Ex-Organized Konfusion kingpin Pharoahe Monch raps close to the bone. It's not until a minute into the shrill screams and "exposed clitorises" of "Rape" that you suddenly click that it's a metaphor for wack rapping ("they aren't fucking it right / ain't fucking it like me")--and by then, you've probably drawn your own nasty conclusions. Understand, though, that it's this abrasive style that lends Internal Affairs its ugly charm--and look first to the dark orchestral loop of "Simon Says" ("Simon says... GET THE FUCK UP!"), where Monch throws out threats, insults, and obscene sexual references with lascivious glee. Internal Affairs might be chock-full of menacing new-skool guest stars--Busta Rhymes, Canibus, Method Man--but it's on the closing six-minute tear-up of "Simon Says" that Lady Luck really lowers the tone, spitting darkly about "bitches in the back like crack being cut up". Incisions that are hardly incisive--but it's all part of Pharoahe Monch's visceral gut-punch; the twisted, foreboding Internal Affairs will send you sprawling. -- Louis Pattison