Isolating the rhythm at the center of their work and tapping into a new physicality, the Washington, D.C. experimental duo find joy in improvisation and liberation in the body.
In their work as Model Home, NappyNappa and Patrick Cain blur the line between affirmation and destruction. NappyNappa is a maker of koans, embracing cryptic lines and repeated ululations in his solo work as a rapper and as MC of the group. Cain lays down sheets of metallic whirs, providing a backdrop of pounding, uneasy electronics for his partner’s esoterica. Their music has its own language and referents, drawing equally from the missionary zeal of Lee “Scratch” Perry and the firmament-destroying power of Khan Jamal’s Drum Dance to the Motherland; listening feels like being sucked down a vortex of splintered beats and horn stabs. You won’t understand every word, but that’s not necessarily the point. What the noise and lyrics generate is a zone of challenging incomprehension, of unexplored terrain. On their latest album, both feet en th infinite, the duo embrace propulsive movement, isolating the rhythm that has always centered their work and tapping into a newfound physicality.
both feet en th infinite foregrounds the precise pulse that lived beneath the dystopian energy of Model Home’s 2020 compilation One Year. The distended production of opener “Night Break” brings to mind the fat bass drum hits and squelching horns of Dinosaur L’s Paradise Garage classic “Go Bang.” Over the top, NappyNappa bleats out different phrases, basking in the haze of distorted disco as he lays down his lines with the tenacity of a motivational speaker. Tinkling piano, synthetic zaps, and his enthusiastic exhortations trap you in the song’s web, forcing you to contend with the complexity of each strand. “Crux of Et All” starts with the type of motorik bass one might associate with the experimental hip-hop of Madlib or Dr. Who Dat?, while NappyNappa yelps and harmonizes over its tangle of snares. There’s something vaguely thrilling about how Model Home adapt this idiom to their style; it’s like watching someone attempt a series of increasingly unlikely tricks on a broken-down vehicle and being surprised when the car actually starts.
While nothing on this record is an easy listen, there are insights to be gained from its fractures. Model Home scatter Mantronix-like hi-hats and piercing sounds throughout, touches that function in the same way as tambourines and shakers on a spiritual jazz record; they’re here to announce the elation that improvisational music-making can inspire. (It’s not for nothing that NappyNappa starts “Crux of Et All” by commanding, “Shout for joy.”) “3D Printed Quinoa” is easily the album’s most abrasive track: NappyNappa’s voice is constantly modulated up and down, and Cain layers on a heavy, mosquito-like synth buzz. Even when the tell-tale vibrations of a deep sub-bass surface towards the end, the movement it summons feels organic. By pricking you with what hurts, Model Home demand focus, toughening your ears but not hardening them so much that you tune out before things click.
While they’ve flirted with dance music on songs like One Year’s “Damn Disco 99” and their remix album with Pure Rave, the overt kineticism on display here is a recent development. On “Body Power,” NappyNappa is in toaster mode, moving the crowd with his words and his voice simultaneously. Over a giddy piano twinkle and kick drums, he screams about the potential of the body as a vector for liberation. He’s eventually joined by other voices, which shout in unison: “More power in your body.” The phrase may seem simple, but Model Home are rummaging through the collected detritus of expression and finding anything—old or new—that produces an intense reaction. Their songs aim to reawaken senses dulled by overexposure, and their refusal to immediately satisfy can feel grueling. Yet there is a purity to their provocation; by putting your senses to the test, both feet en th infinite generates new pathways for hearing and movement.
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