Reviews

DJ Khaled - Victory

2010-03-09T14:18:44Z

1.5 out of 5
We The Best Music

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Throughout DJ Khaled's reprehensible, soul-crushing Victory he talks ad naseum about the hustle of life and what it takes to get to the top of the mountain. The question that immediately comes to mind is, "victory over what?" Is this bottle service for being named Def Jam South's President? It's safe to assume that Khaled and Co. have defeated something, but I can't figure it out. My best guess is good taste.

The affair kicks off with a spoken word intro wherein Khaled talks non-sense about being some sort of hip-hop savior, man of the people, historian of life and of the game. He rattles off a list of what victory means to him: a struggle, survival, journey of life, accomplishment. The irony of it all is that the album basically gathers everything that's bad about rap (cronyism, conflicting philosophies, Plies) and glamorizes it. Oh yeah, Diddy and Busta Rhymes stand in the background, spouting off quotes and thoughts in the vein of their classic '97 track, "Victory." It's abashedly generic and trite in the most insulting way. This moment tells you everything that you need to know about the album within its first two-and-a-half minutes. Then the guests line up around the recording booth.

The biggest offender has to be Rum's "Bringing Real Rap Back." He rails against ringtone rappers, bling rappers, and other fraudulent MCs, but doesn't offer one other thought. Good for Rum. He doesn't like "fakers," just like everybody else in the world. He uses his bars to drop insults repeatedly. Like a wild boxer, he throws too many punches and lands too few. The righteous recall is juxtaposed against tracks featuring Soulja Boy, Birdman, Jim Jones, and Nelly.

There are exactly two tracks on Victory that are worth the time it takes to listen to them. Nas and John Legend's pairing on the title track is standard fire. Nas is at his street-wise, street-poet best, while Legend's work on the chorus is a perfect compliment. The other great joint we heard in October: "Fed Up," a superstar posse track with Usher, Rick Ross, Young Jeezy, Drake, and Lil Wayne. The song has such a fun vibe to it that not even Rick Ross can gum up the works. These two songs feel like the artists working on them actually had something to say.

As a stand alone work Victory is bad, almost unrelentingly bad. That is to say, it's par for the course for a DJ Khaled joint. It features exactly two worthwhile tracks and a plethora of chest-thumbing from hacks that hip-hop fans can't stand. This makes me long of the days of Clue's "Professional" series and Funkmaster Flex's "60 Minutes of Funk." At least those guys could consistently get A-list roosters for their glorified, major label mixtapes.

- Eddie Strait

Freeway & Jake One - The Stimulus Package

2010-03-02T15:46:55Z

4.0 out of 5
Rhymesayers Entertainment

]]> left without a home. His bravado and throwback muscle, V8-style of rapping is instantly appealing and seldom dynamic. He goes hard. He spent December of 2008 releasing a song a day, a gesture specifically to hold down the proverbial streets. He's for the people.

Rhymesayers, the Minnesota-based independent label most known for spawning interest in emo rap acts like Atmosphere, understood this appeal and gave Free a good home. They built him an audience, matched him with an in-house producer best at channeling the signature Freeway snarl. They revitalized Freeway's pull by appealing to aforementioned aesthetics, packaging comeback LP, The Stimulus Package, like a collector's item, and letting their new starter bring back that '98 sound.

The Stimulus Package is the best hip-hop release of 2010.

Free will never be the wordy intellectual new labelmates like Blueprint or the dudes in Grayskul are, but his heart bleeds through every take. It's a spirit that allows for simple lyrics that only rhyme because their phrasing ends with the same words to resonate, shine:

"I'm on my 'hood shit, that bullshit."

"I'm on my Pac shit, that glock shit."

Again, it's Free's style that allows us to care about a song called "Microphone Killa." Rapping about rapping hasn't felt this on in a minute.

Jake One's standard soul bangers are in full effect, and while they lack the brimstone of a period wherein Freezer could count on consistent sonic booms from Just Blaze and Kanye West, they provide a calculated, satisfying attempt at recreating Freeway's natural environment: thumping soul, subtle bells and piano lines, big drums.

There's a few missteps, namely the snoozer with Birdman, "Follow My Moves," wherein Jake's template is a cheeky Cash Money circa 2000 tribute beat made sans required understanding of era, but the feel-good guest list makes up for occasional throwaway boasts like, "I am Puff Daddy bad." Beanie Sigel does the intro, Young Chris is refreshing, Bun B is reliably smooth, Raekwon's spot nets a premier song, "One Thing," a kiss off to informants, snitches, fakers.

Let's see, other standouts: "She Makes Me Feel Alright" is the 'hood love ode to the lady that helps you move weight during recessions, "Throw Your Hands Up" is the bombast siren that self-references title of album repeatedly in its hook, "Stimulus Outro" closes the record by detailing the manifesto and sweetly answering fan mail, "One Foot In" bangs the hardest.

Make no mistake, Freeway is a smart guy, but he doesn't over think great rap.

- Ramon Ramirez

Statik Selektah - 100 Proof: The Hangover

2010-02-10T19:56:26Z

4.0 out of 5
Brick Records

]]>
What's the current state of hip-hop?

A fair gauge of the landscape can be found on emerging beat ace Statik Selektah's top notch LP wherein an avalanche of b-team starters huddle together for warmth. Ah, the producer-cashes-in-a-favor posse album, a rap benchmark. Here we find weathered veterans still putting pen to paper (Souls of Mischief, Kool G Rap), newly independent, trusted names years removed from crossover fame (Styles P of The Lox, Freeway of The Roc, Lil Fame of M.O.P., Little Brother's North Carolina brethren, Evidence of Dilated Peoples, Royce Da 5'9'' of being Eminem's come up partner written out of history when Jay-Z paid for "Renegade," Bun B of UGK), borderline buzz/underling dudes (Wale, Consequence, Termanology, Saigon, Sean Price), assorted r&b vocalists for hooks and the requisite Talib Kweli feature.

By the way the hip-hop's first class can be found by checking the guest list of DJ Khaled's forthcoming blockbuster, Victory.

100 Proof: The Hangover carries no direct, unifying theme (rapper J.F.K. talks circles during an elegantly scored but otherwise pointless interlude that begins with cliché-to-the-nth-power opening line for spoken exchanges on rap skits, "a lot of people ask me...") but the good-natured, soul food comforting, delectable beats inspire benchmark performances. Also, the grim realities of hip-hop's current state (sorry) are evident in the skeptical future of these guest bars:

"We living like everyday urgent"
- Wale

"We do shit, like a rob a club with a pool stick"
- Saigon

"Too many vultures in it/I think Nas said 'Hip-hop is dead' because he couldn't see the culture in it"
- Styles P

So yeah, about that state: rap videos are dead, rap albums are dead, conscious rap is dead, power players are realigning, there's a chasm between Internet hype and tangible payoff, and there's three prime routes to carving out a niche: shows, focusing on digestible, short albums, combining forces. With this backdrop, 100 Proof feels celebratory, respectful, vital like hard liquor down your insides when it's cold.

"Wouldn't it be nice if the banks didn't fuck up the loans and people didn't have to move out they homes?"

That's a wide-eyed, vulnerable Bun B on opening track, "So Close, So Far," Selektah's beat is bright and hollow and the joint knocks. Lil Fame barks ferociously on two cuts; the North Carolina guys (Torae, Skyzoo, Pooh) kill it. Evidence and some dudes I'm not familiar with toast their home state of California on "The Coast." Termanology brings it on multiple songs. Freeway's "Night People" absolutely crushes with frantic, crazy drums and shimmering piano loops. Yeah, it's rap about rap over sped soul, but it's perfect.

Just listen to this project with the tracklist streaming in front of you and you'll have no problem distinguishing the voices.

- Ramon Ramirez

Blakroc - Blakroc

2009-12-09T00:48:19Z

3.0 out of 5

]]> It's good. Really, it is.

At this point, appreciation for post-Rage rap-rock has more or less amounted to a well documented abusive relationship; so much so that even the phrase "rap-rock" has become cringe-inducing - an instant punchline. One could be forgiven, therefore, for recoiling reflexively at the thought of the BlakRoc project - a collaboration between Akron, Ohio's celebrated blues revivalists The Black Keys and a stable of various Wu Tang alumni and purist rap icons - despite its creators' considerable pedigree. But there's nothing much cringe worthy or eye-roll inducing about the eccentric blues hip-hop of BlakRoc, which comes out perfectly listenable and intermittently worth writing home about.

In the 2002 Rolling Stone review for The Black Keys' debut album, The Big Come Up, Peter Relic observes "There's Wu-Tang Clan-schooled funk in drummer Patrick Carney's fatback beats." I'm not sure if that little tid-bit came from a label-provided press release, but it's a remarkable statement given the existence of this album seven years later. BlakRoc's greatest strength, in fact, is just how much Carney's production and Dan Auerbach's guitar hooks seem predestined to be run through by passionate and unorthodox emcees. Right out of the gate, a resurrected Ol' Dirty Bastard makes a soufflé out of "Coochie"'s grimey drum breaks and reverberating guitar licks, with a crunk-again Ludacris doing back-up for good measure. Next up, Mos Def is perfectly at home on the spiraling piano groove of "On the Vista," which could have easily been a B-side to his own recent adventure The Ecstatic. And Raekwon sticks to the contours of "Stay Off the Fuckin' Flowers" so well, you'd think the Keys members were just acting out a dream he once had.

The occasions when BlakRoc does begin to buckle under the strain of its many far-flung co-conspirators, come when rappers like Pharaohe Monch and Billy Danze of MOP give in to the beguiling urge to "rock out" that has plagued so many crossover attempts by otherwise sharp emcees. And despite the copious usage of kooky keyboards and organs apparently gleaned from their 2008 collaboration with Danger Mouse, Attack and Release, Auerbach and Carney just don't have a deep enough bag of tricks to keep this show fresh for 40 minutes.

Nevertheless, BlakRoc succeeds by hewing close to its collaborators' strengths and paring down excess where possible. It mostly avoids the fate of lesser "mash-ups" from dilettantes on both sides by deftly embracing common threads in both blues rock and hip-hop - namely love and loss. And at the end of the day, it's a lot fucking better than John Mayer.

- Reggie Ugwu

Kid Sister - Ultraviolet

2009-11-24T16:51:57Z

3.5 out of 5
Downtown Music

]]> Ultraviolet. Refined to its essence, her sound is fresh, unique and needs no gimmicks. This record has absolutely been worth the wait.

My two favorites of all the discoveries on this album are "Life on TV" and "Big N Bad." The former is a ridiculously fun song that perfectly captures one side of the Kid Sister persona. "Kick back with me/smile to the camera/don't tap your weave/or it's back to the factory": down-to-earth glamour and 90s fabulosity.

And "Big N Bad" reveals her other side: ruthless queen of the dancefloor. The track begins with only a hint of rave as Kid Sis tells you to "Rep yo' block, rep yo' clique, rep yo' spot," before the chorus blasts off into a freaky double-time of Chicago juke and UK house, perfectly rendered by Sinden and Hervé, who crafted this song as carefully as they do their own spotless releases. I can't even count the number of times I've listened to this song since buying the album.

Anyone who's seen Kid Sister live in the past couple of years has seen her perform "Let Me Bang," but the 2009 mix of this song, featured here, is a major and successful departure from its original versions. The slow-burn tempo gives Sis some space for magical verses about everyday life: final clearance sales, Sunday donuts and the particular realities of being an underground celebrity. ("Call me, call me bootleg/I sip on Kool-Aid/I'm pushin' that hoopty/But I'm stackin' that luche.")

"54321" brings back that UK house-y flavor that will have you jukin' in the mirror after school. Kid Sis and her team of incredible producers have found a way to make femme dance music that deals in serious bass but also holds its own at lower BPMs, unlike the essentially weak, Red Bull-induced radio jams we are used to hearing in the club.
"Get Fresh" and "You Ain't Really Down" were not my favorites, but certainly a few good rounds of internet DJ remixes could give them a second life. "Daydreaming" is my least favorite song on the album. However, a really good verse from Kid Sis comes in after the too-sugary start, and Cee-Lo makes a nice showing.

"Switchboard" is dance music at its best, and DJ Gant-Man is perfectly at home in this realm. The dance breaks are so intense that a relatively subdued pace is necessary for the rest of the song to permit human consumption. The irresistible calls to "Jerk, jerk, juke, juke" from Gant-Man are just as undeniable as André 3000's Polaroid picture in "Hey Ya."

While Kid Sis music is typically low on hateration, "Step," featuring Estelle, lays the smack on some sorry fool tryna hit. Sounding disgusted, she spits: "It's like, big pimpin you just met me, back it up, forget me," before dishing a fun kiss-off and coming back to the retro two-step chorus.

And what can really be said about "Pro Nails" that hasn't been said before? I think hearing this song reminds us why we all fell in love with Kid Sister in the first place, and reminds us that Kanye can be a decent human being as well. The video is one of the best I've ever witnessed.

Kid Sister is a perfectionist, and this album's thoughtful craft is proof positive. Because news of the album has progressively leaked over time, we've perhaps been desensitized to the incredible roll call of artists who contributed: Estelle, Kanye, Cee-Lo, Sinden, XXXchange, BOTH Macklovitch brothers (A-Track and Dave 1 of Chromeo), Hervé and Rusko... I'm sure I'm leaving someone out but the sheer quantity and quality of the talent on this record should convert anyone possibly still pondering its merit.

- Natalia Ciolko

50 Cent - Before I Self Destruct

2009-11-17T14:24:34Z

3.0 out of 5
Interscope / Shady / Aftermath

]]> Get Rich or Die Tryin'.

Awesome news since it means the new record is better than its two predecessors. The considerably less awesome news is that the new joint leaves fans with two important questions. First, why wasn't this album released alongside 2007's Curtis as Fif had originally intended? Second, and more concerning, why is he trying to be the same rapper that he was before he got rich?

Backed by gritty, grimy beats and ferocious raps, 50 spits murderous tales of street-life juxtaposed against graphic forays into his bedroom. If that feels familiar to you, it should. It's the exact same thing that he was doing on his debut album. Artistic growth is overrated.

There may not be much meat to the album, but there's plenty to enjoy. The Dre-produced "Death to My Enemies" is one of the most hilarious, brutal, and satirical tracks that 50 has made. 50 postures himself as the guy you can't and don't want to fuck with, lets you know on the chorus that he doesn't hesitate to "bring money" to those who "bring death to my enemies."

Speaking of enemies, it wouldn't be a party without at least one Game reference; "Disrespectful" delivers. The song is basically a laundry list of people that have crossed Fif's path. He saves the most venomous lines for his former West Coast co-hort and prodigy. Game may get the best of 50 lyrically, but 50 hits Game where he can't say anything, "I'm what you're never gon' be/ I'm in that tax bracket you're never gon' see." It harkens back to the LL Cool J/Canibus (remember him?) beef of a decade ago when Canibus put it best with, "you might got more cash than me, but you ain't got the skills to eat a (rapper's) ass like me."

If one thing has become clear since 50 burst on the scene, it's this: 50 is a better business man than he is a rapper. As such, he needs to adapt his content to his lifestyle. Jay-Z, Kanye West, and Eminem have all made fascinating tracks about how money has affected their lives. It may not be "street," but it's far more interesting than contrived, uninspired tracks like "Crime Wave" or "Gangsta's Delight" that are just as contrived and uninspired as their titles suggest.

Yet 50 shows hints of evolving by the end of the album. "Do You Think About Me?" deals with how women act toward him now that he's filthy rich. It's a brutally honest song that captures the paranoia and vulnerability the album's title infers. "Ok, You're Right" is a more aggressive take on the same topic, but sounds all the more potent over Dre's blaring horns. This is what he should be making in 2009.

- Eddie Strait

Wale - Attention Deficit

2009-11-17T07:41:56Z

4.0 out of 5
Allido / Interscope

]]> last living mass market mavens announced that a New School was in session, and ever since, we've all been hanging around the hallways waiting for the current class to earn its letters. Alas, such voyeurism has been less than satisfying. The rapper who started his career starring in an actual high school drama stole the show, leaving the rest of the gang upstaged by a free mixtape he originally dropped in a blog post. One-time buzz magnet Asher Roth showed up about as much as Ferris Bueller; Kid Cudi's space-themed party was more misfire than revelation; and Charles Hamilton got so high on his own supply that he crashed and burned before his record even had a chance to drop. Good thing, then, that Wale has always been the savvy one. Because Attention Deficit, his long-anticipated fourth quarter debut, turns out to be one of the best hip-hop releases of the year.

Those who have been paying attention have learned a lot about Wale's brand of hip-hop over the past couple years. We've gotten to know the D.C.-repping Nigerian-American on mostly home-run mixtapes like 100 Miles and Running, The Mixtape About Nothing and Back to the Feature. All the hallmarks of those releases: the gogo samples, the slick, percussive bounce, the empathic mile-in-your-shoes narratives - show up on his first album in well refined and magnified style. You'd almost think he'd studied a manual for How to Make it as a Rapper in the Internet Age: a) Tease your audience; b) Build your name and resources; c) Keep your head low; d) DELIVER.

And his diligence pays off. From the opening blare of the horn-propelled, Dave Sitek produced "Triumph," the mind set of Attention Deficit's author seems to be more or less the opposite of the one telegraphed in the album's title: In control. The opener segues into the surefire rags-to-riches anthem "Mama Told Me," which is followed by a Bun B featuring Mark Ronson joint and the up-all-night pleasures of "Pretty Girls." By the time you reach the Tribe Called Quest shoutout on "World Tour," Wale's influences, personal profile and career trajectory have already been checked and re-checked to satisfaction, like items on a long-held to-do list.

Still, Attention Deficit manages to be both imperfect and refreshing. The first and most egregious misstep arrives in the grating and ill-fated Pharell collab for the ladies, "Let it Loose." Another hits right after with the saccharine, material-girl-in-distress mush of "90210." But the album rekindles its soul-infused glory beginning with "Shades," where Wale points his conscious rapper rhymes toward the niche, but personal subject of the color complex to the tune of a killer cameo from Chrisette Michelle.

More guest appearances shine on the unimaginatively titled, second TV On The Radio-assisted track "TV in the Radio" and the new Roc Nation anthem "Beautiful Bliss," where K'naan and J. Cole respectively demolish their podiums like polemical politicians. "I've been on more red carpets than Ryan Seacrest," K'naan boasts. "Fat rhymes every time, bitch, Roseanne Bars," Wale retorts. "Diary" fares better than its predecessors in the girls department, floating on a hypnotic beat and featuring more focused lyricism that spills into spoken word. And from "Mama Told Me" to the jazz flute inflected closer "Prescription," in-house wunderkind Best Kept Secret is rewarded for producing all those free mixtapes; here he plays the Just Blaze to Wale's Jay and sets the tone for the album more than any of its many contributors.

A lot has been made of the "post-Kanye" generation of rappers, but consider for a moment what it must have been like to forge your entire career in the wake of Nas's callow, genre-dividing 2006 opus. "Hip-hop's dead, that's what Nas said to me," rhymes Wale early on in the record. And in that line is the angst and pressure of his promise, the outline of his mission. Attention Deficit is indeed a triumph, embracing the lineage of hip-hop's forbears while bearing the flag, the youthful confidence and eclecticism of the new generation. It's an arrival we can all celebrate.

- Reggie Ugwu

Saigon - Warning Shots 2

2009-10-26T17:27:22Z

2.5 out of 5
KR Urban

]]> Greatest Story Never Told? One of the best albums of the past 20 years.

In lieu of having the debut to judge for ourselves, Saigon has just released Warning Shots 2, which is the self-proclaimed "prequel to my classic Greatest Story Never Told." The album features enough clever wordplay and meaningful songs to make the listener buy into the hype around Saigon. It opens with a trio of tracks ("Nothing Comes Easy", "That's Not What's Up", "Fatherhood") to the tune of laid-back, soulful beats with introspective, insightful lyrics that touch on becoming a father, the state of the rap game, and the world beyond hip-hop. It's the kind of rapping that sets Saigon apart from many of his up-and-coming peers.

The problems begin when he lets derivative and generic songs into the mix. "Cookies and Milk" and "For Some P*ssy" (which inexplicably appears in two incarnations) are the kind of songs that wouldn't be out of place on a Souljah Boi album. Here they just clutter up the flow and stand out for all the wrong reasons. Saigon's skills don't lend themselves well to weaksauce confessions of love for various women. Hearing him neigh the word "broads" like a hip-hop Mr. Ed is almost physically painful. He should leave the ladies man jams to Drake or Mike Posner.

Thankfully, the album does get back on track after that brief detour in uncomfortable misogyny. Saigon sharpens his focus and sprints to the finish line. He rips through bouncy beats ("Copping Pleas," "Be On Time"), relentless, horn-infused tracks ("Rusty Gunz"), and a beat or two that wouldn't be out of place on Dr. Dre record ("Who Can Get Busy"). The album-capper "Gotta Believe It" paints Saigon as a vulnerable, anxious man facing fatherhood, street life, and the record industry. This unexpectedly humble side is refreshing because of its honesty. It's far and away the best track on the album.

Shots 2 may not be a great album. It isn't even the most creative or interesting Saigon release this year (that would be the gimmicky but well done All in a Day's Work). But it succeeds in simultaneously sating and whetting appetites for his proper debut. Here's hoping we're still not waiting four years from now.

- Eddie Strait

Ghostface Killah - Ghostdini: The Wizard of Poetry in Emerald City

2009-09-29T18:16:45Z

4.0 out of 5
Def Jam

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Ghost LPs are instantly likable, worth studying, a Sam's Club load of material. They're either amazing (Iron Man, Clientele, Pretty Toney) or mostly amazing but plagued with inconsistency (Bulletproof Wallets, More Fish, Big Doe Rehab). I'd argue 2006's Fishscale is his best album; all are worth stashing.

With apologies to street classics like "Apollo Kids" and "Yolanda's House," I haven't listened to a Ghost song more than "Back Like That," the failed jab at radio with Ne-Yo about cheating lovers and revenge and sparkling piano lines and a towering R&B hook and an even better winter '06 remix with Kanye West. Something about enjoying Tony Starks' grizzly attacks juxtaposed with baby-making music gets me.

Fittingly, Kanye's overlooked guest spot resurfaces as a bonus on Ghostdini: The Wizard of Poetry in Emerald City, a brilliant collection of songs that work masterfully because, a) they're delectable ear candy vitalized by Ghost's mature themes, b) Ghost's raps are stellar, c) they draw from "Back Like That's" founding structure.

And if you're moaning the fact a remix over three years old already stuffed at the end of More Fish is attached to another solo Ghost LP with obvious, Kanye-as-a-selling-point goals, there's artistic justification.

On Ghostdini, our hero is considerably more straightforward: he wants a wife to oversee his fortunes ("Not Your Average Girl"), he's excited about fatherhood and the prospects of more babies ("Baby"), he's got a Jones for pregnant women ("Paragraphs of Love") and generally, he's lamenting his infidelity ("Do Over") and wants consistent, raw, sex (every other song).

Pushing 40, this makes perfect sense. But no other '90s rapper still standing could pull off such TMI lines about the effects of Diabetes on his libido ("If my sugar high, my dick don't get up"); such revealing, sad cries ("Will you cook for me?"); such archaic, misogynist pleas ("I want you in boy shorts around the house"). Moreover, Ghost's mid-life crisis mosaic is a concise, well-paced, high concept vehicle.

Props are in order to the cast of crooners - Estelle, Raheem "Radio" DeVaugh, Jack Knight, John Legend, Lloyd and especially Vaughn Anthony on the "Paragraphs" hook. They fuel Ghostdini: The Wizard of Poetry in Emerald City beyond the guys night out immaturity of early leaks like the don't-ever-play-this-on-your-work-computer epic, "Stapleton Sex."

The R&B production almost purposefully storms into redundant, candy gloss clichés. But songs like "I'll Be That" featuring nondescript Ashanti wannabe, Adrienne Bailon, revel in the iconography of the style to hilariously hammer home how badly Tony Starks wants a King vixen as a bride. The samples are worn within the genre but by repeatedly draping himself in the comfort soul of his childhood, Ghost opens up about the paisley pajamas he got from St. Thomas.

Admittedly, there are curious loose ends.

There's zero evocation of "Emerald City" or "Ghostdini" or "The Wizard of Poetry" anywhere in the album. There's a terrible Ron Browz-Autotune bonus cut. The cinematic moments don't exist beyond their allotted minutes and leave respective tales unfinished. But this is what makes every Ghost album great, I mean did we ever find out what happened after Frank got shot in "Shakey Dog?" Or who Frank was?

Ghost gets guests to play along, likely this work's crowning achievement. Fabolous as a cable man who creeps with Ghost's woman in Ghost's guesthouse. Ghost walks in, flips out and shoots him. English starlet Estelle as a pregnant women named Gaby due in January, getting married on Christmas, who is only "kinda happy," whom Ghost offers sautéed shrimp and openly pines for.

The above number, "Paragraphs of Love," is a torrent of rushing synthesizers warmly wrapped in glorious melodrama that breaks into a heart-stopping, serendipitously included chorus. It's incredible.

- Ramon Ramirez

Kid Cudi - Man on the Moon: The End of Day

2009-09-16T15:21:45Z

2.5 out of 5
G.O.O.D. / Universal Motown

]]> a purely quixotic figure who makes only tangential gestures toward the foundations of the genre, yet is embraced as one of its most popular new stars. And it has been a long road to get here. Anyone well versed in the discographies of rap's most tireless mainstream innovators (people like Andre 3000, Mos Def, Common, Q-Tip, Pharell and Kanye West) can attest to the hit-or-miss history of experimental hip-hop... as well as the accompanying backlash that usually whips its purveyors back into (a more traditional) place. But Cudi is of an entirely different generation, a simple fact that has helped him tremendously but also hurt him in some ways.

Sonically and conceptually, Man on the Moon: The End of Day is a peculiar, unruly animal. Electronic music is clearly where the kid's heart is, and a fondness for dreamy guitar and piano pop, as well as a particular strain of synth and percussion-heavy hip-hop, are all on display. The last album made by Cudi's Big Brother and label-boss is the obvious touchstone for songs like "Soundtrack 2 My Life," "Heart of a Lion" and "Sky Might Fall" (one of two tracks Kanye actually produced); but Cudi will have you know that he is also heavily influenced by artists many hip-hop fans may not have heard of, namely the somewhat bombastic electronica musicians Shiny Toy Guns and Ratatat (the latter of which also produces two songs). And ultimately, it's with this general sense of show-and-tell ("Look how eclectic I am!") that the album begins to grate and reveal its shallowness, despite all the ostensible layers.

On the backs of a few influential artists with huge fanbases, hip-hop has come to a place where rappers can have successful careers based not on rapping prowess, but on a cult of personality. The crop of the last two years is largely a cipher-shy set with carefully curated fashion, musical, and pop-culture associations. The fact that the genre has become a bigger, more inclusive tent is surely a good thing, not to mention overdue, but this particular new model is not without its pitfalls, and its sustainability is not at all assured (just ask The Cool Kids).

Cudi himself doesn't actually have anything interesting to say. It's a problem brought into hilarious focus by Common's dense, overwrought and finally incoherent "story" narration on the handful of tracks where he makes cameos. Where his predecessors had years of hard-fought, soul-bearing and intensely lyrical hip-hop under their belts before they branched out to indulge more fantastical visions, Cudi is like an actor who skipped to the end of the movie - feigning revelations that it's hard to empathize with or believe in.

Really he's just a navel gazer - first in a particular school of notebook-doodling outcasts ("no, not the duo") with a treasured anime collection, rolling papers and well-worn copies of Meteora and In My Mind. A certain kind of fan loves him for this, but there's no denying the inherent vanity of even the song titles ("Soundtrack 2 My Life," "Cudi Zone" "My World" "Heart of a Lion (Cudi Theme Music)") or the seventh grade confessionals and vague isolation/rebellion that comprise their lyrics - no matter how cool the beats sound.

Excepting the Love Below-lite of "Enter Galactic (Love Connection part 1)," the last half is considerably better than the first. Highlights include the latest single "Pursuit of Happiness" and "Hyyer," which are invigorated by MGMT and Cudi's buddy Chip the Ripper respectively. But for all the artistic claims of its "five-act play" format, Man on the Moon's tepid pastiche mostly adds up to the audio version of a "15 Things" note on Facebook. Hopefully the Kid gets a chance to grow up.

- Reggie Ugwu

Jay-Z - The Blueprint 3

2009-09-08T15:10:09Z

3.0 out of 5
Roc Nation

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There's missteps galore; suspect taste involved in beat and guest selection; atrocious lead singles; a general lack of genre vitality due to inescapable preconditions like its creator's vast wealth, topic exhaustion, and suspect visions from producers Timbaland and Kanye West.

If you've spent hours debating Jay's discography with friends, this bottom line is a bummer. Jay-Z makes classics. He may or may not the best rapper of all-time, but he's unquestionably dwarfed Biggie, Pac, Nas, Andre, Rakim, Big Daddy Kane, everyone, in quality output. Has since '01.

Reasonable Doubt. Volume 2: Hard Knock Life. The Blueprint. The Black Album. American Gangster. My appraisal accounts for five, five-star, mind-consuming LPs.

His second tier of releases is perhaps most engaging years later. There's waves of quality and value and charming filler in ultimately hit or miss albums like In My Lifetime and The Dynasty. We attach gems like "This Can't Be Life" and "Snoopy Track" and the first three cuts from Kingdom Come to instantly better playlists. We seasonally return to these meaty albums to scavenge songs, lines, to remember by-gone rappers like Sauce Money.

Tier two is Blueprint 3's final resting place. This despite cynical haters bitter at its existence. Anyone drawing the Jordan as a Wizard parallel needs to remember that Jay-Z's mind is monstrous and, when he hits the right pockets, flows are fire. Study the Gangster bars and tell me he won't retain relevance in his forties.

Admittedly, BP3 has lots of bullshit.

The cover art itself (a collage of instruments intended to represent Jay's path to crafting an album out of live arrangements and expansive production) is a flat yet defining statement. This is the first Jay album not to feature Jay-Z looking hard on the cover. Conversely, this is one of Jay's most guest-heavy vehicles and one wherein he's perfectly content letting the moment speak for itself.

In other words, this is the first Jay-Z album where all channels and bright spots don't necessarily lead through Jay-Z. Even the crew-promoting, Dynasty-partying Hova wouldn't harbor so much material outside his wheelhouse of nurturing thoughts. He's cool letting his investments and disciples do their thing while he reaps glory.

And, like, I get J. Cole is the first artist signed to Roc Nation, but a newly nabbed deal warrants him a verse on Blueprint motherfucking 3? The Cole collab, "A Star Is Born," is literally a rundown of rappers Jay-Z is a fan of; "Clap for 'em," he clamors on the hook. The song itself is alright, but it's a corner office victory lap anthem segued between many corner office victory lap anthems.

Flavors of the moment Mr. Hudson and Drake sing lame hooks and make horrid songs; Timbaland phones it in; Kanye brings his 808s leftovers and we get dry, moderately passable results. I ultimately blame Kanye for this poorly realized, incomplete vision.

Repeatedly, Jay talks about a "new classic," about making relevant music for advanced minds and thereby vaulting hip-hop past its immature phases. He talks about his responsibility to hip-hop. He talks about looking to the booming indie rock scenes thriving in gentrified urban centers for examples of positive music practices. He's inspired by the renaissance of multi-ethnic Brooklyn neighborhoods run over with creative white people.

The banging but lyrically hollow "D.O.A." reflects said passion. Ditto for the aforementioned Drake disaster, "Off That," the J.U.S.T.I.C.E.-sampling, Swizzy-redeeming "On to the Next One" and delectable, vintage Neptunes-circa-2003 throwback, "So Ambitious."

Within the futile frontlines for tomorrow, it's Hov relaxing and brandishing hardware. This chill state of mind makes for the best music because a) it runs back the playful, loose form of the first Blueprint, b) Jay-Z bragging ("I can make a Yankee hat more famous than a Yankee can") is the best Jay-Z, c) his avante garde, fashion forward, MGMT-big upping, oft-ridiculed sophistafunk vision of rap's future blows.

"Thank You" is a minimalist, smooth Kanye throwaway (here "throwaway" refers to the sticky as hell, simple beats 'Ye blinks up that recall '90s bumpers like Camp Lo's "Luchini") over which Jigga rattles off asides about attending boxing matches and waving from varying, private boxes.

"Empire State of Mind" is a blissful, towering wave of New York City love that finds Alicia Keys destroying a triumphant hook and Jay dropping inspired, honest, perfectly melodramatic raps about Dominicans and McDonald's.

The orchestral, lushly accented Kid Cudi song is gorgeously detailed. The album's intro is fierce. "Reminder" is furious and focused and Timbaland siphons just the right amount of bitterness from his longtime client. Also, the Jeezy cut goes hard.

When Jay-Z's business connections get clogged in his process (still not over J. Cole's presence), that savvy ceo-mind of his clouds the music. When Jay-Z celebrates, we're happy to ride along.

It's Tuesday evening on a Hova release date, 6:58 P.M. CST, this is the longest I've gone without copping a new Jay album. Off to Best Buy.

- Ramon Ramirez

Fabolous - Loso's Way

2009-08-26T17:47:04Z

3.0 out of 5
Def Jam

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As a fan, you knew where you stood - which new artists to check for and what paraphernalia to rep. Posse albums actually went hard and sold well, Ryde or Die volumes one and two in particular still being worthy of dusting off every now and then. Today of course, every one of those empires has crumbled, their figureheads lost or buried by turf wars, financial fiascos, the government and the unkind passage of time. It's no wonder that the midsize stars and demigods that have emerged in their place have been free agents, self-interested and charismatic hustlers like Young Jeezy, T.I., Rick Ross, and don't forget Fabolous.

"No Diddy, no Dupri, no Dr. Dre/ No cash money from Baby and no roc from Jay," Fab barks on the stereotypical but arrestingly aggressive intro to "Loso's Way." He's still here, he tells us, despite the conspicuous disappearance of the industry heavyweights who used to back him, specifically the unmentioned DJ Clue and the Neptunes. Loso's Way is about making it on your own, a big quasi-blockbuster album that splits the difference between the tent-pole affairs of the past and the stark realities of the present. Excluding the new wave self starter Ryan Leslie, there are practically no big name producers on the entire 16 tracks. Yet the album is punctuated with all the signifiers of the landmark epics of old - the big-dick declaration in "Feel Like I'm Back," the gutter posse cut in "There He Go," the conflicted rumination in "Pachanga," and the monster R&B singles in "Throw it in the Bag" and "Everything, Everyday, Everywhere," featuring that genre's two most talented upstarts, The-Dream and Keri Hilson. Hell, he even shelled out the 10 cent going rate for a Weezy hook.

Thankfully, Fab has been gifted with a genuinely top-tier punch-line game ("I know what I'ma tell her, the same thing that the bank robber told the teller, 'Just throw it in the bag.'" And "Who are you to tell me how to conduct myself? Why don't you practice safe sex and go fuck yourself" are just two snappy examples) that he deploys liberally and buoys the album above the typical genre conventions he so thoroughly embraces.

Even amidst an insurmountable wave of new artists and mixtapes, Loso's Way manages to command attention, repeated listens, even, harkening back to the days when your favorite artists were everyone else's, too. With no posses or bosses, Fab deserves all the credit.

- Reggie Ugwu

Slaughterhouse - S/T

2009-08-25T14:42:52Z

Koch
2.5 out of 5

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Royce Da 5'9'': B-
The most accomplished, best rapper of the group comes strong, but also hollow with his simile game. (You'll die hard like Bruce Willis? Goodness.) He also spits "pray to your lyrical lord" with a straight face.

Crooked I: B+
Hungry verses and acrobatic delivery, provides the first rewind-ready, ohhh snap 16 three songs into the album on the Alchemist-produced, "Microphone." Like pot shots at new school emcees in skinny jeans. Especially "you rappers lookin' like you finna sing 'Billie Jean.'"

However, Mr. I embellishes in the whole, "I'll rape you, shoot you, fuck your ass up....verbally" narrative device and it's played.

Joell Ortiz: C-
Some rapid fire flow and lots of anger, but nothing special. Also, I don't care for his voice. Lispy. Mushy. Tries too hard to be hard.

Joe Budden: B
Paranoia, bars, creative direction. Fuses own beefs and perils with group's and repeatedly manifests said issues into album's agenda, M.O. Most ambitious member of crew and he admittedly has cojones: no matter how much he plays down the Jay-Z contempt nowadays, you cannot drop lines as literal as "there's too many blueprints" and not raise eyebrows.

It's a given super groups fail; it's understood the Slaughterhouse rappers' pent up alpha aggression would result in tongue-lashings and dark imagery; that the production would be mostly minimalist and mood-driven and with those throwback piano loops; that each song would be near the five-minute mark to accommodate four stuffy verses.

Ultimately, hip-hop heads were hoping for a beatdown of rhymes aimed at corny talent and evil labels; a flagship moment in the year of the middle-aged rapper where we rejoice at the return of the menacing posse cut.

And long story short, this album starts off kinda tight, gets really shitty, redeems itself at the end with some bromance-induced industry introspection.

Reportedly recorded in six days, the best Slaughterhouse moments occur when we feel the tongue-in-cheek playfulness, camaraderie and fun our boys are feeding on: "Onslaught 2" annihilates its mixtape predecessor, "Sound Off" is a boastful, hilarious intro that knocks, "Cut You Loose" is honest and believable, "In the Mind of Madness" is an advanced, smart skit.

A spiraling sound collage of Budden snippets, it contrasts the rapper's brain on and off his meds and I haven't heard a skit this good since Busta Rhymes' heyday. Problem is, the other two skits are self-congratulatory voicemails. Again, played devices.

Slaughterhouse proves itself an unbearable pissing contest between circumstantial folk heroes. If "Pump it Up" had led to more hits, I doubt this project ever occurs because Budden is too busy relishing in his role as a blissful cog in the marketing machine he loves to protest.

Or maybe I'm wrong. Whatever. Blueprint 3's leaks have been downers, maybe Slaughterhouse will get the last laugh.

- Ramon Ramirez

Freeway - Philadelphia Freeway 2

2009-05-21T03:06:56Z

Real Talk Ent.
3.0 out of 5

]]> The Dynasty and the first Philadelphia Freeway album - chewed him up, shat him out and never looked back. At this point, you probably have uncles with more bank than him. So what does he do? He calls the Stouffer's guy, that's what. And then he gets back to work.

Philadelphia Freeway 2 is kind of a misnomer. Free's third album, financed by pseudo-shady, bottom-of-the-barrel distributors Real Talk Entertainment, doesn't really sound anything like its predecessor, which had more production credits from one-time tag-team Just Blaze and Kanye West than The Blueprint. Those guys have abandoned him, and it's true that the album suffers in some ways from their absence. In other ways, though, Freeway's resilience almost makes it all work out. He's as focused as ever, and wisely targets this batch of songs at both gangsters and academics who are sympathetic to motifs of ghetto glory.

There are tracks here called "Crack Rap," "Murda Music" and "The Nation," and the majority of them have enough charisma and D.I.Y. potency to warrant repeated listens. "Saddam Hussein of the rap game/ gotz to be the bomb!" goes the thug-motivational chorus of "Gotz 2 be tha Bomb." And like fellow underdog Ghostface Killah, his vocals have such a go-for-broke vitality it sounds like someone's gonna literally cut his lights off if he stops flowing.

Free was never going to be big like his mentor Jay-Z, or 50 Cent for that matter, whom he partnered with on 2007's superior comeback album Free At Last. As he himself once observed, he's simply too gutter. But even when the majority of his B and C level peers are failing and falling away, Freeway keeps working. From the sound of it, it's clear he's got more left to give.

- Reggie Ugwu

Method Man & Redman - Blackout! 2

2009-05-20T20:00:21Z

Def Jam

4.0 out of 5

]]> 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