While listening to Richy’s long-gestating debut album, Make Your Move (Old Age/No Age), I’m instantly reminded of a particular episode of the podcast Dogpatch. The now-defunct radio show, hosted by professional crate diggers Dante Carfagna and Joe Kirby, was an indispensable treasure trove of rare soul and funk and regional scenes. On the episode “Project Blown,” they showcased an hour of private press hip-hop culled from do-it-yourself wannabe superstars recorded on dual-cassette decks using dubs of beats from other tracks using dubs of beats, levels in the red.

True to the natural order of a Mike “Rep” Hummel–mixed album, things are going to get “lovingly fucked with.” Add some mastering and what I’m assuming is some playful subterfuge from Psychedelic Horseshit’s Matt Whitehurst, and you’ve got a pretty unique record. That’s not even mentioning the man at its center. Given the number of guises Richy has assumed as Columbus’ resident jack-of-all-trades, it’s amazing it’s taken this long to get a physical release from him. He’s been a magician (the Great Richini), an amateur boxer training with former heavyweight champ Buster Douglas, a sketch comedy creator, a student of the sitar and transcendental meditation, and a hip-hop provocateur. In addition to his last endeavor as frontman in A Beautiful View, he was most notably the drummer (with a cardboard box bass drum) for the aforementioned shitgaze pioneers, Psychedelic Horseshit.

This, however, is Rich Johnston, AKA Richy, honest and vulnerable, even when he’s taking the piss out of anyone who dares to listen to this thing. It’s quite the trip, unexpected even. He’s well aware of his status as the local Zelig and uses that to shock and surprise with a batch of songs that are the perfect soundtrack to a Columbus after-party (should you still be having them). And if we rewind to the glory days of the Columbus scene–let’s go back nearly 20 years–this is an album that would have sat comfortably between the Dolby Fuckers and Hugs and Kisses.

Yet, it’s something else entirely. Lo-fi psychedelic funk in the mode of early, early Funkadelic, broken reels on the floor of Sly’s studio, and again, back to those rare one-offs by regional superstars aping Stax with their Stacks label. “Love Grip” is a great summation of the strengths of this album. With an authentically funky bassline, wah-wah guitar mucking all around the ether, wild audial asteroids crossing through from left to right, layers of warped and woozy tape overlapping, and your host sounding half sincere and half in the other room, it’s nice to have fun listening to a record these days. It makes one yearn for the pseudo-funk of resident Kent weirdos Fuzzhead, a band that was years ahead of their time, even when they were mining crusty, hippie ideals.

“Highclass Soldier,” arguably the biggest lark on what could be considered a comedy record if you’re in the right frame of mind, is Richy doing a competent version of Gang Starr blown out to extremes. There has really never been this kind of attempt at four-track hip-hop in Columbus since Wicked Lung and the Wookalar. Elsewhere, there’s an aesthetic that’s equally human and fake. The lines between them are blurry and indifferent to both sides. I can hear everything from the Lynnfield Pioneers to A.R.E. Weapons to the Beastie Boys’ forays into full instrumentation.

By circumstance, this brings us back to Mr. Hummel, who has once again resurrected his heralded Old Age/No Age label to release this anomaly. Richy fits among the various V-3 releases and wild oddities like Creeper Ohio. There’s a thank you to Tommy Jay, Rep’s longtime partner in music who passed away in 2022, on the back cover, and that’s apt. Make Your Move burns on the same anti-matter that fueled his madcap pop. There are also definitely nods to Nudge Squidfish’s fanciful, paranoid pomp and Rep’s Midwestern sage sagas. In 2006, it was old legends getting inspiration and giving guidance to the Times New Vikings, Matt Horseshits, and Columbus Discount denizens in Columbus. That snowball has never stopped rolling down the hill, and somewhere on that hill Richy was supine with a Pall Mall clutched between his lips, ready to add to the legacy. We should be grateful for the snowball. Columbus (or the world in general) hasn’t given us much to chew that keeps this spirit alive, so we have to get it where we can.