eff Chang begins his tome to hip hop culture Can't Stop, Won't Stop by noting, "Generations are fictions," underscoring the subjectivity inherent in cultural narratives. This idea is similarly applicable to the history of a band, especially one that undergoes notable transformations over its lifetime. While start and end dates are less arbitrary than say that of any noted generation, what happens in between is hardly the domain of one perspective (if Behind the Music has taught us anything). Frequently, the interpretive device "chameleon" is used to characterize an artist with an unmistakable yet indefinable body of work, such as David Bowie or Miles Davis. But these artists leave a particular imprint on the imagination because of their constant creation and recreation of narratives; during each of the musician's reinventions, his or her audience concurrently interpreted and reinterpreted their work into unique ideas and images. Technicolor Ziggy wet dreams faded out to a stark white opiate reality that in turn begat... The sum of music and its fans' memories can spin stories for days.

Once upon a time, the Pharcyde seemed to be another such promising legend. In the early '90s four young MCs and dancers—Derrick "Fatlip" Stewart, Tre "Slimkid" Hardson, Romye "Booty Brown" Robinson and Imani Wilcox—coalesced amidst the Los Angeles (Good Life!) underground, a scene bubbling with everything from gang perceptions to progressive musicians. Although comparison with the Purple and Gold dynasty overstates their individual talents, the four made an exceptional mark by fusing elements from both sides with a relatable, ordinary dude aplomb. The result was the alternately riotous and reflective Bizarre Ride II the Pharcyde, a debut filled with good-natured laughs ("Ya Mama") and adolescent time capsules ("Passin' Me By"). Understandably, the album quickly became an all-time favorite for ordinary dudes (and dudettes) far beyond the confines of the 213. However, the group quickly outgrew its own creation myth and spent the next three years working on a rewrite. Fans that stuck around were treated to an adventurous second round; the 'cyde faded the stress with the 'la and offered an insider's peek in Labcabincalifornia. The view was hazy; bearing the effects of herb more than the explicit citing of it, the album was an amorphous cloud of ideas that wafted skyward as if to signify the aspirations of individuals, not a group, in search of new identities. However, Labcabin was effective because it had grown with the audience; the record still championed a loopy sensibility ("Drop"), but reflected with less teen angst ("Runnin'"). The Pharcyde were like finely cultivated, kind buds, and more fans wanted to join with each successive session.

However, just as the group stood on the verge of getting it on with another generation in its career, the quartet began to unravel. Fatlip, who many considered to be the source of both the group's humor and pathos, either exited or was excised, depending on whom you ask. The remaining trio attempted to build on Labcabin's sensitivity training and went for the no-frills Plain Rap. The album unfortunately arrived at the end of the late-90s indie/Rawkus rap boom, and became lost in the glut of backpack excess. Simultaneously, Slimkid Tre either exited or was excised, depending on whom you ask, leaving just two to carry on the work of four. While the now duo adamantly insisted on the completeness of the new group, the following years were marked more by reconfiguration: recordings were limited to guest appearances on other artists' records; and, most telling, shows relied on a live band's energy and a parade of past hits more than the collaborative work of Booty Brown and Imani. Hardly a new narrative in the tale of the Pharcyde, the story sounded more like a familiar slow burn.

Nearly four years later, the Pharcyde returns to reassert itself on Humboldt Beginnings. The title alone harkens back to the group's immersion in both the sly and the stone hearth, suggesting both childlike play and a matured center. Fortunately, HB makes good on the first half of the promise—it sounds like a group effort. Imani and Brown, ever the higher pitched half of the original four, blend tone and rhyme patterns to give the record a sense of cohesion. The pair excels when waxing heart-felt, such as on the single "Knew U." Over cooled out keyboards and melismatic guitar solos, its tales of lost love can be filed between Dilla 2000 and Spacek sex rock. Much of this credit is due to Spaceboy Boogie X, who handles the bulk of the album's production. While "Knew U"'s prime reference point is '80s R&B, he exhibits a greater understanding of the ever-hearted decade's acid-drenched pop sounds. With a cold yet welcome synthy sheen, he updates the Pharcyde's once signature dance blueprint with post-disco slow burns like "Illusions" and the stutter-clap acid headthrob "The Art of Sharing." Like Vangelis scoring Miami Vice, HB owes a greater sonic debt to black diamonds than black gold.

Unfortunately, the entire concept behind HB feels like a half-baked throwback. Fuma fixation over the course of fifteen-plus cuts is neither humorous nor profound. As implied above, the kush theme feels uncomfortable in the context of cold, hard beats. Former Rawkus hero 88 Keys is the greatest perpetrator on "The Uh-Huh", an upbeat and bustling cut completely out-of-sync with a puff-puff-pass pace; plus, whistle blows are about as welcome as police sirens during any date with MJ. In fact, Imani and Brown invoke Cannabis Sativa so explicitly and so often (from the intro "Homegrown" to "Bongloads II"—there was a part I?—to "Mixedgreens" to "The Bomb", not to mention the completely unnecessary and dragging interludes) that the leaf figures as a greater personality than either member. That the two also frequently fall all over the beat hardly helps; even on "Illusions", the track trips over an excess of syllables per line: "On an escalator to heaven with a one night ticket / Instead you have the blues like Wilson Picket you can’t kick it." The distinction between MC'g and just plain rapping becomes especially clear on "Bongloads II" when Tha (Alkaho)liks' J-Ro enters the circle. Using both trademark nuts-in-hand swagger and asinine yet consistent themes (south of the border trips are his specials of the day), 'Ro rips both his un-credited verse and the 'Cyde's sophomoric and meandering licks. Neither Imani nor Brown can maintain mic presence; they are in-sync with each other, but their delivery and content need some more time under the sun.

The greatest frustration with HB is its dependence on the Pharcyde narrative. From the juvenile title's comparison with a nonexistent past to the insistence of a completely new 4tet (one Greg "Schmooche" rounds out the new starting line-up, but neither the liner notes nor website makes clear his role in the group; sorry, brother, but no one is doing you any favor by putting you on the cover and not explaining who you are) to bear the name of a vastly different quartet, the connection to the past feels forced and unnecessary. The b-boy days and cooped-up experiments helped form the Pharcyde's story, not the Imani-Brown-X-Schmooche story. So why try to fade, wipe or cut? Just begin a completely new book about four young men approaching middle age who shine brightest when melding warm beats with sincere thoughts. Leave the bamma ideas and schwag concepts for ruff rydin' beats'n rhymers like Tha Muthafuckin' 'Liks. And, more important, lay the 'Cyde aside. Certainly, the individuality of each artist pushes him or her to emulate the aging turtle, maneuvering through life shedding shells, updating their appearance while housing a static body. But such is the sacrifice an individual makes when entering a group. Perhaps when this concession is comprehended, we can wrap our heads around another tall tale.