When KRS-One grabbed the mic at September’s East Village Radio Festival, onlookers were assaulted with instructions to vote and change America. His Stop the Violence posse took the politics to a higher, more bizarre level by claiming that 9-11 was a government conspiracy, and even attempting a “Fuck Obama!” chant. The South Street Seaport crowd didn’t quite know what to make of the unsolicited punditry. They wanted art, not a lesson in civic duty.

The mood was much different than a few hours before when Devin the Dude had fired up an Optimo and sung the word “pussylips” in a robot voice. For Devin, the audience was grinning, chuckling, and, most importantly, enjoying themselves. In essence, this has always been Devin’s role in hip-hop—the perpetual jester.

Since 1994, when his group The Odd Squad dropped the shamefully overlooked Fadanuf Fa Erybody!!, Devin the Dude has been a consistent force in Houston hip-hop. Throughout the mid-90’s, his ballads of beer and blunts were in surreal juxtaposition to the bullets and braggadocio coming from some of his more successful H-town brethren—especially Rap-A-Lot label-mates The Geto Boys. But he kept on doing his thing. Soon enough, he developed a Texas-sized reputation as the rapper your favorite rapper listens to—even Mr. Scarface himself lauded him with praise.

The “favorite rapper’s favorite rapper” stigma stuck to Devin for a while, and his first four solo albums were sadly under-appreciated by mainstream audiences. Last year’s Waitin’ to Inhale, however, reached some significant commercial success and was celebrated by critics as one of the best albums of the year.

Waitin’ to Inhale would be a tough act to follow, but the hip-hop community was praying for the best. Having broken ties with Rap-A-Lot, Devin was poised for a potentially career-changing move. A stylish aeronautic-themed photo shoot combined with an extensive series of online promo videos entitled “High Y’all Doin?” had fans chomping at their bongs, eagerly awaiting web leaks as the release date approached. Well, the time has come—Landing Gear has hit the stores, and the album is everything we were hoping for and more.

Devin’s technical proficiency as an MC is clearer than ever. His verses on “I Can’t Make It Home” and “In My Draws” stand as perfected examples of that good ol’ relaxed flow, while “Highway” presents a successful experiment with a broken structure, that one-syll-a-ble-at-a-time gimmick that few rappers can pull off. The minimalist quirk-cut “Let Me Know It’s Real” features enough lyrical tongue-twisting and vocal hiccups to make the backpacking-est backpacker raise his eyebrows in a jolt of poetic pleasure: “And right now I know you’re horny and I’m lonely myself/Don’t cheat me, treat me/Beatin’ my meat ain’t that good for my health/So no choice left/but to leave/ and try to/fuck a freak/that’ll suck a beat/don’t wanna kiss/and still brush her teeth.”

Devin is also one of the few rappers who possess a truly distinctive singing voice. More importantly, it’s a good singing voice, and Landing Gear features Devin’s finest melodies yet. No auto-tune or Kanye-ification on this album—simply high-quality, soulful crooning in the vein of fellow Houston veterans Pimp C, Big Moe, and Z-Ro. Tracks like “Stray” and “El Grande Nalgas” make us wonder why Devin has not already recorded a strictly neo-soul album. If he ever catches the Baduizm virus, we’ll be in for a treat, insomuch as his voice actually sounds good.

Between hot-spitting, soul-singing, and beat-laying, what else can this Dude do in 47 minutes?

Make you laugh like a motherfucker, that’s what. Landing Gear is punny as ever, with Devin continuously sipping from his coughee cup while driving down the highway. He’s gettin’ stoned, he’s gettin’ drunk, and he’s gettin’ in between your legs. He also tells us about an underwear-stealing lesbian and discusses various forms of noodles. “El Grande Nalgas”, Devin’s ode to voluptuous Latina posteriors, proves that Devin can be just as hilariously crude en Español.

It’s pretty much safe to say that Devin is the funniest rapper alive. Humor, as the great American philosopher Eli Siegel once wrote, “is the one true release from the awkwardness, ugliness, and injustice of life.” Arguably, then, Devin is also the most socially conscious rapper alive. Add this to his technical ability and his undeniable dedication to quality and Devin the Dude might just be the greatest rapper alive.

It’s not all a joke, though—“Yo Mind” is a pretty straightforward call to personal development. And “I Need a Song”, an extremely special moment on the album and perhaps Devin’s greatest “contemplative” song to date, puts all the party talk in an insightful context.

Devin’s tendency to humor is reminiscent of a bygone era. The Biz Markie attitude seems out of place in today’s hip-hop landscape. Perhaps this is what makes Devin’s fans love him. Regardless, humor is an effective tool on Landing Gear, and a skill that few artists can use with such expertise.

The Dude has long received high international praise, steadily performing all across Europe. (Yes, especially Amsterdam.) He’s respected by virtually everyone in the industry, and has earned the co-signage of the blogosphere’s most relevant aficionados.

But mainstream success evades him. His subject matter isn’t always Hot 97-friendly, and his down-to-earthiness doesn’t exactly mesh with the mainstream’s never-ending desire for “swagger.” But by performing at venues like the South Street Seaport and distributing the album to a plethora of college radio stations, Devin might tap in to the ever-expanding hipster-rap fan base. Fine by me. The more people listening to Devin the Dude, the better. At the end of the day, he’s still Scarface’s favorite rapper—no OG status-evaluation necessary. Devin is a true artist of our time, and Landing Gear is his magnum opus…or as he might put it…magnum dope-us.

Photo by Flickr user Shane Bee used under the Creative Commons