Beans, once the backbone of genre-shaping Anti-Pop Consortium, has been the advanced kid in hip-hop class. He's the kid that cuts class to smoke because he's so far ahead with his studies that the teacher gave him a hall pass so that he wouldn't make the other kids feel so dumb (and not as in fresh). Which is why so few heads have even heard either of his two solo releases. Amazing that the forward thinking hip-hop auteur sounds sneakingly like the Throbbing Gristle track before him, made when he was about five. Over the throb of tones and clicks Beans talks rapidly of the challenges that he imposes on himself daily, confronting his own precocious nature in flow that doesn't so much flow as it does gush out of his mouth. He doesn't stop to allow pause; the abstractions of his music are nothing in comparison to the fractal images that escape his head. Only when he shuts his jaw does the quiet return. The lush tones return pulse, but they seem quieter than before, with less depth, even his own music cannot hold up against the meter of Beans' mind. He promises that there'll be rewards for following, and while he can't say what they are, they're waiting at the end. And they are, but nothing tangible, the reward comes from watching in awe as someone so brilliant shows you a little part of how their mind works.