There's something special about the way a group that has been together for a long time plays -- as though the members share a reservoir of empathy that makes moments during their performances seem charged by telepathy. Even though hip-hop often doesn't spring to life on stage, the Jungle Brothers last week drew on well-honed chemistry to overcome the difficulty of animating their intensely produced music. As DJ Sammy B. crouched bent-kneed and danced behind his turntables, MCs Mike G. and Afrika Baby Bam bounced like pistons in a finely-tuned engine, trading verses and rhymes, finishing each other's sentences and harvesting the fruits of their long-time musical partnership in front of the sweat-drenched crush of New Yorkers that filled the Wetlands' trapezoidal main room.

Progenitors of the Native Tongues movement that launched such successes as De La Soul and A Tribe Called Quest, the Jungle Brothers have watched their career suffer at the capricious hands of a music industry that prefers slick singles to stripped-down beats. While Tribe spent the '90s bouncing up the charts, the JBs bounced from label to label, finally returning to their original home, Gee Street. On June 3, that label will release "Raw Deluxe," the trio's first effort since 1993's " JBeez Wit Da Remedy," an album that offered insightful street-savvy rhymes at the exact moment West Coast gangsta-style theatrics dominated rap.

The Brothers' set at the Wetlands focused heavily on their innovative first two albums, from the classic, striated funk of "Straight Out of the Jungle," to a frenzied rendition of "JBs Comin' Through," which drove the crowd into a high-stepping, arm-waving fervor. A cover of De La Soul's "Buddy" (the JBs appeared on the original version) featured Sammy B.'s deft scratching and turntable manipulation, and on "Jimbrowski," Afrika Baby Bam, resplendent in pleated khakis and a horizontally-striped polo shirt, dropped rapid-fire rhymes as the crowd positively gushed in synergistic appreciation. When the Brothers previewed "Brain," from their upcoming album, the chorus line instantly hooked the audience: "Ah-ah-ah got so much funky shit inside my brain / I couldn't explain / I couldn't explain / You wouldn't understand / and I couldn't explain," a double entendre testifying to the trio's dual surplus of both musical ideas and disquieting anxieties.

And that's the best reason of all to pay attention to the JBs: They work on several levels at once, bragging about their skills while sharing their con