“My stove deserve a shout-out, I’m like ‘What up stove!’”
Probably the strongest Flatbush track ever. Best indication to date that they aren’t just The Underachievers-on-steroids/bath salts. What a hook.
reloaded - roc marciano
Movie dialogue samples, unrecognizable chopped-up soul samples, gritty imagery, and New York’s hip-hop scene have all declined in popularity and influence since their heyday with Jay-Z and Nas in the mid-‘90s. Sure, A$AP Mob and Pro Era are making moves to place New York squarely back in hip-hop’s spotlight, and everyone appreciates a nice soul sample, whether it’s from a booming Just Blaze heater or a soulful RZA production. But the times where menacing Mafioso rappers like Wu-Tang’s Raekwon defined hip-hop are long gone, replaced (for better or worse) in the mainstream by the likes of Kanye West and Drake. Roc Marciano, however, is unapologetic in his throwback approach to his music - he’s straight out of the ‘90s drug game. Hip-hop has seen plenty of revivalists, particularly in the last few years, but few are as talented or authentic as the former Flipmode Squad member. Reloaded is one of the finest works of music to emerge from New York in recent memory, and it’s almost flawless – all that holds it back are hardcore rap’s inherent limitations.
Far from fictitious, the cars attract the bitches, I hear the whispers, my palms got the blisters.
It’ll almost certainly take several listens of a given song to begin to understand the depth of Marciano’s wordplay. His endless barrage of internal rhymes and Curren$y-esque pop culture references (Roc seamlessly name-drops Tyson Beckford, Robert White, and Russell Westbrook within five bars on “Not Told”) are the trademarks of one of the most unique and singularly talented lyricists alive. It’s like watching a rapper go “22 Twos” - except for 55 minutes of vividly violent imagery and twisting lyricism. Marciano’s rapping voice is menacing, but not in the same off-the-hook manner of rappers like ScHoolboy Q. Roc is scary, but it’s more “mob boss” than “crazy druggie” or “street gangster.” On the hook of “Pistolier,” Marciano snarls, “Bust a move, make a shoe tear, take off your ear like a souvenir, swing from the chandelier, Richard Gere with the gear, Ric Flair.” He constantly twists pronunciations to achieve his signature assonance, but Marciano’s delivery is too smooth to feel forced. At one point halfway through “Death Parade,” Roc raps “They see us wearing chains and amulets, handle this, evangelist condo in Los Angeles,“ ripping off an absurd sequence of rhymes without any effort. His uniqueness goes without saying.
If Marciano’s phenomenal lyricism wasn’t enough, his production is custom-made for his rapping - and it shows. His ability to take soul samples and chop them and flip them into unrecognizable, but brilliant, beats is almost unparalleled. On “Peru,” Roc Marciano takes a jazzy piano riff and flips it and a guitar note into an instrumental that it’s hard to imagine anyone else rapping on, while earlier on “Not Told” he made a guitar riff chop not unlike Domo Genesis’ “Power Ballad”. Roc Marciano provides possibly the best instrumental on the album on the best song of the album, “Deeper,” where he chops up a sample into a melodic murmur over his own virtuoso lyricism. Reloaded’s distinctive lack of typical New York boom-bap drums is worth noting, but Marciano’s rapping makes the quiet drums a minor concern. If anything, it’s another defiant touch from a rapper who’s made a career out of disregarding every single mainstream hip-hop trend of his time.
Kendrick Lamar’s good kid, m.A.A.d city has been rightfully applauded for its emotionally volatile portrayal of life in California’s Compton. Roc Marciano’s Reloaded will likely (and less rightfully) be ignored, despite its similar achievements. It’s not tied together by skits, and it isn’t told in a strictly concept album structure like Kendrick’s latest is. However, it’s certainly a compelling account of the drug game, and when he asserts that “it all boils down to that green” during the hook of “Death Parade,” few listeners will be caught up in doubt. Respect and admiration are far more likely responses to one of this young decade’s most phenomenal albums.
See, here’s the thing with 2 Chainz - he’s basically built himself up to be a punchline, and even beyond that persona, he’s not incredibly talented. But he’s very good at certain things - for example, if you have any appreciation for Kanye’s punchlines on Yeezus, I can’t imagine that you would dislike what’s scattered across B.O.A.T.S. II: #MeTime. Punchline game immaculate. And this is also the most emotionally effective Tity Boi has ever been - if you can get over the inherent absurdity of 2 Chainz beginning a song with a spoken word poem (and you really should), it’s easy to appreciate “Black Unicorn” for being a legitimately powerful song. Same goes for the Dolla Boy and Pusha T-featuring “Live and Learn (I Will)” - who knew 2 Chainz could be so compelling over production that isn’t absurdly hi-hat saturated? Well, anyone who’s been following him with the attention he’s warranted since Based on a T.R.U. Story.
Best hip-hop concept album ever. Deltron 3030 and undun at close seconds.
What Makes a Classic Hip Hop Album? →
cruel summer - g.o.o.d. music
For all intents and purposes, G.O.O.D. Music should be the most talented label in hip-hop by a wide margin. Grizzled veterans. Soulful singers. Young up-and-comers. Talented producers. They’ve even got a spoken word poet and a Nigerian singer-songwriter-harmonica virtuoso. It’s a remarkably artistically-complete label in a time where most labels are aimed toward commercial success a la YMCMB, and accordingly they have the personnel to pull off everything from trap music to soulful hip-hop to alternative rock.
But why is it that Cruel Summer is so mediocre?
If you’re telling me Cruel Summer isn’t a disappointment, stop lying to me and stop lying to yourself. Because it is a disappointment. Kanye West was armed with some of the most talented artists in the world on his label, and some of the greatest rappers alive clamoring to work with him. The potential goes without saying - all it takes is one listen of “Christian Dior Denim Flow” or “Good Friday” to tell you that there was massive potential behind this release. And what did we get? One 8-bar verse from Common, nothing from Tip or Yasiin Bey, and just 12 songs for the indisputably most talented hip-hop group label in the world.
Ever since Kanye announced the long-awaited G.O.O.D. compilation, excited fans have been throwing around dream tracklists pieced together from members of the label. Why would they subject themselves to the possibility of such tragic disappointment if G.O.O.D. failed to deliver on their potential? Because there was no fathomable reason for the label not to release the album of the year, for them not to release an instant classic. For god’s sake, grab an old RZA beat and a few throwaway verses from Common and Tip and you have a song. But somehow, for the first time in his career, Kanye failed to live up to his expectations.
Given, the biggest mistake you could make when listening to this album to treat it like a Kanye album. To suggest that Kanye has lost his master touch on the sole basis of this is ridiculous. Kanye’s a remarkable versatile artist, and with the exception of perhaps Jay-Z he might be the most versatile rapper of all time: who else could sample Daft Punk one album then croon about street lights over brooding 808s on his next? Cruel Summer just shows a different Kanye, and it’s first and foremost a showcase of G.O.O.D. Music artists. You shouldn’t be expecting typical Kanye innovation or brilliance, because it’s not a Kanye album. It’s a G.O.O.D. Music album.
Yet, even as I write those words and as you read them, we all know that it’s just a feeble justification. Sure, it’s not a Kanye album. But can you imagine the perfectionist who released My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy or Late Registration attaching his name to such a lackluster work? Technically, Cruel Summer isn’t a Kanye album, but the Chicago’s star’s name is even in the official title in the album’s iTunes listing. If anything, he’s the curator, and that’s a potentially more damaging accusation, because it implies outright failure.
The whole affair has come off as hurried and disorganized. After the release of first single “Mercy” and seemingly-non-album-cut “Cold” on the same night, G.O.O.D. went on a hiatus before inexplicably tweeting a photo of an album cover for a remix to Chicago teenager Chief Keef’s viral hit, “I Don’t Like.” After that song’s release was delayed for a week, the label disappeared into the Internet shadows once again.
Not only that, Cruel Summer may have been the worst promoted high-profile album in the history of hip-hop, with almost no pre-release hype. It’ll sell phenomenally regardless (unannounced single “Clique” hit the top of the iTunes Singles charts within a few days of its release), but again this is just a justification for another inexplicably careless act from a man who has managed to establish a career out of intense quality control and dedication to his music. And the day before Cruel Summer officially released (with physical copies already sent out to retailers), Kanye decided to head back to the studio to remaster the album.
If you haven’t noticed, there’s a similar thread through all of this: adequate, but why? Why not promote your label’s first compilation album? Why not remaster your album before it actually ships out to retailers? Why not utilize some of your best artists while giving the painfully inadequate Big Sean so much shine? Why give KiD CuDi his own track without giving Mos Def a single verse? Why let Lifted produce the lead single over Q-Tip, Kanye himself, or even Hit-Boy? The problem here isn’t quality, because it really isn’t that bad. The problem is that Cruel could have been exponentially better.
So little really makes sense here, but Kanye has been inscrutable for years. He scrapped an entire album to release an auto-tune-heavy R&B album that enabled Drake’s career, then released the greatest album of his career with only a few new songs. The thing is, before, the quality made Kanye being Kanye tolerable. But now, the excellence just isn’t there anymore.
So in that aspect, maybe it’s unfair to criticize Kanye for that, and maybe it’s hypocrisy on the side of the listener. But when Kanye goes from grand orchestral music that bends the boundaries of hip-hop to generic ignorance raps over rapid hi-hats and simplistic basslines, there has to be an element of disappointment. It’s the Illmatic fallacy. Until now, Kanye’s avoided the disappointment of not living up to his previous work by radically changing his musical style - soulful, orchestral, electronic, etc - and it’s been accordingly difficult to compare quality across his work. But trap music doesn’t afford Kanye the same creative space as the other realms he’s conquered.
No one knows if Kanye actually fell off as a rapper a la Lil Wayne: but it’s indisputable that Ye’s rapping isn’t up to the caliber of the verses that were on his G.O.O.D. Fridays series or on My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy. Maybe it’s his way of stylistically fitting into the rather small box that trap music gives rappers, or maybe he really has gotten worse. But regardless of his lyrical ability or flow, Kanye’s still churning out those quotables out like it’s 2003. The same wit that proclaimed “Couldn’t afford a car so she named her daughter Alexis” is still rampant, whether it’s his jabs at Kris Humphries in “Cold” (“lucky I ain’t have Jay drop him from the team”) or when it’s him upping his own shoes in “New God Flow” (“hold up I ain’t tryna stunt man, but the Yeezys jumped over the Jumpman”), Kanye’s verses are still prime Facebook status material: just as it was in Watch the Throne or Graduation. Maybe that’s a point of pride, or maybe it’s just a signal that Kanye West is losing it and needs to preserve his popularity through provocative punchlines. But the fact in itself is undeniable.
No one on G.O.O.D. has done more to promote his/herself as an artist than Hit-Boy. He’s rapidly overtaking Big Sean, Cyhi, and KiD CuDi as G.O.O.D.’s future star. We’ve known for some time that Hit-Boy is a phenomenally versatile producer, much like Ye in his early days (few producers can lay down a soulful piano-laced production like “Christmas in Harlem” and the synthy, bouncing masterpiece that was “Niggas in Paris”). Hit-Boy’s recent mixtape HITstory was a fantastic declaration of intent as an artist, and Big Sean particularly should be looking over his shoulder: it’s embarrassing, but one listen of “Old School Caddy” or “Brake Lights” should tell you that Hit-Boy is already a better artist and significantly better rapper. And although the producer has not been given 8 bars to rock over during the course of Cruel Summer, he took primary production credits on a fourth of the album’s songs. “Clique,” especially, is an example of how much Hit-Boy has developed. While “Niggas in Paris” primarily relied on its addictive synth riff, “Clique” displays far more sophistication in its bassline and beat changes.
CuDi, too, makes a reassuring step toward his Man on the Moon days with the small amount of time he’s been given on Cruel Summer. The tenth track on Cruel is a CuDi solo, the only listed solo track (although “Cold” really is a Kanye solo despite the Khaled tagging) on the compilation. It’s a throwaway from MOTM II, and it’s pretty obvious: it’s clear that it was the inspiration/demo for WZRD single “Teleport 2 Me” (I found myself singing the chorus to “T2M” by accident the first few times I heard “Creepers”), and the obvious influences from his work at the period are there. But that’s not what I mean when I say Cudi is back. The one repeated line he gets on “The Morning” is all of what makes CuDi so charismatic as a musician in the first place. When he softly sings “You feelin’ on top now, getting that money nigga?” it’s ominously menacing and challenging. None of that pop-rock influenced WZRD here: it’s Cudder.
Big Sean, however, does anything but show the world that he’s capable of more than the occasional ass punchline. The shallowness of Sean’s lyrical content was already borderline embarrassing, but being juxtaposed next to the most animated Jay-Z in recent memory in “Clique” only makes it more painfully obvious how lacking Sean is as Kanye’s apparent choice as G.O.O.D.’s centerpiece. Rhyming “poo-tang” with “Wu-Tang” only gets you so far as a rapper, even for one who’s clearly pop-oriented.
But the real takeaway from Cruel Summer is that Kanye and Jay aren’t that great of a duo compared to the chemistry Ye and Pusha have developed. The only real connection between Ye and Jay is from Kanye’s early years as Jay’s producer: and since then, things have changed. There’s not much similarity between the sounds the two rappers gravitate toward, and far too often the two are pushed into awkward positions to cater to the other’s sound.
But Pusha T and Kanye West are something else. When Pusha snarls over “New God Flow”’s piano keys before Ye cuts in with the best verse he’s released since MBDTF, there’s nothing forced about the situation. Or even during Kanye’s “Runaway” or “Take One For The Team,” when Pusha repeatedly plays Kanye’s morally unobligated counterpart. With Jay-Z and Kanye, it’s the meeting of two giants, and the significance is more symbolic than qualitative. But the understanding that the two most versatile rappers on G.O.O.D. have developed in the past two years is rapidly evolving into hip-hop’s greatest partnership.
Cruel Summer is an excellent pop-rap-trap album. But that’s not why it’s being bashed by critics worldwide: it’s because we expected more from our era’s preeminent musician. It’s because we’ve come to expect, fair or unfair, only the best from Kanye West. He’s the man who’s come to exemplify resilience in mainstream music: who else but Ye could release the best album of his career only a few months after nearly watching his career crumble after the Taylor Swift Incident (capital I)? No matter what the critics said about his personality, we could always point to his flawless discography as proof that Kanye would always be one of the most talented rappers to live. So what is this shit?
“Berzerk” is the best song Eminem has put out since Relapse. Possibly even since Encore. Unpopular opinion, yeah. But I’m legitimately confused as to how you could not appreciate that this is the most genuinely energized Marshall Mathers has sounded in years. Besides a couple lines in the hook (“go for broke”), when’s the last time Eminem has ever been this funny? He’s slyly throwing elbows at everyone’s least favorite Kardashian couple (“woke up in that Monte Carlo/with the ugly Kardashian/Lamar, oh sorry yo, we done both set the bar low”) and the autotune-warbler of the moment (“did enough codeine to knock Future into tomorrow”). He’s not settling for half-screams, multiple-layered vocals, and double-time flow to pique interest, like he’s been doing for the past half-decade. He's funny. And even if you don’t like this re-energized Em, even though he kicks into straight MMLP form for forty seconds, how can you like Yeezus’s Rubin-ized sound and half-punchlinesand not like this? There’s enough old Slim to be excited, and there’s enough new material to be interested. Haven’t appreciated a comeback single this much since Nas's "Nasty".
