Method Man & Redman - Blackout! 2

No seriously, you look great.

One means this every time, but it means "great" relative to age and wrinkles and gravity.

Method Man and Redman's new album sounds great. Perfect production; the sort of rabble-rousing, "Double Dragon" chemistry most rappers bunking together in crews can't formulate; mature pacing and minimal bullshit.

I love Method Man and Redman and I maintain Blackout 2's predecessor stands up as one of the 20th Century's last classic LPs right up with 2001's Apocalyptic g-funk, Em's come up and The Roots' most song-focused effort (all '99 releases). It's so good that it narrowly excuses the last decade's worth of career missteps. Narrowly.

Lest we forget Blackout was an arena album that allowed for "How High" and a minstrelsy Fox happy hour Bill O'Reilly had a hand in canning. The rising stars were mishandled, and the pair took hiatuses, shelved their stellar wax dynamics, re-emerged in late 2006, bitter and hungry with worthy material.

Point being, after a decade of teasing this thing, I'm not sure what to expect. There's a lot to snarl on the mic about in terms of personal perils, but it's all prize fighter braggadocio.

But the original appeal is this duo's ability to rap about rapping with Ali -level flair.

But it's been ten years!

But it's refreshing, throwback, in the pocket, money.

But Redman should realize bragging about making moves on MySpace is the weakest claim laid to wax since Rick Ross hit us with, "I got so many horses bitches call me 'Polo.'" You're supposed to have people handling your online ego to avoid frequenting that embarrassing armpit of humanity.

Then there's the imagery, firmly rooted in the '90s and name-checking the likes of Tone Loc, Foxy Brown, "Amistad," Allen Iverson like he was a relevant hoops figure, Chuck D, Hype Williams' polarizing directorial debut motion picture, "Belly," and about 20 Biggie name drops including played similes like "I'm big like Wallace."

Whatever, you're going to get on a jazz guitarist for varying the melodic minor scale? If BO2's legacy is to exist in a vacuum solely as a flagship album in the catalog of two kings, so be it.

Rather than base the weed appreciation song on a terrible Reggae sample, DJ Scratch's production for "Dis Iz 4 All My Smokers" is tall, brass-based, erected from a live crowd chant during a Red and Meth gig, and the emcees spice up his beat like no others can.

Redman's oft-pubbed love of bigger women is playfully but smoothly celebrated on "Mrs. International." Even its expository skit is funny and fitting and here both rappers reach a level of realness concerning 'hood romantic relationships neither has reached since the incredible D'Angelo sessions.

Bun B guests on "City Lights," and the coronating, cruise control royal exercise is credited as "featuring UGK" because it's so good and worthy of the defunct group's catalog. Probably.

Aside from Bun, the only other rapping stand ins are longtime Meth sidekick, Streetlife, Keith Murray, Ghostface Killah and Raekwon. The former two cremate "Four Minutes to Lockdown," a concept vehicle about cramming four flows into four minutes on DJ Kayslay's radio show so inmates can enjoy the entirety of the broadcast before, yup, lockdown. It's heavy, frantic, Ghost claims to be on acid, and the track is unreal.

It feels like Erick Sermon has gotten better or returned to form, but it's not that, I just forgot about him and his simple instrumentals sound refreshing again; ditto for Pete Rock.

Best of all is the disc's everpresent plea to be performed and interpreted before a willing audience.

I once read a stat in 2003 that I quote to this day: whether you're Madonna or Joe Budden, 90% of your income as a musician stems from the live show. The only exception is, say, Shaquille O'Neal, but Meth and Red seem to cement the trend. In Austin, Texas alone, the guys rocked five concerts from the fall of 2006 to the fall of 2008.

As a corollary, it's no coincidence big music's collapse hurts hip-hop most. The corner hustle of basement tapes slowly dies as barriers to functioning desktop PCs crumble, but so few recognize and cultivate their most prominent meal ticket as artists.

Redman and Method Man have been the game's best live performers (in tandem, there's no argument) for a minute. Their gigs are song-focused, crowd pleasing sweaty rundowns of their discographies complete with stage diving and community building. On BO2, the guys do each other's adlibs, attack cadences, line up chants meant for call and response, routinely sample their own shows and the energy never tapers off.

The old star system in rap is dead, but Method Man and Redman are busy headlining the underground.

- Ramon Ramirez