Long before the "life music" of Arrested Development and PM Dawn rose over the hip-hop landscape, the Jungle Brothers envisioned the hood as a lush, communal, Afrocentric utopia where knowledge and spirituality sprout from the cracks in the asphalt and all brothers and sisters are lifted up. In contrast to the battle-front dispatches of the gangsta school, the JBs dwelled in an alternative universe where self-awareness and, above all, the funk were the most important tools for ushering in an era of peace and love. A phat beat, the JBs knew, is a terrible thing to waste.

Five years later, after Crown Heights and Los Angeles, and after a whole new school of rappers have scored hits riffing on the JBs' vision, the Brothers have narrowed their focus considerably. On their new album, J. Beez Wit the Remedy, they tackle more basic subjects, such as thickheaded record executives, the joys of hemp, the musical larceny of competing DJs and whether size matters. As on their previous efforts, they construct dense, rushing barrages that sometimes swell with a mischievous glee and other times churn with a dark undercurrent. Thank goodness, though, they still know that there's little use in raising the mind without motivating the booty, too.

On the soaring opening cut, "40 Below Trooper," they start off with a repeated military cadence and exhort their followers to fall in step. What comes next is possibly their finest rump-shaking number ever, blending bounding bass lines reminiscent of George Clinton with feverish, scatlike rapping by the JBs' guiding force, Afrika Baby Bambaataa. "My Jimmy Weighs a Ton," an ode to the JBs' favorite instrument, describes the struggle between the requirements of fidelity and the demands of their randy energy. A particularly sore topic with the JBs and the subject of one of their edgiest numbers is the co-opting of their swirling sound collages by other DJs. "Good Old Hype Shit" finds them challenging their imitators to try and keep up. Elsewhere, "I'm in Love With Indica" bluntly depicts their fondness for the weed, while "For the Headz at Company Z" is a roiling reverie that might be a record exec's nightmare.

If J. Beez Wit the Remedy seems less optimistic than the group has been before, perhaps it's because the solutions to our urban chaos seem more frightening and complex than ever, and utopia is no longer waiting just around the corner. But their fearlessly experimental style shows that the Jungle Brothers still have faith in the power of their music to transform. (RS 668)

DAVID THIGPEN