While the traditional media has been hyping a bevy of new white soul singers from England who don't do as many drugs as Amy Winehouse, many blogs in the hip-hop core have their eyes on another prize—the debut of Motel Crew, the peyote-brainchild of a demented producer from Reno, NV named Doug Surreal. After peeping his skill on "Full 100," "Teenage Scraper," and the friendly answer record to E-40's "Tell Me When To Go" called "Don't Ask Permission," street dwellers and industry folks alike (including Mike Patton from Ipecac Records) are predicting Motel Crew's first album to be monumental.

Musically, when Doug Surreal hooked up four of hip-hop's most reclusive talents, it seems like all of the hermits took their game to a higher level of expression. Whether listening to Mike 2600's break beat assault on "The Style We Portray," or DJ Quest's scratch innovation in the second third of "Elephant Gun"—it's all motivated with the aid of Doug's percussion and penchant for heavy (think off that DMT heavy) echo-plex effects, dubbed out terror-verb, and mutation-causing breakdowns of unholy distortion. Your mind races to keep up with Luke Sick and Z-Man's lyricism, while your body collapses to the beat.

Lyrically, the whole shit is on point. No clichéd metaphors, no gimmicks. Never too abstract, never superficial. Even the vocal samples are meaningful, and the album's only guest rapper, Eddie K, is dangerous in his own right. (And he's unsigned too? Not for long, son.) Luke Sick is just the epitome of Mickey Rourke's character of "The Cook" from the meth-film "Spun" in terms of raw style and delivery. But even outside of "Gurp City's druggy underworld"—"Fly, young girls with the pretty eyes and sexy smiles and some with Jheri curls" from all over will be able to relate to Motel Crew's many techniques. Z-Man creates fantasy: "Young tender, come with me, up to floor number three, you can hold my key… blow pretty smoke at the ceiling fan, now get a little close so you can feel Z-Man." Luke Sick philosophizes: "All the sun do is shine all day up above the horizon, lazy muhfucker need a new assignment, like in my pocket wit the nickels and dimes to keep a muhfucker warm while he's out here grindin'." And Z just continues the flow eternally against all odds: "The seal of California is tatted on my tongue/ I'mma California handgun pistol-whippin' 'em in the Bay/ and spray strays till they give me their change… listen bitch, I write songs all night, till I'm knee-deep in ink losin' my sight."

Motel Crew's sonic images remind me of a lot of personal altered-state memories and high ass people, both passed and present, so the impact goes beyond just the entertainment aspect. All this may sound like melodrama but it's not just me. I've been hearing similar responses all over. While the title track "Motel Crew," is my shit, my homies claim "Black Polar Bear," and if you yourself are or you got peoples who are homeless, then Z-man's solo "Spare Change" may hit you hardest. There's nothing wack though, just different intensities for different people to relate to. The bottom line is this: even if these tracks don't speak to you on that personal level, the music itself is still well worth your attention. If you can't at least appreciate the value of Doug Surreal's chemical realism, then you best get yourself up out the party. Keep it real, baby. Real dusted.