Straight Bangin': Music for a Monday: Sorting Some Things Out

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It's been a wild month: Jay-Z. Nas.

Ghostface. Snoop Dogg. The Game.

Young Jeezy. Jim Jones twice. New records all around.

Christ, even mixtape-circuit all-stars like Papoose and Saigon have dropped "albums." Oh, and , too. How are we ever to sort it all out?

Well, the best place to start is probably by doing away with the worthless. Ignore what your Pitchfork friends say. (see: comment #3)--and by the way, you should be reading everyday, as dude is among the most perceptive and articulate bloggers you'll ever find--a guy like Tom Breihan "festishizes all the worst elements of rap," a disappointing truth given that he and his cadre of newjack taste-makers (the Ryan Dombals and Sean Fennesseys et al.

of this world) seem to be taking over music criticism. (Not that Kelefa Sanneh is much better, of course, but that just sort of proves the point. *sigh*) Want to know why the ascendancy of crappy hip-hop has become an accepted reality?

Dudes like Dombal are giving Young Jeezy records good grades in Entertainment Weekly. That, and the fact that 50 Cent still makes the needle move more than anyone whose name isn't an homage to two subway lines, should tell you everything you need to know about why so many hip-hop albums suck and why they continue to be made.

I guess this is my way of saying that "fuck whatcha heard" is applicable if you're seeking out an impression of the new Jeezy record.

It blows. On the whole, the production is more of that hollow, southern synthesizer-and-computer shit that hasn't sounded all that new in more than five years (word: think back to when Cash Money first came through..

..) I commonly see this style referred to as "bombastic"--you know, because it's a busy sound centered around the awe-inspiring narrative of selling drugs and worshiping money--but that seems like a hipster's hopeless and self-reverent attempt to project a noble bravura onto what is, rather, a cacophonous melange of stale musical ideas, lame rhymes, and the ever nebulous "personality," here defined as a series of raspy whining.

If only porn stars could become the subject of your favorite pretentious writer's annoying fetish--imagine the kind words we'd read about those passionate, nimble performances, the earnest meaning conveyed by those lovable moans. Oh that Jeezy; oh that Jenna. Give me a fucking break.

This record, The Inspiration: Thug Motivation 102, also loses points for containing the single worst song of the year, the opening "Hypnotize." In a way, it's sublime sequencing, as it perfectly forecasts what's to come.

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Oh, and about those lame rhymes--taken from "Streets on Lock":

These n***as just hatin'
Talkin' 'bout shit
I'm a grown-ass man
I flip my own bricks
I don't need your help
I can hold my own dick
Ain't no motherfucker helped me write my rhymes
Ain't nann n***a paid for my studio time
See me at the top and wanna claim my fame
N***a took my chain
Yeah motherfuckin' right
You betta off sayin' a n***a took my life
You wanna assassinate my character
But I ain't actin'
It ain't addin' up so you n***as subtractin'
Big said it first
Mo' money, mo' problems
The way I see it
Mo' problems, mo' money

, and I remain convinced that it is a good-but-not-great record that suffers from both awkward beats that fall far short of exciting creativity and the somewhat repetitive content. The Clipse own most other dope-boy rappers as lyricists, but if I wanted to hear about Pyrex endlessly, I'd ask for measuring-cup help at Williams-Sonoma. My dissent--when set in relief of (legendary mixtapes?

That's embarrassing)--is not a plea for sunshine-all-around positivity or anything like that. I just don't find the Clipse's celebration of the grim to be all that fascinating.

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The Clipse put out a real album, though, unlike the fetid mess that you get when you pop in your Hell Rell tape.

So skip that. And give the Pap (Fourth-Quarter Assassin) and Saigon (Return of the Yardfather) tapes a listen while wondering: a) why neither one of them can put out a proper record; b) why both seem to always fall a little short of really putting it all together. Saigon can't write hooks; Papoose can't rap but one way; Saigon's beats get corny; Papoose's beats get boring--it's always something.

The way to go might to be selling drugs, though. I mean, there is some bizarre method to the Dip Set madness if Jim Jones can put out another forgettable solo joint and a Christmas record. You know how Cam'ron says that he "gets moneeeeey" and is "surrounded by moneeeeey" on , "Y'all Can't Live His Life"?

Well, now we know what they do with all that moneeeeey: They spend it on studio time making their corny-ass fantasies into realities, replete with raps about the usual battery of street topics. A Dipset XMas has it all: There's the wince-inducing R B version of Paul McCartney's "Wonderful Christmas Time"; some kind of triumphant reminiscence about the hard times coming up, set to a beat that Papoose used for a song about Hurricane Katrina; a tragic interpolation of Run-DMC's "Christmas in Hollis"; and all reference hell breaks loose during the opening of "Hood Side of Things," as Jones asks the Lord to forgive "us," declares the ensuing tail to be about a "little drummer boy," identifies that boy as representing one chapter in the big city which is a novel filled with 8 million stories (that's not bad English, that's a description of the intro), and asks the listeners to envision a tale of a soldier who's a born leader but doesn't know the strength of his own power. *Catches his breath* Oh, and did I mention that there is yet another repackaging of the only marginally good idea Jones has had all year?

Yup, you guessed it: Baaaaaalliiiiiiiin'...

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And with that, we've concluded the shitty-album portion of this r--wait, sorry. Forgot to mention Jay's record. A lot's been written about Kingdom Come.

Count me . But I haven't been impressed . We get it: you're a CEO; you can actually afford the things that most rappers lie about; and you think you're better than everyone else.

Scintillating. Same for Snoop, kind of. I just can't seem to summon much interest anymore.

Anyone else feeling like that?

You know what does capture me? The new Ghostface, of course.

For the record, Ghostface has dropped two of the five best records of the year while nearly everyone else of consequence has sort of fallen short or sucked. Just sayin'..

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There's a track on More Fish, "Outta Town Shit," that helps encapsulate why Ghostface is one of the greatest MCs of all time and easily my favorite solo artist. "Outta Town" really isn't anything special: not a great song, not even among the top few on More Fish.

It's got this lazy, ambling, quasi-cheery piano loop that calls to mind the filler music of an old cartoon--the sort that might be played as an unseen narrator said something like, "Meanwhile, on a regular Tuesday in the big city...

." Most MCs wouldn't do a good job with this beat; someone like 50 Cent, for instance, would have no clue of what to say. It's not nearly dramatic enough for his gangsterism, not really engaging enough for his simple party raps, and far from the formulaic mood music that gets wasted with that crappy "emotional" shit that he and his cronies spit when they're trying to get girlfriends.

It would confound a lot of rappers, even a gifted story teller like Nas, who could handle the tempo (think of all the casually paced songs on Illmatic) but might struggle with the overall sound, which is far softer and more innocuous than that which tends to suit Mr. Jones. But for Ghost, it's not a problem, as he strings together these two dense, gripping verses about criminality that make you forget what else is going on.

As you focus on the lyrics, trying to fully appreciate the detail-rich exposition, you lose track of the music, the time--it's just you figuratively sitting at Ghost's feet as he spits.

And that is a flattering measure of his skills: how many other MCs can flow so well that the beats cease to matter? How many others can so easily make their rhymes fit just about any beat you pick?

Rakim comes to mind, and there are few others. "Outta Town," for me, is especially resonant when considered among the other songs that comprise More Fish: the unrelenting "Gun 'N Razors" that MF Doom fans know as "Fig Leaf Bi Carbonate" or "Dragon's Blood"; the groupie air-out "Greedy Bitches"; the cautionary R B tale "Josephine"; the dream-like "Alex"--like Fishscale, More Fish is a wide array of hip-hop styles, and Ghost excels at pretty much all of them. Lyrically, this isn't his strongest album, and there is a little too much Theodore Unit (Shawn Wigs's "Pokerface" might be the corniest non-Diplomat song of the year), but it's yet another captivating album from the real King of New York (and hip-hop for that matter).

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I suppose that Nas would also claim King status, but sadly, I think we're past that at this point. While he may (and please note that "may" is a word that expresses potential without absolute certainty) qualify as a better writer than Jay, a successor to Biggie, a god-body storyteller, and a number of other distinctions, he doesn't make great albums. It's just a fact.

Not that everyone else is showing up at the studio and pumping out 15 tracks worth of classic material, but there are too many forgettable (regrettable?) tracks on too many Nas albums. He remains capable of a vicious flow, insightful rhymes, and a strong hip-hop effort, in total, but somewhere along the way, as he puts together his records, something usually winds up missing, typically sonic cohesion.

Illmatic is a canonical masterpiece and records like It Was Written and Stillmatic were strong, but even on those, there are too many duds like "Braveheart Party" that come out of nowhere and fuck shit up. In a bad way. It sort of happens again on Hip-Hop Is Dead.

Hip-Hop Is Dead is a very good album, although too many beats strike me as functional, not exciting or something better. Again, there is little production cohesion that makes listening to the entire record a unique experience. Holding out for that totality might be a fool's errand, though, as no one makes real albums anymore.

And while I applaud verses like the second one from "Carry on Tradition...

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Now some of these new rappers
Got their caps flipped backwards
With they fingers intertwined
In some gang-sign madness
I got an exam
Let's see if ya pass it
Let's see who can quote a Daddy Kane line the fastest
Some of you new rappers
I don't understand ya code
You have your man shoot you
Like in that Sopranos episode
Do anything
To get in the game
Mixtapes
You spit hate
Against bosses
Hungry fucks
Are marvelous
You should be tossed in a pit
Full of unfortunate
Vocalists
N***as, I could've wrote your shit
I had off time
Was bored with this
I could have made my double-LP
Just by sampling different parts of "Nautilus"
Still came five on the charts
With zero audience
The lane was open
And y'all was droppin' that garbage shit
Ya got awards for ya bricks
It got good
'Til ya
Ya started tellin' the bigger dogs to call it quits
(What?)

.which is filled with authentic emotion and an accurate assessment of hip-hop, there are too many that come off as a spiteful admonishment. At times, Nas sort of sounds like someone's grandfather complaining about the noise and remembering the good old days.

But even an overly self-conscious and self-righteous Nas is better than most other hip-hop. And that's something to appreciate as we make our way into 2007. Maybe someone will listen to the dude and make a change next year.

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