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Restless vinyl scratching, spunky sax and trumpet, catchy chorus.
That's track one.
And that's not nearly all of it.
Somebody is just going to call this hip-hop. The band once opted for "HIPHOPUNKFUNKMAMBOSKA," title to their debut album, but even that seems to fall short, missing, perhaps, swingtownjazzoulfonzarelli, and probably a few other things. P.I.C uses as many flavors as you can find in NYC, the city they call home, and eventually ends up with something sly, something retro, something with serious groove.
They kick up their sound with a Latin sense of style set to piano and bass you'd tip your hat to, and they rip it up with bold horn swank. Smart, sharp rhymes bullet through each song, like in the quirky, oh-so-danceable ballad "Alnova Do That" and the clever call-to-action "Chimp Attack." Songs like "Lactose" win for ridiculous lines like, Lactose goes punk and does a slam dunk and your system goes woo-hoo. It can cause some fuss, but you can adjust and eat the cream and not go bust when it comes to the milk. I go for the Silk or soy of a similar ilk. Also listen for references to Karate Kid and Walker, Texas Ranger.
Still, the silliness and party sound of P.I.C comes matched with more poignant reflections. Through jazzier beats, the emcees swing together thick commentary with that smirking sense of humor in "Old Sole." Riding on nostalgic, the song takes a witty and weighty look at life, learning, and, yes, shoes.
As much as P.I.C pulls from old sounds it adds new style to today's music and achieves the impossible. Vintage sound with modern attitude? Style with substance? P.I.C can take that like it's nothing. The rest of the music scene better keep up with the hustle.