Ghostface Killah is one of the nine original members of the Wu-Tang Clan, and has slowly but surely become he most consistently entertaining member of the crew, which is no small feat considering the magical hooks courtesy of Method Man, the genre-defining coke raps of Raekwon, the lyrical genius of, um, The Genius, and all the insanity that was Ol' Dirty Bastard. But Ghost is also the busiest. This album, 36 Season, is the second of five (!) albums that could be released in one calendar year. Along with the Wu album released earlier this month, Ghost plans on dropping his long awaited collaboration with MF DOOM, another collaborative effort with Badbadnotgood, and Supreme Clientele 2.
Whether or not any of that shit actually happens is a mystery, but for now, I'll focus on his follow-up to last year's awesome Twelve Reasons to Die.
Twenty-one years after the release of 1993's Enter The Wu-Tang (36 Chambers), the Wu-Tang Clan chose to celebrate its twenty-year anniversary by dropping A Better Tomorrow, which is, for now, their final collective album. The delay is embarrassing, but it at least makes more sense than Mobb Deep celebrating their own twenty-year anniversary a year early. Anyways, this will almost definitely be the final release from by favorite group of all time (they said the same thing after 8 Diagrams, but it's really hard to imagine these guys getting back together after the shit-storm that was the creation of this album), so this review holds a little more weight than, say, that last A$AP Ferg write-up. Therefore, I'd like to reintroduce the track-by-track format.
A Better Tomorrow has actually been promised for a while now, delayed to the point that it was inching ever so close to the category of Detox and Loso's Way 2 (I am, apparently, the only person that really cares about that album. Its more of a principle thing, though, I could really give two shits if I never hear another Fabolous song in my life). The album, which's title is taken from a John Woo film of the same name, is only a thing because RZA is the worlds biggest Wu-Tang fan, and simply would not settle for an unacknowledged twenty-year anniversary. Thats admirable as a fan, getting eight people rappers and Cappadonna is the same room is a difficult task, but that also gave RZA the level of creative control that basically makes it a RZA solo album that consistently features members of the Wu.
A$AP Ferg has this incredible ability to make his worst songs his most endearing. Here's two examples: "Bonnoroo" and "Weaves". On the former, a track that hilariously misspells the festival's name, Ferg expresses his excitement over the fact that Lauryn Hill watched his set, while also talking about how cool it was to see some of his favorite artists. "Weaves", on the other hand, is a song centered around the hook of "Back That Azz Up" while Ferg recalls a night where he fucked five women. And that's really it. The experience made Ferg so happy that he spent an entire song basically being like, "holy shit, I'm really about to fuck five women". Both of these songs are terrible, and probably should have been kept for Ferg himself to enjoy, but both of them make me like Ferg even more than I already did. They're dumb songs, but they only expand on the idea that Ferg is just like a child simply happy to be literally making a living off of rapping. You're lying if that doesn't make you a little bit happier.
Busdriver is a Los Angeles rapper and a member of hip-hop underground collective Hellfyre Club, who have been recently making a lot of noise with releases from artists like Open Mike Eagle, Milo, and Nocando. I'd be lying to you if I said I wasn't just a little more excited for this release, though. The reason being that Driver may be one of the most eclectic, experimental, and creative rapper/producers in the world right now. From his off kilter, fast paced style, to his off key singing, Driver never does anything that you can't at least call original. And doesn't that count for something? Maybe you don't like it, but at least you can always get excited for a Driver album, because it won't sound like the album before it. There isn't another artist I can think of that is willing to throw off his entire core base of fans, abandon any style he's established, and make something completely new. The only person who comes to mind is Cage, which in any case coming from me is a huge compliment. That being said, if you are only a fan of conventional hip-hop, you won't like this. In fact, as pretentious as it may sound, you have to be fairly musically estute to enjoy this album at all. While both are very good albums, this is the antithesis to to an album like YG's My Krazy Life. Rarely will you hear any conventional hip-hop beats, or simple on beat rapping, but I'll talk more about that later.
The blog doesn't reflect this because I suck, but you really can't have a complete hip hop discussion without including women in the conversation. They make up more than half of the audience of our chosen genre, and although hip hop is, by nature, aggressive and bombastic, more than a few females have made it a point to stake their claim with it. Some of them have proven to be just has boastful and potent as their male counterparts. Some of them have carved their own lane into the genre, forcing people to listen to and appreciate them with overt sexuality, humor, or a combination of both. And one of them is Iggy Azalea, who deserves just this lone sentence.
Every disappointment begins with an expectation. Case in point, Live From the Underground. Big K.R.I.T. made a strong impression with initial mixtapes K.R.I.T. Wuz Here and Return of 4eva, evoking memories of Outkast, UGK, and even Kanye West in his rise to Savior of the South status. But despite being no better or worse than most records of its ilk, K.R.I.T's debut was perceived as a bummer. Far from terrible, but not nearly on the same level as his now classic first two mixtapes. K.R.I.T. himself has admitted this several times, and even though Live From the Undergroundis still a serviceable commercial debut, its encouraging to see a young rapper welcome increased expectations. Context does matter, so I don't think its was too unreasonable for me to go into this new project expecting significant improvements. So I'm happy to report that K.R.I.T. has figured certain things out. With his new Cadillactica, he's released a heavy fifteen track album that feels much more concise than it really should, but more importantly, he's learned to write hooks that don't completely drag down his lyrical expertise (although the title track does contain one of the worst hooks I've heard all fucking year). But more importantly, he's simply become a better artist since the last time he made an album. That matters, too.
Yeah, yeah, Run the Jewels was my album of the year in 2013, and its sequel was probably my most anticipated album of this year. I'm not going to bore you with an intro.
I'm sure a couple of you were wondering why I've never chosen a Logic project to write about, considering he's gained a pretty decent sized following over the last few years (well, its big in comparison to a lot of the shit I cover on here). The answer is: I have no idea. There was no master plan, and I really have no stance on the man's music. I guess there's just been other music that I've tried to convince myself is more important. Fear no more, though, because the wait is over.
David Blake, or DJ Quik, as it says on the birthday cake I just bought him, is a Compton, California-based producer and rapper who doesn't receive as much shine as he should. Its possible that he prefers being in the background, making his moves in silence and actually working while his higher-profile peers simply sit around and promise a new album every year for over a decade without ever putting anything out to show for it. More than likely, though, Quik's lack of presence on the scene is because of a fickle hip hop audience who is quick to forget someone who doesn't put out constant hits.
STN MTN is so bad that it feels like I just wasted nine years of my life just trying to slog through the motherfucker. Over the course of eleven songs, Childish Gambino demolishes any goodwill he had stored up from merely being funny at times, giving the listener song after song of tiresome boasts, weary threats, and bland-as-hell production. In just around forty minutes, Donald Glover abandons nearly everything I liked about him (which, if you're familiar with the site, obviously isn't much, but his last album had pretty cool production, and sometimes his absurdly cheesy punchlines get a laugh out of me), in an attempt to seemingly convince the listener that he is indeed from Atlanta. Got it, all he had to do was tell me. All I'm convince of now is that he has used ketchup packets and cigarette butts flowing through his bloodstream, because that's the only way a human could make something this trash. Seriously, what the fuck happened?