Country Cousins
Sat., March 21, 10:50pm, Roosevelt Room
For all the talent here, Austin hip-hop doesn’t have a definitive sound. In fact, many of the top local acts don’t sound particularly Texan, or even Southern. That’s not the case with Country Cousins, a duo that reps classic Lone Star rap to the fullest. K-Paul and Pimpin Pen, whose mothers are sisters, are as close as ATX gets to UGK.
“We came up on the Pimp and the Bun, on the Outkast, Geto Boys, all that shit,” testifies Pimpin Pen, a gold microphone dangling from the chain around his neck. “I had to go buy me an old ’74 Cadillac drop top and pimp it out. That’s Texas, that’s me, that’s what it is.”
“That’s how we ride. That’s the era we come from,” K-Paul adds as thumping syrupy beats spill from the windows of his black Navigator. “We’re considered the old heads.”
Country Cousins, the first official album from the group formerly known as V.I.P., dropped just last year, but they’ve been on the scene since 1999. A 2006 mixtape featured Paul Wall and Trae the Truth before a series of lockups arrested development. K-Paul was behind bars for more than three years starting in 2007, which came on the heels of Pen’s prison release.
“We were taking turns,” Pen laments. “We missed five or six years of our careers.”
With a new name, a full-length debut featuring Freddie Gibbs and Max Frost, and L.A. studio time booked to record upcoming project Country Kingz, the rhyme partners are making up for lost time.
“They looking for us to bring Texas back,” K-Paul contends. “There’s nowhere else to look. They’re missing Scarface, they’re missing UGK. You don’t have anyone creating a sound with that type of substance anymore.”
“There’s a lot of shit out now that’s watered down, but it’ll fade away,” Pen predicts. “It just don’t stick to you like when you eat some ….”
“Mashed potatoes, grits, and cornbread,” K-Paul interrupts.
More relevant on the pavement than in the press, Country Cousins don’t make the brand of music that fills Red River clubs, yet they’ve built a groundswell of regional support throughout the South.
“We’re definitely not here to be local celebrities,” declares K-Paul. “It’s either all or nothing with us, but we’ll never forget what’s going on in our backyard.”
K-Paul sports a shirt with “RO$EWOO2” stitched across the chest, a nod to the once-rough Eastside neighborhood that raised them. Neither lives there anymore, but they’re never away for long.
“As long as our grandmas are over there, we over there,” Pen promises.
This article appears in March 6 • 2015.
