rapper could come up with that? What folksinger? Then there’s the “knee / pad […] be / sad […]" rhyme scheme, his verses on Xplosion and Gangster Shit that make the guests preceding him vanish into obsolescence, and “Speeches only reaches those who already know about it / This is how we go about it.” Perhaps I'm too influenced by Stakonia's turn-of-the-century release when I say I hear it as the final proof of hip hop as the most progressive and inventive music of the last 30+ years. But just consider the differences between this and Mama Said Knock You Out or Fear of a Black Planet. Ten years in real time, light years musically. Finally, having said too much about Ms Jackson, a word on B.O.B. First, it’s actually the better song. Second, most MCs would die trying to rap over that beat. And third, it could end at 2:35 and still be one of the greatest rap songs ever. But then the guitar solo starts, followed by the scratches and cuts. Then the beat changes. The guitar becomes a riff. Andre counts in the gospel choir—1, 2, 3—who regale us with a chorus—“Power music electric revival”—to usher in this (alleged) new age of music. And, just to underscore what talented motherfuckers they are, they finish it off with a squiggly P-Funk synth they absolutely didn’t need to include. Then again, they didn't need to include three-quarters of what's here. That's masterpieces for you. They succeed in spite of their irregularities. Maybe because of them.