uinto Andar (Fifth Floor) are part of the grand tradition of the Rio de Janeiro/Nitoroi progressive hip-hop axis—an axis of fiendish creativity that includes such burgeoning talents as B-Negão, Black Alien and the warped hip-hop hybrid that is Rio Baile Funk. In contrast to the São Paulo hip-hop scene, which is dominated by the oppressive doomy gloomy sound of the periferia and favelas, the Rio scene seems to have a throw-everything-into-the-pot-and-see-what-happens attitude.

This young collective/crew (average age 23) most notably includes rapper De Leve who caused some ripples with his ode to slackerdom, “O Estilo foda-se.” But its with the help of the three other members of the group that Quinto Andar has created an album with a much more broad-minded and open-ended feel, mixing real instrumentation with the traditional loops and beats.

The album itself is dominated by light jazzy grooves, but is often rudely interrupted by snatches of TV, radio, and roughly sampled sounds. Much of this is helped out by the competent work of DJ Castro, who helps build many of the tracks to stunning climaxes, like “Vive pra server,” which is laden with gossamer harp-like samples throughout. On the other hand, “Montagem da bandeira” is a homage to Rio’s very own Baile funk, with its Miami booty break and horn stabs but then goes off into another universe completely, slowing down and distorting in a dreamlike manner.

Baile funk rears its (not so) ugly head once more on “Melô do Piratão” tackling the thorny problem of piracy in Brazil accompanied by a simplistic but catchy melody. As seems to be the norm with this disc, halfway through the track it changes direction completely into a tripped out loop with what seems to be antagonistic Brazilian rock star Lobão discussing radio payola—still a huge problem in Brazil, creating stagnant and irrelevant radio stations incapable of playing anything new or different.

From the cover depicting the police dumping thousands of pirated CDs to the album’s very title—“Piratão” literally translates as “big pirate”—Quinto Andar want to put the dilemma of piracy front and center. Piracy is rife in Brazil with something like 60% of CD sales being illegal copies. Throughout the CD, the collective address this problem: with prohibitively high CD prices in Brazil, how can the average person afford music? Why do the major (now just four) labels want to control what we listen to so much?

As the disc progresses it gradually winds down, dubs out, and really begins to experiment in the style of the first Mamelo Sound System album. Bob James’ “Angela,” otherwise known as the theme from Taxi,, is looped sublimely and languidly for “$$$” and in “Meu amor não me abondone” rattling dubby snares are augmented with light bossa strums and druggy Miles-Kind-of-Blue-era trumpet in a long drawn out finale.

If only more hip-hop albums were like this, unafraid to move away from the beats, loops, and rhymes (vicious) circle and go in search of the perfect groove.