couple years back, I did a show with Casual. In truth, it should have been a forgettable experience. He showed up hella late. He was hella weeded. He kept going on about where could he get more weed. He hardly said a word to any of my friends and myself. He was dressed in some nasty lookin' sweats. He rapped to a DAT. And when the show was done, he grabbed his money and bounced.

But in truth, I kinda liked dude.

Casual is a charming guy. He has a sly grin, like the one my boss' three-year old flashes when she thinks she's being sneaky, hiding her face behind her tiny hands as if each finger were the branch of some great oak, beaming down the darkest shade in which she escapes. It's the look of the louse lighting a match in the back of Lady Luck's slipper, the rogue without a cause, the soulful mischief. He's like a Grizzly Cheshire, just rooting around for a comfy place to chill.

So, outside of all the disorganization and delinquency of his personal life that day, Cas still left a favorable impression. He went up and dutifully performed his hits. During a mid-set lull, he opened up the mic to MCs in the audience. And, in a seemingly left-field gesture of camaraderie, he ended his set by inviting my friends' band up to "play with him" (i.e., jam something that he could freestyle over; admittedly, it seemed like his tape ran out of instrumentals). Proving himself an open-minded fellow, Cas took a shine to their fusion of latin, funk and heavy rock beats, and rocked the mic accordingly (in your eye, "Numb-Encore"). However, the stellar moment of the evening was when the big galoot stood waving his arms as if to conduct a crescendo out of the band's final fermata, just stretching that devil's grin of his. Taken by the moment, he capped off the encore by proclaiming, "This my new band!!" And it was in that spirit that he grabbed his money and bounced.

See, like Killa Cam, Casual just likes to have fun. And what anyone else thinks of that is really a lesser concern for him. Although he often ranks third or fourth fave in the Hieroglyphics hierarchy (doesn't anyone remember how much better he fared than his crewmates during their battle with Saafir on KMEL?), Cas has never demonstrated disdain for this ranking, at least on record. Instead, he has stayed his own course. Spittin' game and talkin' shit with a drawl as wide as a lion's yawn was enough for the youthful John Owens on his debut Fear Itself. Meanwhile... found the man-child contemplating life post-Jive and making it sound... all right. He was a team player on his clique's Third Eye Vision, providing pinch hits and assists, but otherwise allowing the stars to do the end zone jig. In the spirit of a true hustler he made a bid for wider acceptance, but instead turned out the uneven He Think He Raw; while Alchemist's glossy highlights helped place Cas in a new, non-Yay context, much of the record was compromised by cheap production that couldn’t decide if it was for dippin' or thinkin'.

This time Cas returns relaxed, refreshed and (finally) raw on the boisterously titled Smash Rockwell. Similar to He Think in terms of scope, but more consistent in terms of mood, Smash finds Cas riding a range of beats: from codeine-coated g-rides to fantasy backpacker anthems. While the title's (John) Holmesian evocation sets the record up for a wee disappointment, Cas sounds at home by enjoying himself.

Perhaps the reason for Casual's comfort lies in how the breadth of material accurately reflects his huggable thug nature. On one end, C. Owens appeals to emo undie angst by getting his rant on in "Rap Game," a riffy shuffler that could have found its way onto an early Souls of Mischief record. Center left are the clever bruisers, the "I Gotta (Get Down)" redux, the cuts that bang with both blunt force and dense verbosity. Like how J-Zone and Cas bless "Say That Then," a track stoopid busy with fat synth stomps and flittering key lilts that are ideal for the marshmallow mouth flow squealing, "You look like a Peeeeeiiiiimmmpp," as well as pealing off snaps like, "Record companies don’t want me on after they rapper / Cos, f'real, I make 'em look like Parappa the Rapper." Similarly, Bedrock beefs up "Smash Don't Hurt 'Em" with crunchy guitar squelches, hooting cellular tones and doo doo bass lines that pop up like Bop 'Em. Smash Rock Wellington? Just call him Cash Paddington. And next time get Ghost to co-host with the one most (t)huggable.

The most pleasant surprise comes at the complete opposite end of the spectrum where Casual both rhymes and produces on the Yay Area Ballers Convention, "OAKtown." The track's buck-naked beats and tweets are like a looping toast to honorees Richie Rich, Too $hort, EMAc and G Stack; and each guest returns the favor by championing their home of "the Super Bowl Raiders and the championship A's." Cas meanwhile blathers in the back blap dat dah dat dah dat, crumblin' 'erb, watching the speakers in slow mo. This is what it sounds like when a day goes right in the life of Cas.

Though Casual flosses pearly throughout, his enthusiasm often feels unnecessary. For example, Cas goes jackin' fo' rhyme styles on "Styles," but seldom breaks free from his internal monologue. Gems like "sneakers with the Prada speakers" can be found and nonsensical lines like "Encore zigga zigga Tajai dumb-dumb" reveal clever insider images, but the bulk of the verses are strictly notebook material. More often than not the problem with Smash is simply quality control. Automator's stock may be hot, but there's no defibrillator shock from "Critical," a b-side of looping string runs and an easy break. Female and male try to upturn the freaknik connotation of "Bitin' and Freakin'," but Psalm One and Cas fail to bring any funk themselves. Although the host has a grand time guiding the listener through fifteen statements, the audience can only share half the sentiment.

That said, it is still a pleasure to hear Casual being himself. When the grab-bag approach works, it certainly works to his advantage; from pimp strut to battlecat posturing, he gets to bake and taste the cake. So, don't call it a comeback; it's just another day in the life of...