Coconut Monkey Rocket

Welcome to the world of Coconut Monkeyrocket. It's a world where cartoon animals dance the Charleston to bangin' 808 beats at the wedding reception for Carl Stalling and George Clinton, where rows of liqueur bottles stacked behind a tiki bar sway back and forth to the beat like the would-be inanimate objects in a Max Fleischer cartoon, while the bartender with the leopard-skin jacket offers instructions for doing the hustle in a voice that's part radio pitchman, part filmstrip narrator. Most of all, it's a world of records, and Jason Emmett is not so much a dictator who commands the sounds of his kingdom into marching formations, but a pith-helmeted explorer, a happy wanderer drunk on discovery. In Coconut Monkeyland, records grow like shiny, black fruit on the smiling, two-dimensional trees, and Jason skips merrily through this enchanted forest, sampling the tasty sounds they offer, until finally gorged to the limit, he vomits the sonic pulp into 3-minute puddles, mixed together into a marvelous new form. At least that's how I like to think of it. In reality, he just does it on a computer or something. - Chris Oliver, bon vivant