Cutting Through

Tunde's little sister Ashabunmi sings the choruses and bridges on the more melodic tunes. She's polite and shy but commands attention with a cool demeanor, tall, full-figured frame and booming gospel pipes. She's also sung on albums by prog-metal band Soulfly.

A mixed bag for sure, yet their chemistry, crafted from a bond that formed at Shadow Mountain High School, is unforced; they know who they are and play off each other's persona. Sample exchange:

Tunde: "I'm not influenced by who most people are influenced by. I'm not on Jay-Z's nuts or Tupac's nuts or Biggie's nuts. I appreciate everybody for what they are."

Justus: "Whose nuts are you on, then?"

Inside the Old Brickhouse Grill on January 24, as Cut Throat Logic performs, black scribbling on their yellow, graffiti-laced stage backdrop stands out. It reads "R.I.P. K-Rab." "K-Rab" refers to Kamau Rabouin, Tunde and Asha's brother who first suggested careers in hip-hop as a brash teen. Kamau fatally shot himself in the head following an argument with his girlfriend in February 2000, just weeks after Cut Throat's first real gig.

Friends describe the younger Rabouin brother as a talented writer and fighter who inspired shy types and reluctant performers -- like both his siblings -- to step out front.

"He was the heart of the group," says Perry, who met Kamau in ninth grade. "He's the reason I chose a career in music."

Olbert says he and Kamau both struggled with controlling their anger as teenagers, and for his next-door neighbor and best friend it ultimately resulted in tragedy. Since then, the group members have said they've worked to honor Kamau's spirit in the music. Justus refers to Kamau often in his rhymes. Tunde and Asha, meanwhile, say the death of their brother -- Tunde's the oldest, Asha's the youngest, while Kamau was in between -- has brought them closer together. For Asha, 21, the spiritual healing cuts even deeper. She suffered from stage fright for years and once regularly skipped out on gigs because of it.

"When he passed away, I sang at his funeral because I was like, you know, I've got to make my brother proud," she says. "After that, it seemed like it got easier for me."

Tunde, however, says he hasn't allowed himself to mourn, supporting his parents through their grief and caring for his three daughters. He dedicates his verse on the ballad "Pain in My Eyes" to the U.S. war on terrorism and a "Euro-egocentric God complex" when everyone around him clearly has Kamau in mind.

Even so, the elder Rabouin says he's effectively acquired dozens of surrogate younger brothers in Kamau's friends.

While Tunde's notebooks filled with verses inspired Kamau to start Cut Throat Logic, he joined only after years of prodding. He says he'd be happy making $40,000 a year off music, but for now worries about covering tuition for his daughters' private schooling. He talks passionately about how, unlike his brother, he's never carried a gun.

But he also says he knows he can't be too precious in talking about his lyrics. And in doing so, he puts a final stamp on Cut Throat Logic's thug-emo duality.

"I'm not judging anybody, because I might say bitch' the next rap or say something so vulgar that I wouldn't want my mom to hear it or my daughters to hear," Tunde says. "That's a part of me, and I accept responsibility for that. At the same time, I can't deny God, what he's done for me, what he's doing for me, just waking me up, letting me have my breath so I can smoke this cigarette."

E-mail christopher.oconnor@newtimes.com, or call 602-407-1715.