Vintage Review: Rhythm-al-ism

Score: 4.5/5 | Released: November 24th, 1998

Written By: Anthony Seaman

            West Coast hip-hop in this era was viewed as a monolith; it was a bunch of South Central born, jerry curl dawning, 40oz sipping gangsters with itchy trigger fingers living by an antiquated code of territory and respect. The early 90’s snapshot of what Boyz N The Hood portrayed and Snoop Dogg smirked about was the first and last impression much of the world absorbed. In actuality of course, it was much more diverse. The Bay had hustlers and pimps with little Blood and Crip talk, while Dre, Snoop and 2Pac were expanding the West Coast song book into something more musically, stylistically and spiritually complex. King Tee and Paris provided underground alternatives that dug into their respective niches. The Dogg Pound were more traditional lyricists. Nate Dogg was dissolving the borders between rap and R&B, and the fabric of every beat owed tithes to George Clinton and Roger Troutman. Whatever any rapper did, they were graced with a sonic playground more pristine and sophisticated as any music the world had already been exposed to. While Dre was the genesis of this high bar being created, producers and session players like DJ Pooh, Daz Dillinger, Warren G, Johnny J and QDIII were crucial (and uncredited at times) in the creation of Dre’s records and the overall California ecosystem. Nestled in the fervorous biome of this time period was DJ Quik. He was a street legend off his homemade mixtape The Red Tape, elevated to rising star off his debut Quik Is The Name, and solidified into California lore off a sea of production credits along with his follow up albums Way 2 Fonky and Safe + Sound. By the end of 1996 Quik had trounced MC Eiht in a beef that had bled into the real world, making Quik rethink his entire aesthetic. He was viewed as another Blood rapper in the West Coast monolith with his own slick comedic sheen, an oversimplified title he despised. All the work he had done arranging, playing, producing, mixing and mastering his own records as well as songs for 2Pac, Tony! Toni! Tone!, and Adina Howard was being minimized due to the perception of his homeland. After the death of friends and collaborators 2Pac and Eazy-E, the beef with MC Eiht, and the murder of his personal assistant by his nephew, everything needed to be reset.

            Being a local DJ and record collector trained his ears to what makes people move, and his quest to perfect his own type of funk has been nonstop since. In any interview Quik is swift to name his biggest musical inspirations; Curtis Mayfield, Zapp, The Ohio Players, Prince. Dense and jazzy funk music was his north star. To entertain was always his mission. Quik himself has stated that Safe + Sound was when he hit his stride as a sound bender. Live session players were orchestrated by him as he crawled under every mixing board he could find to tweak the wires until everything was to his liking. Rhythm-al-ism was a dive in the deep end of everything he truly loved without the weight of a hardcore hip-hop persona restraining him. Carrying the responsibilities of an MC-producer hybrid means in which you can show your emotional range in more shades than anyone around you. All the sadness can be compressed into melancholy chord progressions, the anxiety of scheming your way home every night in a tightly-wound rhythm section. Unexpected strikes of genius are tucked in different sections of every track. The liquidy warble of guitars (word to the God, Robert Bacon) and synths on the opening of “No Doubt”, the talkbox on “I Useta Know Her”, the dropouts on “Speed”. “Whateva U Know” is a jazz club dressed from floor to ceiling with velvet and fresh flowers hiding a king sized waterbed center stage for Quik to make his female companions dreams come to life. There’s a nonlinear freedom weaved into every decibel from intro to outro. There’s enough of a variation to keep your head swiveling, guided by a steady diet of low end bass lines that nudge you forward. 

            With his lyrics he transports himself to environments where looking over his shoulder is unnecessary; grown folk house parties, backyard reunions, late nights with a rotating cast of lovers. The subtle quirks that made him stick out were flamboyantly pushed to the limit; breathless flows (“Rhythm-al-ism (Intro)”), tipsy two-step classics (“We Still Party”), clear eyed retellings of his own life (“I Useta Know Her”), and adventurous takes on other genres (“Bombudd II”). Quik’s delivery is bouncy and confident, but never as much as AMG or Suga Free, who act as dynamic sparks in the frayless tapestry of guitars and drum breaks. Whenever the spotlight hits his greased ponytail, Suga warps from man into maniac yelping from one disrespectful anecdote to another. Snoop and Nate Dogg act as foils to his unhinged blasts easing so deep into the fabric of the “Medley For The V” beat they nearly disappear. There’s even a moment where yearning for childlike innocence (as much as Quik’s horny ass could muster) is given a place to exist on the sultry “Thinkin’ Bout U”. Never plainly stated but peace of mind was Quik personal white whale. In interviews he’d spoken about the stream of tragedies surrounding every major moment of his life. On “You’z A Gangsta” you hear the annoyance with the extracurricular situations that have saddled alongside his fame. Murder, nefarious plots from family, equipment theft, label issues; he could never catch a break. With that at the forefront you see how becoming one with a studio to create a dream world where the liquor never stops and speakers always knock made him feel the most alive. 

            What hamstrings this album from being the top of Quik’s catalog is the very thing that makes it special; it’s too comfortable. On the production end a true explosion of creativity is investigated, but the lyrics return to the same rotation of sex and partying. An all-world level word bank makes it seem like things are more complicated, but at it’s core a warm refuge is sought. Do I want Quik to break down geopolitical theory like Paris? Nah, but his personal life and storytelling are at a level above anyone working in this time and for decades to come that leaning into his inner Slick Rick instead of giving space to every homeboy he can fit in a recording booth would pay dividends. None of the associate features are show stopping clunkers (a bonus point in his favor compared to 2Pac or Ice Cube) but Quik would rather play down the double edged star power he holds and spread it to his people. Playing the man behind the curtain brings a palpable joy to his rapping, letting him float through his personal dreamland unbothered by too many eyes nitpicking his every move. It may not be the globally adored classic that Quik Is The Name has become, but it’s the most representative of everything Quik stands for; the soul rattling beauty of hip-hop music.

Best Song: “You’z A Gangsta”
Best Beat: “Whateva U Do”
Best Moments: The countdown intro and the talkbox hook on “So Many Wayz” / Verse 1 and the twinkling chimes on “Hand In Hand” / Verse 1 on “I Useta Know Her” / That crunchy guitar lick on the hook for “We Still Party” / Pondering what a salmon croquette smells like for all of “We Still Party” / The reverse section drums under AMG’s astounding verse on “Speed” (a job, a man AND a retirement plan?) / Every Suga Free verse / El DeBarge on “Get Togetha”

Vintage Review: Taylor Allderdice

Score: 4.5/5 (Hall Of Fame Mixtape) | Released: March 13th, 2012

Written By: Anthony Seaman       

     Pennsylvania’s rap credibility has been undeniable since 1985. Schoolly D released “PSK What Does It Mean?”, a cold hearted street tale that went on to directly influence Ice-T to rap a slice of life documentary on “6 In The Mornin’”, thus sparking a cross continental movement of gangster rap that still greases the genre today. PA's most notable rappers have gravel in their veins and survival on their mental at every moment, except for one guy. One little local star turned global icon named The Fresh Prince. He and Jazzy Jeff came into the rap world as goofy, fun loving picturesque totems of youth who felt like the coolest kid in your school had made it big. Whatever they wore, people wanted to cop (the Venn Diagram of people who own Aqua 8's and Grape 5's and fans of The Fresh Prince Of Bel-Air is just a circle). The jokes they told could be stolen and flipped as your own. The corny moments existed, but if anything it made them seem more normal. This was the risk free lineage Wiz Khalifa was born to inherit. Once he hit puberty and stopped making music that sounded like a resume to get signed to Roc-A-Fella, Wiz took the mantle as the everyman stoner who rolled in bed, rolled out of bed, got too hi and crawled back into bed, just to record free spirited frat party classics in a daze while the mic teetered on his pillow.

            2011 was the breakout year. It was one of topping the charts and running around Hollywood where his unforgettably ignorant laugh was deafened by a new hoard of fans screaming his praises. This new life was his spoil to reap after years of constant vlogging, mixtapes (with at this time Kush & Orange Juice still acting as his crown jewel) and the now eternal Pittsburgh Steelers anthem and global chart topper “Black & Yellow”. Those early tapes were breezy recollections of nights before the alcohol blacked you out over beats smooth enough to not heighten your hangover. But he isn’t much different from many of his contemporaries in the sense he juggled a split identity; one side using his creativity only to be commodified and please the label, while the other is his more pure artist expression. The influx of new fans didn’t know any better, and they had bought in fully to the commodified side believing they were seeing a young man finally get his break. His die hard supporters did know better. They feared he’d become a sellout after Cabin Fever (a meddlesome excursion into “turn up” music with Lex Luger and Juicy J who were the current kings of the sound) and Rolling Papers (full of wispy thin crossover records) brought wild successes as far as downloads and albums sales were concerned. All of this was heightened by an overly caricatured version of the zooted manchild they adored and followed from “Say Yeah”, to parting ways with Warner, through soul searching on the mixtape circuit, all the way back to the majors being the face pushing such uninspiring mid. By the end of 2011 you could peep into any high school class in America to see a Wiz clone; camo cargos, Converse, oversized plain tee, a blonde patch in their hair, and a dime bag they paid $25 for calling for them after class. He was in a straight to DVD classic with Snoop Dogg that spawned a hit with Bruno Mars, dating supermodel and former Kanye muse Amber Rose, and it seemed he’d never come back home to that true self.

            Taylor Allderdice was announced in early 2012 with no single leading up to give a peek into which Wiz the world would be getting. More singing with pop stars? Another faux Waka Flocka tape? Free jazz? It was up in the air. Over a decade later the idea driving the record is clear; he was sick of hearing y’all complain. The tape is tied together thematically by an interview with hip-hop journalist Rob Markman (of The Source, Variety, Genius, etc.) where Wiz keeps his usual meditative persona, but is clearly pointed in trying to reclaim the narrative of who he was in the eyes of consumers, critics and music industry folk. His signature giggle and surfer dude diction make his statements actually reassuring. He becomes his truest spirit animal; Crush from Finding Nemo. Cool, calm, collected, and that ethereal zen rubs off on you and forces you to believe every word. Signing Juicy J to Taylor Gang didn’t delegitimize the labels Pittsburgh sound (to which production wise there still isn’t one, more in wearing the aesthetic of a sonically versatile cool guy that he, Mac Miller, Chevy Woods, and My Favorite Color carry true to), Juicy helped shape it. The major label album wasn’t him selling out, it was a lesson on how to maneuver through the industry that others can learn from. Evolution as an artist and the license to do what feels best in the moment is the core counter to every question, and the music surrounding such staunch rebuttals proves it.

            The records aren’t just blanket soundtracks to menial days anymore, they embody scenes of all of our lives. When the sun cracks through your blinds early in the morning, highlighting the heavy haze you’ve created from incense and a joint, that’s “Brainstorm”. When your confidence is at an all time high knowing every task on your to-do list is checked and you have a zip in your pocket, that’s “Mary 3x”. Walking to the corner store with your best friend puff puff passing after a few runs at the park, that’s “Nameless”. And if you’ve never smoked weed and had this kind of life, Wiz isn’t worried about your 2 cents, he’s earned millions on this style, talking to his people. There’s a suite of Juicy J records in here that takes the Cabin Fever template and injects it with fresh colors. “T.A.P.” is an all-time showing on the boards from SpaceGhostPurrp, “The Code” is a twitchy Taylor Gang cypher, “My Favorite Song” toes the line between an epiphany of where he is in life and being a strip club peak jam that could fit in between hits from T-Pain’s Epiphany. In crafting the project he doesn’t make specific one off songs to appease each sub-sect of his global fanbase, he meshes the qualities that each one loves about him into every individual creation. Song by song you can pick apart the harmonious blend of his artistry to see every phase of his career was necessary to get to this point. Cardo, Sledren, Big Jerm, and ID Labs have been his go to pack of producers for years, and by this time they all had reached points of mastery in their craft that nothing short of excellence left their hard drives. 

            Even with universal mega-hits in “See You Again” and “Work Hard, Play Hard” taking him to pop star heights, Taylor Allderdice artistically was the apex of Wiz’s career. Post-Allderdice Wiz proved a classic studio album was never in the cards, but grouping his singles into a Greatest Hits compilation would trick you into thinking he ruled the radio as much as he had the Datpiff charts. When mentioned in conversations along with his Blog Era brothers (Wale, Big Sean, Drake, Kid Cudi, Curren$y) there’s always a fond remembrance of who he once was, no matter how rough the current work has become. Becoming the poster child for marijuana usage for his generation was a long path that he was proud to walk since day 1. On “Mary 3x” he reminisces about smoking in pictures since the MySpace days and the fearful warnings his circle gave him about having weed so openly in his videos. Today he clocks in at #5 in the pantheon of famous smokers (#1 Bob Marley, #2 Snoop Dogg, #3 Willie Nelson, #4A & 4B Cheech & Chong, #5 Wiz, #6 Curren$y, #7A & 7B Method Man & Redman, #8 Jimi Hendrix, #9 Seth Rogan, #10 Burner), along with floating on as an unquestioned mixtape legend, hitmaker, and at one point the most influential artist in America, who always repped PA to the fullest since day one. 

Best Song: “Mary 3x”
Best Beat: “Brainstorm”
Best Moments: Juicy J on “Blindfolds”, the train sound on “T.A.P.”, the combination of Amber Rose doing the hook on “Never Been Pt. 2” as well as the drums cracking in to start the song, the first verse on “Brainstorm”, how perfect the sequencing across the entire tape is, realizing Kendrick lifted the whole interview within an album idea for To Pimp A Butterfly from here.

Vintage Review: The Last Kiss

   Score: 1/5 | Released: April 7th, 2009

Written By: Anthony Seaman     

                Unless you’re Joe Budden, retiring from music doesn’t just happen. You either internally lose the drive, label calls stop rolling in to grease the wheels of a new project, or you keep going but everyone stops listening. In 2004 Jadakiss announced he was done releasing major albums until he could get off of his label, the powerhouse that was Interscope. Jadakiss and The LOX future albums were put in limbo thanks to in part to 50 Cent. A beef with the Queen megastar, born of being a feature on Ja Rule’s “New York” at a time of war between Ja and 50, later grew into a slew of diss records, childhood friends turned industry folk mudding up any attempts of reconciliation, and a failed 1-v-1 showdown at Madison Square Garden where a champion of the beef and $1 million dollars would be on the line. 50 was a major star for the company and had the ear of Jimmy Iovine and Dr. Dre like few others had. Not to mention the LOX as a whole had been followed by the black cloud of label issues since the beginning of their career. Bad Boy, the label owned and operated by Diddy that gave the Yonkers trio their first shot in the business, had not only held an excessive amount of their backend money from their releases but was constantly forcing them to make creative compromises that they saw as detrimental to their artistry. As the war with 50 Cent and Interscope waged on, Jada took to the internet, focusing on self-releasing mixtapes and doing feature verses for up and coming rappers. Eventually signing to Def Jam, thanks to a personal friendship with Jay-Z while he was still running the label, Jadakiss would release the long clamored for The Last Kiss. 

Like every commercial Jadakiss project before it, to put it plainly, it sucks. It would be one thing if Jada was a bad rapper, a guy who just recycled the same lines time and again, would regularly get washed by his peers, or was uncreative in his cadences and flows. Yet he’s none of that. The Achilles Heel that still burdens one of the greatest feature killers in hip-hop history is his dreadful song crafting. From his time at Bad Boy to the modern day, If the songs had hooks at all, they were halfhearted attempts at crossover refrains or R&B hooks that couldn’t buoy the cringeworthy beat selection. He had earned his stripes across New York in the late 90’s rapping in tandem with Styles P and Sheek Louch, battling in parks and freestyling everywhere from street corners to live on Hot97. Production on every album saw the same faces; Swizz Beats, Icepick, PK, Pharrell. Timbaland, D-Dot and Scott Storch even found their way into the mix doing the same thing everyone was doing; overproducing. The Last Kiss is no different. 

 The late 00’s saw a frenzy of producers ripping off J.U.S.T.I.C.E. League, Swizz, Sean C & LV and Just Blaze to create cinematic monstrosities that work best for lighting sparklers while $300 in the hole at a strip club. Those artists themselves even became stale and either swapped out their palette or shifted gear completely. Some rappers toed the line perfectly (essentially anyone not from the North East featured on a DJ Khaled album) and others ended up like Jada, struggling to find a foothold in something so detailed. The music was exclusively for those who got chubby and moved to Miami, but Kiss was still trying to compete. The Champ Is Here mixtape series was electric, and showed no signs of rust as a pure MC. But when it came time for a new album, the same deficiencies reared their head. He rehashed the “questions concept” he patented on “Why?” with Nas for “What If”, for the umpteenth time. He tried to be a ladies man “Rockin’ With The Best” and “By My Side”, biograph the hard life of a young girl turned resilient woman “Smoking Gun”, or turn his own life to a motivational tale “Can’t Stop Me”. Every overthought concept fell flat as potent bars were watered down for commercial rap consumers. “Who’s Real” and “Something Else” sound like unwanted cuts from any number of Jeezy albums. Lonely in the depths of nothingness are actual inspired and sonically pleasing tracks “One More Step” and “Things I’ve Been Through” leaning into his gold standard connectivity to Styles P or his picture perfect storytelling. 90% of the record you can skip through and miss nothing of substance, or you could tape your hands together to make tracks unskippable and be delivered a living blemish in an already hapless career.

If Jadakiss had entered the rap universe 5 years earlier everything would be poised for his success. Being ushered in by pop-rap titans Diddy and Notorious B.I.G. put an expectation of chart topping success on himself and his crew, something they never were meant to become. Not to mention in the early 2000’s the Golden Age sample heavy sound that birthed them faded away for electro-leaning beats that doubled as Transformers cut music. They were rugged, vile lyricists who flourished ripping the hearts out of opponents; but when you’re pushed as a pop star everyone is supposed to see you as a friend. A safe haven. Instead he was meant to be unlocking new chambers with Wu-Tang Clan or playing a counter balance to Guru on Gang Starr albums. The Last Kiss is the worst of Jadakiss’ studio albums (arguably the worst project bearing his name in any capacity) and falls in a lineage of NY greats falling off the mountain top of mainstream relevance with an explosive thud (everyone wave hello to Fat Joe and Busta rhymes). If you find it in the Used section at your local record store, buy it and burn it for the safety of others.

Best Song: “Things I've Been Through”
Best Beat: “One More Step”
Best Moments: The first verse of "Smoking Gun", both of Jada's verses on "What If", Raekwon shouting out Ugly Betty on "Cartel Gathering" how "Respect My Conglomerate" somehow gets comically worse every year.

Vintage Review: Paid In Full

Score: 4.5/5 (Hall Of Fame Album) | Released: July 7th, 1987

Written By: Anthony Seaman      

     For years growing up hearing writers and other fans alike refer to Rakim as “The God MC” made little sense to me. On the surface he was deadpan, the beats sounded very much of an era before laptops, and he wasn’t as fun of a listen as a Lil Wayne or Gucci Mane record by far. He dressed cool, head to toe in a custom Dapper Dan suit and gold chains thicker than a finger, but the rest of the Paid In Full album cover looked like it was made in an ancient version of Photoshop. The album itself only had 7 songs with verses on it, and the 4 instrumental tracks were stuffed with obnoxious scratching. In my mind he was a guy who received credit for being early, being from New York, and not for being truly great. What did everyone older than me see in this record that I didn’t? 

To understand the gravity of Paid In Full is to understand more so the gravity of what Rakim himself brought to the art of being a MC that was not there previously. Music at large in this time was full of automated drum machines, huge snares with gated reverbs, and thin wispy vocals telling you to dance, get over your ex or motivating you to get through the day. Hip-hop as a genre mixed some of these elements together, but the MC and what they rapped about was the biggest separator. As an MC Rakim single handedly hit the fast forward button on the shift of rap music out of a Renaissance period into a Mannerism period. Melle Mel, Grandmaster Caz, Run, LL Cool J, Kool Moe Dee, all mastered the basics in terms of technicality. They brought the experience of neighborhood cyphers and park jams into real life, and for flashes even peeked into the future themselves by making conceptual songs that bridged genres. The RIAA had started certifying albums Gold, and music videos from rap acts were becoming more common. Popular music stores, publications and entertainment outlets were accepting hip-hop slowly, but accepting nonetheless. For how to expand rap, Rakim drew inspiration from another artist who took a sound that seemed like it had hit a sweet spot and blew the doors open.

Rakim was inspired by every rap artist of the day, but John Coltrane, the seminal galactic jazz giant, was the North Star he followed. Raised in a musical household Rakim played multiple instruments and understood pockets as an instrumentalist before understanding them as a vocalist. He was already approaching rap at an angle few had before, by becoming one with the music. The basics of delivery were destroyed and reimagined from over the top bravado to a gold chain draped coolness. The term “flow” had to be recontextualized into the phrase we understand it to mean today because of his style. The concept of all rhymes ending and rhyming on the last word, matured into internal rhyme schemes that had been flirted with by Run at times on record, but never fully realized. Even on the production end, Rakim, Eric B. (and an already established Marley Mal, depending who you ask) cut samples in more abrupt and shocking ways comparable only to The Bomb Squad with Public Enemy and Prince Paul with a young De La Soul. Big Daddy Kane, Slick Rick, EPMD and NWA had not released official debut albums. Chuck D and Melle Mel in recent years have spoken about the emergence of Rakim as a seminal line in history. The playbook had tripled in size overnight, and the expectations of what greatness was had risen to new heights. Less rappers yelled on record, instead creating more elaborate vocal tones. Songs were more loose conceptually and the complexity of how and where rhymes hit in a stanza became less predictable. He was thinking at a clip above everyone else and was subtle in the ways he did it. As an example; Rakim is a proud member of the 5 Percent Nation where numerology is a key piece of their daily practices. 7 represents God or Allah in their numerology. Rakim, who refers to himself and referred to by others as the God MC released his debut album on July 7th, 1987, stylized as 7/7/87. If only he could have gotten access to a microphone in elementary school this trick would be 10 times more impressive.

        As an album it wasn’t an event that could be measured by radio spins or Billboard sales. It took until 1995 for the album to be certified Platinum. What pushed the record to fame was how often fans replayed it, how stunned they were but skills so advanced it seemed like a new genre was being born. Quotables across the album have become hip-hop standards. “When i’m writing im trapped in between the lines / I escape / when I finish a rhyme”, “It’s been a long time / I shouldn’t have left you / without a strong rhyme to step to”, “I start to think and then i sink / into the paper / like i was ink”, “I draw a crowd like an architect”, “i’m the R to the K I am / if i wasn’t / then why would i say I am?”, and the entirety of the title song, “Paid In Full” are just a handful of bars that have been flipped or straight repeated by generations of hip-hop artists. Topically he approached bars like a true author flipping metaphors and similes with the microphone as his main muse. Kool Moe Dee to many is seen as ground zero for the “lyrical miracle” archetype, a style that is perfectly balanced with the “i’m better than you and i’ll punch you if you think otherwise” for the first time with Rakim. He was slowly walking rappers out of the park and into listeners headphones. He was telling you he was better than you, but did it in a much smarter and cool way than anyone before him, and you had to be smart and cool to a certain degree to get it. “My Melody” was a hail storm of raps, clocking in with 5 full verses over one of the LP’s more menacing musical motifs. In the years before the album was officially recorded Rakim spent his days bouncing around Brooklyn and Queens freestyling and performing with DJ’s honing his craft, with most of his verses being used to line the record. Everything was gripping because he had been slowly perfecting the bars in front of the toughest crowds in New York. Unintentionally (and ironically due to “I Ain’t No Joke” existing) he worked like a comedian, honing punchlines in sketchy clubs for audiences that were there just to hear a headliner, only to have fully baked knockouts ready once Netflix or Comedy Central turned the cameras on. 

Today we see most of the modern Detroit scene, MF DOOM, and G Herbo alike all break in and out of pockets letting the actual rhymes of the words side swipe you from every angle. That’s because of Rakim. The monotone delivery stylings of Guru and 21 Savage were birthed from this record. After nearly 35 years every working rapper has fragments of Rakim’s DNA as a rapper within their craft. Imagine being the guy who perfects cooking a steak. You choose all the right seasonings, perfect pan type, get the flames just the right temperature, flip it at the exact second to ensure a perfect medium rare. Everyone is going to copy that person and use the technique forever, but vegans and vegetarians might not indulge in such a dish. Now imagine being the guy who invents the fucking stove. Anyone who takes their craft seriously, regardless of style, needs you to survive and everyone who turns their nose up at your invention is living in the stone age. A lot of talk around the greatness of Paid In Full as a standalone album gets lost in the praise of Rakim himself and what he represents understandably so. No other artist had as much of an impact on album one until Nas came out, but even he didn’t invent the stove. Drake, Future and Young Thug reshaped rap, but they had mixtapes and features that warmed up the world to what was coming on their official releases. To create an album that has multiple songs that define not only an era, but an entire genre is an incredible task. To do it all before turning 20 is just icing on the cake. “Paid In Full”, “I Know You Got Soul” and “Eric B. Is President” are standards to this day. With 10 full records the young duo reset the world of hip-hop and created a body of work that is as fun and impressive as any album that’s come since. 

Best Song: “Paid In Full”

Best Beat: “I Ain’t No Joke”

Best Moments: "fish, which is my favorite dish" / Hearing "Chinese Arithmetic" in the year of our Lord 2023 is actually fine abstract art / Verse 2 of "My Melody"

Vintage Review: No Ceilings

 

Score: 4.5/5 (Hall Of Fame Mixtape) | Released: October 31st, 2009

Written By: G.N. Jones

I think it’s fair to say that there’s very few singular superstars in hip-hop music that have had as many stylistic incarnations as Lil Wayne. Most artists make these Frankenstein versions of themselves, stitching new styles upon older styles and creating new life. For Wayne, we’ve seen drastic mutations that all but abandon what’s come before, like an alien insect’s metamorphosis. From his being nurtured in the Hot Boyz, to learning from his contemporaries on the East Coast, he honed distinct styles; mastered delivery, mic presence, and effortlessly constructed flows and lurid metaphors. Then, after emerging victorious from a tsunami of leaks and accumulating a laundry list of commercial and critical accolades from Tha Carter III, Lil Wayne was left in a turbulent place. From ‘07 to his eventual incarceration in 2010 he had battled legal issues, and his third Dedication mixtape was really more of a Young Money compilation tape than a Lil Wayne mixtape. At that point in time Wayne seemed to be trading his “Best Rapper Alive” hat in favor of his “Young Money General” hat. In hindsight, listening to a Young Money song was like watching Dragonball Z; the side characters were there to stall in time so the main characters could save them, and by extension us. Gudda Gudda was a rap Yamcha, but it was exciting to see someone in their grocery bag at the time. YMCMB was in this weird space where they were hipster rappers for relatively normal people. Other collectives around that time had rigid, defined aesthetics but Young Money wasn’t as skater oriented and rebellious as OFWGKTA, or as gritty and stylized as an A$AP Mob. They weren’t region specific, and unlike say, MMG, they had a look the average person could emulate. YMCMB was perfect for the average kid. You could hear it in the music. Drake’s So Far Gone was relatable, vulnerable, and tugged on teenage heartstrings and Nicki Minaj had rightfully assumed the title of Queen of Hip Hop with Beam Me Up Scotty earlier in 2009. YMCMB had already started to impact music in huge ways, despite their top heavy roster. And so, amid leaks earlier that month, on Halloween of all days, a new Weezy emerged from his UFO not just stylistically, but aesthetically. No Ceilings was the harbinger of his newest change.

        Some things were the same. Wayne was still abducting beats and leaving them marked with his own quirky crop circles. At 13, you couldn’t tell me “Swag Surf” wasn’t a Lil Wayne song with a cover by some other guys. Wayne’s moderately complicated relationship with New York was still in the honeymoon phase (“Banned From TV” and “Throw It It”) while his relationship with Jay-Z, which was similarly knotted but mostly based on admiration, continued with “DOA” and “Run This Town.” My favorite Weezy-ism, the intentionally mispronounced word, is also present and accounted for. As a carry over from Da Drought 3 days, there’s the weird pop radio cover. This time around seeing Gnarls Barkley succeeded by the Black Eyed Peas. At the same time, so much was different, which is a positive and sometimes a bit of a snag. Despite acknowledging the idea of “The Death Of Autotune” by covering his idol's latest single, the autotune stylings dating back to The Dedication 3 are intact. Wayne’s “DOA” is actually a great microcosm for his approach to rhyming across the tape. The schemes and punchlines are a bit more simple and less outlandish than say Da Drought 3, but you can hear how much fun Wayne is having. Da Drought 3 is debatably his best rapping and on that mixtape he comes off as a master magician in charge of a captivated audience.

        I maintain the belief that in that ‘06-’08 Lil Wayne was probably the most natural rapper ever in how casually he could transition from flows, his delivery, his mic presence, personality; he could do anything. No Ceilings is a man who has has everything, whose time is ticking, but just decides “fuck it.” And it works so well. He name drops the coroner of New Orleans on “Run This Town” and on “Wasted” he refers to a little league on an island off the coast of Venezuela (apparently they’re really good): "If we gon' do it, dog, let's do it now/I—I—I am more animal than the zoo allow/Put me in the wild, I’ll be there for a while/You niggas Little League, call 'em Curaçao.” "Wasted" is actually chock full of fun sports references to Usain Bolt, Jalen Rose, and the NOLA Super-Dome. On “DOA” he ditches the connective tissue and gives us a live look at him constructing insanity with lines like  “Ugh, Fiji water, grandaddy purp/Excuse me, I let the semi-automatic burp,” and “Ugh, I'm about to go walnuts/We get seven-digit money, you could call us/Hit 'em with the chopper, watch 'em ball up/Paint your face red, you all dolled up.” Meanwhile in each verse he has these recurring themes for the start of new ideas that are disparate. The first one is set off with Fiji water and a new strain of weed, and the second is what kind of nuts he’s about to go. It’s the difference between early and Cubist Picasso. Simultaneously, his voice is higher, creakier, and raspier, stretching like putty into weird melodies and chopier flow patterns. He’s a martian after all, but he’s right at home on the beats, no phone necessary. 

My favorite performance is “Run This Town”, which puts the original to shame aside from the amazing Kanye feature. From letter wordplay to open the song to couplets like “You softer than ny-lin; oops, I meant "nylon"/Perfection is the goal, and I’m headed to the pylon/Crown fit me good, I ain’t even got to try on/The pistol mean business—that bitch should have a tie on”. There’s a sense of urgency that builds up and explodes by the end of the track. “Run This Town” is also true to the Young Money General’s story at the time with a long shout out of the entire YM roster. Even while having fun and coloring outside the lines, Wayne is doing his best to set his army up for success in the wake of his exile, and in some ways acknowledging his own journey there. The song ends with an almost retrospective view and a few ideas going forward. “I’m the prodigy—do you roger me?/I look in the flames and see a hotter me/But how come I’m still colder than common-ly?/Yeah, we run this town, like a lot of feet/Young Mula, baby; I'm proud of me.” The goal of YM’s success and the prospect of prison hang over his head for the beginning of the remixed smash Waka Flocka Flame hit “O Let’s Do It,” but by the end it seems like he’s talking to himself about the latter: “Weezy F, the "F" is for "Fuck what you’re going through"/Make your people mourn you.” It seems that in giving the people a new Weezy fully committed to a new style, they can mourn an old version or love the music and mourn his absence as he does his bid. Either way, the old Wayne was gone, and he knew it before even we did.

        The New Wayne-1000 Model had its own issues. Not all of the bars landed. “I'm the hardest shit, go in your ass and search,” “Oh, she a good girl? I got her transforming/She give me hot head, I call it "global warming” and “Looking for a bad bitch, I give her dinosaur dick” look and sound worse than they are because they’re all standalones. The idea being presented is no longer part of a larger theme; now it’s a big blot in the painting. The jokes about the poop obsessed, pussy devouring Gremlin was a phenomenon that came from this tape, along with the limits of punchline style raps all together. We can only take so much “Young Money, we the shit like weak stomachs,” and commands to the listener to dig in their asses. This is also the point where you start to realize just how much influence Drake had on Wayne. The master was learning from the student, down to the little stutter adlibs and stretching the end of lines into a melody. It’s hard to put into words, but “Wayne On Me” and “I’m Single” are 2009 Drake songs with a cosmic twist. To this day I can’t figure out if Drake was mistakenly credited on “I’m Single” or if he actually just gave Wayne the song. The synthesis of the Wanye-O-Morph was starting to become less seamless. We also have to tolerate him dragging some of his YM protégés across the finish line on these songs. Gudda Gudda’s verse on Break Up is so bad you can’t help but laugh; he drops stinker after stinker with lines like “Your bitch under my sheets, I heard she was an undercover ho (Ha)” and “I do her something rude, I pop her like balloons” which actually predates *that* Ludacris bar. It feels like a parent participating in a father-daughter dance when Wayne starts off his verse on “That’s All I Have” saying he doesn’t even like the beat. The things you do for your kids right?

        Despite its flaws, No Ceilings is arguably his most influential incarnation when you look at modern music. Wayne is a rapper whose canon is incomplete without considering the impact of his mixtapes. A botched streaming release can’t give you the scope of a tape like No Ceilings. The Robb Bank$, Tony Shnnows and early Young Thugs of the world wouldn’t exist if the previous version of Wayne was the last one. Young Thug, from 2015-2019 for example, took the No Ceilings mantra to heart, throwing all the rules out the window to mostly great effect. The difference between their journeys is that Wayne was at his core carried a traditionalist approach, following the “you have to learn the rules before you can break them,” doctrine. In doing so, he gave other artists, big or small, a blueprint and a mantra to do whatever they wanted. But he didn’t know that at the time. In 2009 Lil Wayne just knew that despite a prison bid on the horizon, he had a stable of promising young artists, and he was having fun. His freewheeling ethos led to a misguided rock album. He would start getting into skating shortly after No Ceilings, a move that was heavily criticized for whatever reason. They called him a poser, called him too old. It didn’t matter. In the outro skit he reminds us how much fun he’s having and answers all the “whys”. Because he’s Weezy, he’s different. The sky was the limit. And he had no ceilings.

Best Song: “Run This Town”

Best Beat: “Throw It In The Bag”

Best Moments: “Swagger just dumb; call me Sarah Palin” made me laugh out loud on an airplane / The Devin The Dude stray was crazy / “Banned From TV” existing

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Vintage Review: People's Instinctive Travels And The Paths Of Rhythm

 

Score: 5/5 (Hall Of Fame Album) | Released: April 10th, 1990

Written By: Anthony Seaman   

     Q-Tip was always a sleeping giant. Childhood days spent digging through his family's jazz heavy record collection, afternoons making pause tapes, and long nights at block parties infected his mind with sonics. Jungle Brothers gave him his first swing on the mic in a major way. Peering over the shoulders of Prince Paul and De La Soul as they created the universe melting 3 Feet High And Rising he saw the outlandish beauty that could come from friendship and left field samples. These three groups along with Queen Latifah, Black Sheep, Monie Love, and Chi-Ali made up Native Tongues, an incubator of afrocentricity and alternative hip-hop styles on and off record. They leaned into being side characters within each other's classic albums, gifting hooks, ad-libs or short pop ins that would make your eyes go wider than if they had a full credited verse. People’s Instinctive Travels And The Paths Of Rhythm, the debut album from Tribe proved that the crew could do more than just be weird for weird's sake; there was hits to be made. De La and Latifah had their own commercial success, but those times were blips in a career built off experimentation or laser focus on breaking glass ceilings more so than crafting perfect songs. While it was truly a village at work each album (Ali Shaheed Muhamed, Phife Dawg and Jarobi, and later engineer Bob Power, all carrying their weight in their own ways as the crew pushed forward through the 90’s) Q-Tip for the first LP was the Chief. People’s Instinctive was as much his baby as any solo rapper's first LP was. Those teenage pause tapes were shined up within Calliope Studios to become the backbone instrumentals to the project. Today we remember Tribe as Phife and Q running the perfect two man vocal operation on their 2nd and 3rd projects; Phife was an everyman looking to chat up girls and watch whatever the game of the night was while Tip was earning his nickname “The Abstract” with every bar. But the Jarobi led interludes had about as much air time as Phife Dawg's verses on their inaugural adventure. Q-Tip carried the load on every front, and succeeded like it was the plan all along.

        Before People’s Instinctive was released the biggest albums of the last year had been It’s A Big Daddy Thing, Road To Riches, No One Can Do It Better, Unfinished Business, and the much maligned but commercial smashes Walking With A Panther and Please Hammer Don’t Hurt ‘Em. Each project was full of crossover appeal, hyper aggressive delivery, or streetwise concepts and aesthetics in some combination. The Beastie Boys, De La and Biz Markie all were misfits creating at the same time, providing looser records where caricatures of themselves worked within near psychedelic musical confines. Brand Nubian, X-Clan and Public Enemy along with the slow puttering of Boogie Down Productions were still in the realm of political focus and afro-centrcity like Tribe but moved with a militancy that left no room for individual freedom. Everyone sounded like they were on acid, selling something stronger or just plain selling out. A Tribe Called Quest came together to carry the torch of their Native Tongues family, more mellow than Black Sheep, more concise than De La, more playful than Latifah. Those components weren't full melted down into something new all together until Midnight Marauders, but the flashes of it on their debut were dazzling. Tossing the “in your face” stylings of Big Daddy Kane and the Beasties for the mellow leanings of EPMD and Rakim, Q-Tip made being purely intelligent sound cool for the first time. Rakim, KRS, and Kool Moe Dee were as smart as they came, but all provided an edge that read “yeah i’m smart, and if you don’t think so these hands do more than open books”. What they held was the respect of an elder. Tip didn’t have that, rather he was the cool older brother. His signature nasally tone and slight frame put no fear into the hearts of others, but his words garnered interest on their own. In the album and group titles the Tribe made it clear that traveling through life was enough of an inspiration, and on these travels stories and life lessons came in all ways. 

        Mentions of 3rd eyes, afrocentric concepts, and safe sex brought lessons to young fans that didn’t sound like lectures. Where their forfathers drilled lessons into the heads of listeners, it came up like a late night dorm room chat with Tip. His natural charisma proved that it’s better to make someone want to do something rather than make it seem like the only option. Everything sounded cooler when Q-Tip pushed it. “Ham ‘N Eggs” is a goofy jam session about healthy dieting that did more for teenage cholesterol levels than the invention of the Food Pyramid. Chuck D himself sounded scarier at the time than any singular pubic lice, allowing “Public Enemy'' the song instead to become the infectious precautionary tale about STD’s in the time of a rising HIV/AIDS epidemic. As a pure rapper the tricks that Kane and Kool G Rap used to earn the titles of best living MC’s were treated as unneeded options. Today we see Sir Michael Rocks, Curren$y and Roc Marciano as kings of cool, making their daily routines seem unattainable even if all they did was smoke weed and buy some shoes. In this era EPMD had that style on lock, but had as much personality as the zippers on their tracksuits. Youthful ignorance tinged Phife and Tips voices, letting simple descriptions of a Frenchman (“Luck Of Lucien”) or the story of misplacing a wallet (“I Left My Wallet In El Segundo”) run like Harold and Kumar films. Everything was going to be OK in the end, but you couldn’t help but be surprised at the detailed turns along the way. 

     Jazz records from Grover Washington Jr. and Lonnie Smith became hip-hop staples thanks to this record. Each of these jazz giants gained new notoriety as the nerds clamored to the liner notes looking to find where these sounds came from. Generations of producers looked up to Tip and Ali as Gods for their odd metered loops and layerings. Pharrell, Questlove and J Dilla saw jazzy chords and basslines become incorporated into the hip-hop vocabulary as heavily as James Brown style funk horns or Led Zeppelin's bluesy rock drums. DJ Premier, Large Professor and Pete Rock had dipped their toe into these crates, but never gave it the space to breathe quite like ATCQ had. Everything was slower, the drums weren’t as rushed into one another. Each signature rhythm is as much about the space they didn't fill as the time they did. “Rhythm (Devoted To The Art Of Moving Butts)” had a tin snare, tuned up human yells, blank space and futuristic chords as the framework, while “Can I Kick It?” was Lou Reed baseline and scratches were accented with odd tones that seem like they existed only in the depths of the ocean. “Youthful Expression” was the closest thing to the sounds of their contemporaries, and Q-Tip was still nestled into his nonchalant core between organ stabs and uppity drums. Then there’s “Bonita Applebum”. Fusing RAMP, Rotary Connection and Cannonball Adderly into a perfect stew of transcendent sound. It was sweet talking at a party done right; full of blush worthy compliments, awkward one-liners, and an admirable coolness that works every time.

        Over 30 years after the critical praise and cultural influence have run their course becoming mainstays into the fabric of modern entertainment instead of fresh novelties, A Tribe Called Quest still stands as right of passage listening for undergrads and newly minted hip-hop heads alike. Kids rapping about very un-kiddish things in goofy kid-like ways is a blueprint that the Native Tongues patented for rap. The quartet leaned into itself as a unit more going forward, with Q-Tip still acting as head honcho but Ali and Phife grew into their powers in such a way they had to become more visible voices. Low End Theory and Midnight Marauders will probably be argued about until the end of time as to which is better (spoiler, the answer is Low End) but both never depart fully from their predecessor. Each is flanked with whimsy, centered on neck snapping rhythms, and the purpose of progression through life with new enlightenment everyday.

Best Song: "Bonita Applebum"

Best Beat: "After Hours"

Best Moments: Q-Tip teaching everyone that "prophylactic" is a word / The frogs on "After Hours" / The first Jarobi skit after "Push It Along" / Whatever THAT sound is on "Bonita Applebum", you know the one / The "Can I Kick It?" bassline / Verse 1 of "Footprints