The Coup might’ve been the most revolutionary West Coast hip-hop act to emerge in the ’90s — at least in terms of what they wanted their revolution to be, since their Black Panther/Marxist class-consciousness served as a vital reminder throughout the End of History decade that capitalism’s cruelty didn’t recede just because Reagan was out of the White House. And if Steal This Album proved anything, it was that this kind of lefty agitation really could feel more liberatory than reactionary in the right hands, especially when it’s set to the kind of Cali-warm funk that speaks of being antiwar but sounds very much pro-War (and Parliament and Brick and Gil Scott-Heron, replicated in part by live musicians and given cut-and-scratch vitality by DJ Pam the Funkstress). Boots Riley’s drawl can hold as much frustration and rage as Ice Cube’s snarl, but it’s tempered with deep empathy and love for the common people, whether or not they know they’re disenfranchised. It’s borne out through some of the most vivid, wordplay-flaunting storytelling raps ever recorded: “Me and Jesus the Pimp in a ’79 Granada Last Night” alone entwines bleak-joke pulp with familial tragedy and a grounded, thoughtful approach to the actual stakes of sex work, while “Breathing Apparatus” elaborates on Cube’s “Alive on Arrival” as Boots and original Coup member/guest rapper E-Roc turn a gunshot-victim tale into a Medicare For All demand. Even the lighter-side-of-late-capitalism material feels cathartic and catalytic thanks to a strong mixture of deep theory and earthy humor — like the beater lament “Cars & Shoes” (later echoed in the first-act hoopty gags of Riley’s directorial debut Sorry to Bother You) and the class-war party jam “Busterismology” (featuring the immortal couplet “I used to work at Mickey D’s/And to my old busta-ass manager, licky deez”).