Now in their tenth year, the Minneapolis collective Doomtree have really been stepping up the game the past few years. Since their first full length as a group in 2008, they’ve seen their notoriety grow through a combination of constant touring and a string of incredibly strong solo releases. Not only are they all inventive albums, but they are also varied and helped define each member’s identity within and without the group. With all of this growth under their belts and their tenth anniversary occurring, it makes sense that they would go back into the studio and seek to improve upon their last group effort.

If you’ve ever had the opportunity to see Doomtree live, you’ve most likely observed a few things. One is just how incredibly energetic and entertaining they are. Another is how well they share the spotlight. Nobody’s just waiting their turn, they actually enjoy each other as artists and performers. If you ever get to hear one of them talk about another member’s music, you won’t hear sound bites, you’ll hear genuine exclamations of “Isn’t that album great?!” They all do their own things, but they all appreciate each other and what they bring to the table. It’s not the case where egos are constantly fighting for attention. Instead, they’re a group of artists who not just compliment each other well, but push each other to succeed. It’s tough to keep a duo on the same page, let alone seven people. And this is where No Kings succeeds more than anywhere else. They managed to create an album that successfully meshes together seven styles and points of view, all contributing and shining while creating an album that stands apart from any of their solo work. If you think that’s an easy task, I would gladly like to see you try that.

The first thing that came to mind when I heard the titleof the album was No Kings was how it juxtaposed with Watch the Throne by Jay-Z and Kanye West. One of my favorite reactions to Watch the Throne was by the emcee Bambu, who said that listening to that album just reminded him of how broke he was. I think that speaks volumes to the state of our culture today. While someone like Jay-Z was once a creative and cultural force to be reckoned with, he’s definitely lost touch with his roots. He’s selling T-shirts inspired by the Occupy Wall Street movement but keeping all of the profits? Fuck you, man. Given the state of affairs in the United States and worldwide, for that matter, along with my own personal struggles to make ends meet, I have a much easier time relating to artists like Open Mike Eagle who drop lines like “I’m the smartest broke dude ever,” than an album where the emcee brags “What’s fifty grand to a mufucka like me, can you please remind me?” It’s a group that’s done everything their own way on their own terms that declares that we don’t need kings to rule us, we need people to come together and rise up. They use their skills to help and inspire each other, and in turn both entertain and inspire their audiences. They didn’t wait for some outdated model of success, where some entertainment mogul plucks you out of obscurity and then molds you into a successful pop icon. They made their own music according to what they thought was good and interesting and challenging, released it own their own, and lo and behold, an audience found them. It’s not an easy path, but it’s a very rewarding one. This is why No Kings resonates today much louder than an album like Watch the Throne. When an album opens with a verse by Sims in which he states “I never liked the construct of that square wheel, like ‘money ain’t real’/…wait…but that ain’t real/…Oh, now I get it/We could take it all and split it/Give it to the village,” that feels extremely relevant to life in 2011.

The production on No Kings was handled in some combination of Paper Tiger, Lazerbeak, Cecil Otter, and P.O.S. They manage to squeeze a lot of music into twelve tracks, but even more impressive is how accessible they make all of it. There are often many twists and turns and style changes within one song, but it never feels meandering or excessive. The first song on the album, “No Way,” opens with a punkabilly guitar riff with a menacing edge as vocals swirl in the background and busy drums keep the energy high and add a sense of urgency before any vocals come in. The energy level stays high on “Bolt Cutter,” which opens with busy tom tom drumming, which is then engulfed in heavy synthesized beats and keyboards reminiscent of British grime production. While the swagger is building with P.O.S. laying down the hook and Sims delivering the opening verse, everything breaks down to a simple piano line and slowly builds back up as Dessa rhymes in her own melodic style while slowly building to a crescendo that explodes into a frantic jungle-influenced beat with Mike rhyming at breakneck speed before we drop back down to the hook, which then breaks down again to the piano line, this time hinting at the build up but instead fades out. Nothing’s out of bounds on No Kings, whether it’s the psych-garage of “Punch-Out,” the brooding country/blues/gospel of “Little Mercy” (featuring the incredible pipes of Roma di Luna/Policia’s Channy Casselle), or the more classic boom bap soul samples on “Fresh New Trash.” There’s so much happening, making it from the beginning to the end of No Kings really does feel like an accomplishment.

While all this compelling production is happening, it’s complimented by the lyricism and delivery of Dessa, Sims, P.O.S., Mike Mictlan, and Cecil Otter. They form an interesting mixes of styles that compliment each other very well. Mike, with his L.A. background is probably the most straight ahead swagger rapper, with a lower voice that can boom with force. It’s his voice that gives authority to the word “Bangarang,” one which I previously associated with the movie Hook. Sims is also something of a traditional emcee, although his stylistic and lyrical interplay is one of the driving forces behind his stellar solo album Bad Time Zoo, released earlier this year. P.O.S has a background in hardcore punk, and has a raspy urgent delivery that can move between laid back flows and deliberate and confrontational. Cecil Otter has a voice that wanders between spoken word and a whiskey-soaked bluesy croon. Dessa has a style that lives between the same spoken word background that Otter has, jazz vocals, and a hip hop flow that at times reminds me of Ladybug Mecca. All of these different approaches on the mic combine well, and it always feels like the right voice is being used at the right time. They are all very smart lyricists, moving between introspective rhymes to battle raps to smart analysis of societal and political problems. They know how to have fun, but they also want to challenge you at the same time.

If this review is one of the longest I’ve written, it’s because there is so many layers to No Kings. It works well on face value, but the deeper you dig, the more you’ll be rewarded. It’s a rare occasion when you can bring seven artists together to create an album where they all compliment each other and make a record that’s greater than the sum of their parts. Years from now, when we look back on the year in hip hop in 2011, No Kings is going to be an indication of the changing landscape.