Pros: "Battle of the Sexes" is a return to Ludacris' strengths as a party and club rapper.
Cons: Nothing he hasn't done before.
Bottom Line: Ludacris makes an album sure to get heavy spins in the club.
Recommended Tracks:
Everybody Drunk
I Know You Got A Man
Ludacris' new album Battle of the Sexes was supposed to be a duet album between him and Shawnna, a female rapper signed to his DTP label. So when Shawnna left the label last year in a contract dispute, Ludacris expanded the idea to collaborating with female rappers in general, with the idea to showcase a feminine perspective severely lacking in modern rap.
But while collaborations like "Hey Ho" talk about sexual double standards and "BOTS Radio" give relationship advice, the vast majority of this supposedly forward-thinking concept album is actually a return to Ludacris' roots. Hip-hop's premier jester tried to inject gravitas into his last few albums, dabbling in social consciousness and self-consciously trying to thrust himself into the conversation of 'great' rappers. He was Jim Carrey in "Truman Show" and "The Majestic".
Battle of the Sexes makes no such pretenses of artistic depth. It's an album revolving around partying, clubbing and sex. Over screwed and chopped samples and pulsing beats, Ludacris sweet-talks women ("I Know You Got A Man"), parties all night ("Party No Mo'", "I Do It All Night") and brings them back to his room ("Sex Room"). His tongue is planted firmly in cheek throughout: "Get your money right ladies, write your own checks / But don't call me after midnight unless we're having sex."
Free from trying to impress anybody or being something he is not, Ludacris is having the most fun he's had in a long time. His hit single "How Low" is designed for booty-shaking contests at a night-club. On "Sexting", he busts out a Tiger Woods impression and raps in text message abbreviations: "haha, omg, lol / kit, smiley faces, x and o's / l-m-f-a-o." And because Ludacris' style often works better over one verse than a whole song anyway, "Battle of the Sexes" still gives a good platform for female rappers both old (Lil' Kim, Eve) and young (Nikki Minaj, Diamond from Crime Mobb).
Returning to the same role he had played before on "Yes Man" didn't give Jim Carrey an Oscar, but the movie was one of the biggest hits of 2008. Similarly, an album like Battle of the Sexes won't win a Grammy, but judging from the popularity of its singles, especially in comparison to those of Theatre of the Mind, it is what the people want from Ludacris.
Pros: Ludacris holds his own with some of the biggest names in rap.
Cons: His style is more suitable for singles than albums. Bottom Line: If Ludacris wants to know why he isn't considered a great rapper, Theater of the Mind is a good place to start.
Recommended Tracks:
Wish You Would
Do It for Hip-Hop
Over five albums and countless guest appearances, Ludacris reveled in being Ludacris. Never taking himself too seriously, he recounted a life of endless money, women and parties. He became the rapper every singer went to for hit features.
And while money and fame came easy, he found respect harder to come by. His new album Theatre of the Mind attempts to shape his legacy: "I'll be going down in rap as the MVP." He's following the lead of Jay-Z and Lil' Wayne -- if he keeps saying he's the best long enough, people might start believing him.
As a crowd-moving MC, he takes a back seat to no one. Not only is he funny and charismatic, but he can flow over almost any type of beat. He more than holds his own with two of today's biggest rappers -- T.I. ("Wish You Would") and Wayne ("Last of a Dying Breed") -- and two unquestioned legends -- Jay and Nas ("Do it for Hip-Hop").
But there's a difference between impressive on a track and on an album. That's why he has a feature on every full-length track save one. Like T-Pain, another hit-making mercenary, his albums tend to sound more like a collection of singles. His habit of using generic punch-lines to fill space ("So many acres that my crib look like Bermuda / So many diamonds my safe look like Kay Jewelers") doesn't help.
There are enough sure-fits hits, from the Jamaican-tinged "What Them Girls Like" to an ode to alcohol goggles on "One More Drink" and a Jamie Foxx-duet on "Contagious", that Ludacris will continue his streak of platinum albums. But the social commentary he began to showcase on "Runaway Love" is largely absent, as is any attempt to add depth to his musical persona.
Ludacris wants to know why he's not considered a great rapper. Theater of the Mind answers his question: rarely is so much talent used to say so little.
Cons: Sounds exactly like his last two albums. Bottom Line: If Jeezy wants to become a great rapper, he'll eventually have to stop re-making Thug Motivation 101.
Recommended Tracks:
Put On
My President
The introduction of Young Jeezy’s new album “The Recession” features newscasters talking about gas prices and the economy. The album ends with a song about Barack Obama (“My President”) featuring Nas. Otherwise, it’s basically indistinguishable from his first two albums.
He still raps about crack dealing as self-actualization (“I can show you how to make a mil right now”). He sticks to the same dark, epic orchestrations of his previous hits (“Soul Survivor”). And he faithfully uses his trademark flow - raspy, slow and ad-lib heavy - throughout.
The rare track that varies at all from this formula, like the soul-sampling “Circulate,” stands out as a result. “The Recession” is an 18-track album that seems to contain less than half-a-dozen distinct songs.
But specialization has its benefits. He only makes one type of song, but he makes that song very well, and the customer can count on that same level of quality every time. So if you like the ubiquitous lead single “Put On” you’ll like “The Recession.”
The chorus to his Obama song sums up his philosophy pretty well: “My president is black, my Lambo is blue / And I’ll be (expletive) if my rims ain’t too / My money’s light green, and my Jordan’s light grey/ And they love to see white, now how much you trying to pay.”
He sees the prospect of a black president as inspirational, not to change society, but to make more money. It’s the album’s underlying theme: Times may be bad, but the bills still have to be paid. He may not know Obama’s message very well, but he sure knows America’s.
Pros: Game's commanding mic presence along with A-list producers and guests make L.A.X. feel like a big album.
Cons: He still struggles to rap about things outside of his favorite rappers. Bottom Line: Game hasn't yet found niche in rap outside of his relationships with 50 and Dre.
Recommended Tracks:
My Life
Game's Pain
The Game’s debut “The Documentary” could have been a 50 Cent album. 50 was its biggest star - the co-executive producer featured on the first three singles. Game name-dropped G Unit incessantly, while bragging about a past (Compton gang-banger, five bullet holes) suspiciously 50-like.
His second album “Doctor’s Advocate” revolved around Dr. Dre, who had chosen 50 over him after a feud between the two Dre proteges. It was a conflicted album, both defiant (full of Dre-sounding beats that screamed “I don’t need you”) and plaintive (with lyrics that begged for forgiveness).
So who exactly is he without 50 and Dre? That’s the question he faces on his third album “L.A.X.”
Even without his mentors, the record doesn’t lack in star-power. The endless guest-list (Nas, Lil’ Wayne, Ne-Yo, Ludacris, Ice Cube and Common, just to name a few) leaves room for only three solo tracks. An equally impressive group of producers keep the G-Unit meets West Coast sound of his first two albums.
Game isn’t overshadowed, thanks to his commanding and self-assured baritone straight out of gangsta rap central casting. But for someone from Compton, the birthplace of gangsta rap, his ghetto tales are so unimaginative they could be a parody: “Come to my hood / Look at my block / That’s my project building / Yea, that’s where I got shot.”
He’s interested not in gangsta rap but gangsta rappers; he’s more fan than rapper. He incorporates other musicians into every subject imaginable - from civil rights to sex. They’re signposts in both time (“Everybody’s first bootleg was Boyz ‘n the Hood”) and place (“I’m from a block close to where Biggie was crucified”).
On “Never Can Say Goodbye”, the album’s most ambitious track, he raps as Biggie, Tupac and Eazy-E on the eve of their deaths. It’s expert mimicry, but if he wants to join the ranks of his idols, he’ll have to find a voice of his own.
Pros: Rap's biggest producers give Wayne "monumental" beats for his moment in the sun.
Cons: Seemingly inexhaustible lyricists running out of steam after more than a year of leaks and features. Bottom Line: Wayne's best work remains scattered over mixtape scene.
Recommended Tracks:
Mr. Carter
Tie My Hands
On “Phone Home,” between calling himself a Martian and comparing himself to E.T., Lil’ Wayne declares “they don’t make ‘em like me no more / matter fact, they never made it like me before.” He’s right.
While many rappers freestyle their lyrics and even more abuse drugs, few take it to the extremes Wayne does. Throughout most of Tha Carter III he is rapping without a safety net — even he’s not sure what he’ll say next. He laughs at his own jokes, as if he’s just realizing what he said; occasionally, he loses his train of thought and starts rapping about something else.
On songs like “Got Money,” an auto-tune duet with T-Pain destined to be a club smash, his random boasting fits perfectly. Other times, the result is a mess — on “Let the Beat Build” he wastes a great beat with absolutely nonsensical rhymes. Many critics have praised his unique style as post-modern “free association” rapping. Less charitably, he’s babbling drug-induced nonsense.
But his recent work on the mix-tape scene blurred the line between these two distinctions — mixing his lyrical insanity with strong and powerful songwriting. It was these songs, along with his numerous feature appearances, that made the buzz for Tha Carter III so deafening. It’s been XXL’s most anticipated album since January 2007, and in the meanwhile, several of his mix tapes made it onto critical top 10 lists.
He’s had hundreds of songs released in the past few years, and the addition of any number of them would have greatly improved Tha Carter III. Instead, by the end of the album, a rapper with a seemingly endless amount of lyrical creativity has a song about sleeping with a female police officer who pulls him over (“Mrs. Officer”).
The production, mostly from A-list producers David Banner, Just Blaze, Swizz Beatz and Kanye West, carries the album. On the suitably epic “Mr. Carter,” Jay-Z drops by for a passing of the torch, telling Wayne “that I took so much money from the rap game, now it’s your go.”
But even in the digital age, albums are still an artist’s ultimate proving ground. For Wayne to claim the throne, he’ll have to leave the mix-tape game behind and do like Kanye: keep all his best stuff for himself.
Pros: Married with a newborn, Usher is all grown up.
Cons: To0 many songs that sound like American-Idol standards. Bottom Line: Forgettable album aims for the bedroom, ends up with elevator music.
Recommended Tracks:
Love in This Club
Moving Mountains
It's hard to believe Usher's Confessions was released only four years ago. No album since has matched its chart dominance — four No. 1 hits ("Yeah," "Burn," "Confessions II" and "My Boo") that spent more than half of 2004 atop Billboard. At the time, its commercial success (9 million records sold) was merely remarkable; in today's climate, it's unfathomable.
With the emergence of the digital download and the fracturing of the pop culture scene, the days of the mega album may be gone forever. Since 2004, album sales have plummeted. 2007's top-seller (Josh Groban's Noel) barely sold 3 million copies. Over the past year, artists used to going platinum their opening weekend (Mariah Carey, 50 Cent) have found themselves struggling to reach that mark at all. Many of the industry's top stars, such as Eminem and Shania Twain, have simply stopped releasing new music.
So how do you top an album the rest of the industry couldn't? The question looms over Usher's latest Here I Stand. Every pop artist dreams of musical success, but few chased fame as single-mindedly as Usher. Since signing a record deal as a teenager in the early '90s, he methodically worked himself toward stardom. The musical experimentation of his contemporaries (Justin Timberlake, Andre 3000) never interested him; Usher always stayed safely within the confines of modern R&B.
The ideal R&B singer would look very much like Usher — more seasoned then younger singers such as Chris Brown, more versatile than current hit makers like Akon and T-Pain, all the while maintaining an image acceptable to both corporate America and the club scene. You'd have to go all the way back to the original King of Pop to find a comparable artist, no surprise considering how heavily Usher borrows from the Thriller-era Michael Jackson.
And while he's had his brushes with the tabloids, Usher's been careful to avoid the seedier aspects of modern stardom. Here I Stand emphasizes this wholesomeness; he's now a newly married father. Where Confessions revolved around him cheating on the woman he loves, Here I Stand is full of earnestly delivered lines about love and commitment: "I was a hustler and a player girl before I met you / But how you made a difference, look what I've been missing / You got my life together, and I thank you forever."
The difference is that great art is inspired more by pain than joy. Usher's imperfections on Confessions made him more relatable and gave songs like "Burn" an edge. Aside from the standout Young Jeezy-assisted lead single ("Love in This Club") and an R. Kelly-like plunge into lyrical absurdity ("Trading Places"), "Here I Stand" is full of generic R&B standards. They're well sung, but they're songs a choir-boy type like "American Idol's" David Archuleta would be comfortable with. It's music for the elevator, not the bedroom.
For most of his career, Usher has been fortunate to be matched with equally talented producers (Diddy, Jermaine Dupri and LA Reid). This time he's not similarly challenged as the few big-name collaborations that do appear (Will.i.am, Jay-Z, Beyonce and Lil' Wayne) seem more for name value than musical chemistry.
Usher never has been afraid to follow a trend (Lil' Jon's "Yeah"), and it might be no coincidence that Here I Stand feels so much like "American Idol," a show that appeals to the blandest elements of pop culture and is one of Hollywood's last reliable blockbusters. The crowd who danced to "Yeah" and sang along to "Burn"? They don't buy CDs anymore.
Pros: Big budget album sounds like a million bucks.
Cons: Ross is frequently out-shined by his big-name guests. Bottom Line: Ross' one-dimensional ode to Suge Knight wears over a whole album.
Recommended Tracks:
Maybach Music
Luxury Tax
Rick Ross certainly isn't afraid of thinking big. From his music to his persona, everything about him is over the top. Even his stage name is a tribute to Freeway Ricky Ross, one of crack cocaine's pioneers. And if you listen to his lyrics, the comparison seems appropriate. He hasn't just sold drugs; he "made a couple million dollars last year dealing weight."
While such outsized boasts aren't unusual in rap, what makes Ross unique is the utter sincerity with which he delivers them: "It ain't nothing to do 100 in the Maybach, throwing money out the roof." He's "The Boss," an almost direct copy of Death Row founder Suge Knight — a cigar-chomping and sunglass-wearing former college football lineman, complete with a gravelly, bass-heavy delivery and a tattooed, menacing frame.
Aside from the obligatory uplifting closing track "I'm Only Human," there's little else on Trilla that makes "The Boss" seem human and not cartoonish.
"Trilla" fits this persona. On first listen, everything about the album seems big. Every box on a mainstream hip-hop album is checked – there's the remake of Ross' first hit "Hustlin" ("Speedin") complete with the R. Kelly chorus, the T-Pain song ("The Boss"), "Luxury Tax," the posse cut with all his A-list friends (Jeezy, Wayne, Trick Daddy) and the Nelly club song for the ladies ("Here I Am"). Jay-Z even drops in on "Maybach Music," an apt description of the album — something meant to be played at full volume in the cars and clubs.
But underneath all the theatrics, it becomes clear why the album follows the same formula as his debut, Port of Miami. While other rappers use charisma and talent to get away with one-dimensional lyrics, Ross is neither a particularly clever nor able word-smith. His inability to master even elementary breath control forces him to use the same flow the entire album, stopping for breath at the end of nearly every line.
Like any blockbuster, big-budget release, "Trilla" packs enough visceral thrills to be enjoyable. But is it anything that will stick with you past the opening weekend? Probably not.
Pros: New minimalist sound keeps album sounding fresh.
Cons: His self-absorption and egotism are becoming increasingly hard to take. Bottom Line: Graduation makes strong case for album of the year.
Recommended Tracks:
Good Life Everything I Am
Album: 50 Cent Curtis
Rating: 3/5 stars
Pros: Consistent album with very few misses.
Cons: Uninspired work breaks no new ground lyrically or musically.
Bottom Line: How many times can 50 remake Get Rich or Die Tryin?
Recommended Tracks:
I Get Money
Ayo Technology
The Kanye West/50 Cent showdown is finally here. From the Rolling Stone cover to 50's conditional retirement (if Kanye outsold him) announcement, the rappers have masterfully hyped today's releases of Graduation and Curtis for months.
But they face a challenge bigger than outselling each other. Not only are they being counted on to reverse rap's nosedive on the charts (2006 saw a 21 percent drop in album sales), but also to breathe new life into a genre that Nas famously declared "dead" a year ago.
And although they reside on opposite sides of the hip-hop spectrum, their rise to the top is similar. As gangsta rap exploded in popularity in the '90s, it no longer became enough to deal drugs on wax; to rap required a rap sheet. The entire industry became obsessed with keeping it as real as possible — with 50 and his nine bullet holes the logical conclusion. Less than a year later, Kanye rose to super-stardom by flipping "realness" on its head — reveling in his insecurities and not-so-subtly positioning himself as the antidote to 50's macho posturing.
"Realness" was the selling point for their groundbreaking debuts — Kanye's College Dropout and 50's Get Rich or Die Tryin. Two albums later, they're no longer lovable underdogs, but international mega-stars. Fame has dramatically altered their lives, how would it affect their music?
Curtis high point is the aptly titled I Get Money. Over a blistering beat that combines a retro '80s rap sample with menacing synthesizers, he reminds us that: "I take quarter water and sold it in bottles for two bucks / then Coca-Cola came and bought it for billions, what the f*ck?"
An earlier single is even more explicit, as 50 and Tony Yayo laugh Straight to the Bank: "I ain't even got to rap now, life is made / Said I ain't even got to rap, I'm filthy made." OK, he's rich, now what? It's a question Curtis never really answers.
Lyrically, he hasn't progressed at all, recycling the same themes from his first two albums. He's either a killer still walking the streets (see: My Gun, Man Down, I'll Still Kill) or a thug with a soft side (see: duets with Mary J. Blige and Robin Thicke). Things bottom out with the failed first single Amusement Park, a remake of the already heavily recycled Candy Shop.
But songwriting, not lyricism, made 50 who he is. That's Curtis’sbiggest surprise — there aren't many hits. Before The Massacre was released, he had four songs in the Billboard Top 10; only Ayo Technology is likely to make much such noise on the charts. And that has more to do with the Timberlake/Timbaland tandem than 50's superfluous verses.
The production, farmed out to a roster of no-names, is functional — the melodies won't stick in your head, but they'll keep it nodding. Curtis, essentially a less-inspired remake of Get Rich, is an unrepentant New York gangsta rap album. It should satisfy his fans, but even a salesman as good as 50 can't resell the same product forever.
While 50 steadfastly refuses to acknowledge that his life has changed ("I ain't fresh out the hood / I'm still in the hood"), Kanye can't stop talking about it. Graduation is his most personal album yet, in the sense that Kanye West is the only real subject.
The social commentary of his earlier works is markedly absent: "Say goodbye to the NAACP award / I'd rather get the 'I got a lot of cheese' award." Whether he's rubbing his success in his doubter's faces (Can't Tell Me Nothing) or exulting in the Good Life with T-Pain, Graduation is a defiant celebration of his career.
Kanye has never been afraid to take risks musically, and Graduation is no exception. While many songs are still rooted in familiar samples (Michael Jackson on Good Life, Daft Punk on Stronger), he opts for a minimalist approach around them — light synthesizers, airy drums and soulful piano chords — instead of the grand hip-hop orchestrations of Late Registration. The result is a futuristic sound that, befitting the album’s celebratory feel, is almost impossibly cheerful.
This accentuates Kanye the MC, for better or worse. More than ever, he sounds like a star: charismatic enough to remain likeable as he delivers increasingly absurd raps: "I had a dream I could buy my way to heaven / When I awoke I spent that on a necklace / I told God I'd be back in a second / I feel the pressure, under more scrutiny / And what I do? Act more stupidly." Yet his technical skills are still barely passable — flowing like an older roller-coaster picking up speed as it barrels downhill, just barely staying on top of the beat and the edge of disaster.
50 and Kanye aren't just rappers anymore; they're celebrities. Ignore that celebrity in your raps too much and you become a self-parody (Snoop Dogg), but embrace its insanity too fully and you become an uninteresting bore (see Eminem's appearance on 50's Peep Show). At times in their third albums, both fail to manage that balancing act.
If they want to stay relevant, they had better learn how.
Pros: Long-awaited collaborations with fellow Southern greats don't disappoint.
Cons: Bloated two-disc tracklist will thrill long-time fans, exhaust the uninitiated. Bottom Line: UGK makes a triumphant return with Pimp C out of jail.
Recommended Tracks:
International Playaz Anthem
How Long Can It Last
Before Southern rap dominated the airwaves and long before Big Pimpin, Bun B and Pimp C "put out a record at the age of sixteen / rapping about moving work, candy paint and sipping lean." Fifteen years later, not much has changed, as the two Port Arthur rappers follow this same formula over laid-back bass lines and sparse '70s soul samples.
Their unique sound influenced a generation of rappers. And while those same rappers (Jeezy, T.I.) tweaked that blueprint to sell millions of records, UGK stubbornly stuck to their guns.
Underground Kingz, like their previous work, is a relentless chronicle of the street life – cars (Candy), women (Like That) and drugs (Cocaine). But as Bun B makes explicit on How Long Can It Last, it's not a lifestyle they're terribly proud of: "People think hustling is cool or hustling is live / They don't understand hustlers only hustling to survive / They wish they daddy was home, mama wasn't on drugs / And they didn't have to grow up to be dealers and thugs."
The duo share a unique chemistry, which they showcase International Playaz Anthem, the brilliant first single with Outkast. Over a lush loop of a Willie Hutch song, Pimp C's flamboyant charisma makes an undeniably crass verse about pimping seem endearing. Bun B is the thoughtful lyricist, mirroring the menacing drum line perfectly.
At more than two hours long, "Underground Kingz" is equal parts exhausting, uncompromising and triumphant. There is a great album buried somewhere in the midst of its 28 songs, but the listener will have to dig to find it. You get the feeling UGK wouldn't have it any other way.
Cons: Kanye's attempts at imitating J Dilla's sound fall flat. Bottom Line: Inconsistent album is weighed down by too many dreary and forgettable songs.
Recommended Tracks:
"Southside"
"So Far To Go"
Common explains his new album’s title (“Finding Forever”) on its final lines: "It was in the wind when she said Dilla was gone / That's why I know we live forever through song."
J Dilla, a legendary underground producer and one of Common's longtime collaborators, died last year after a long struggle with a rare blood disease. And although he only produced one track, his presence is felt throughout — Kanye West, who produced the majority of the album, made a conscious effort to imitate Dilla's distinct neo-soul sound.
In that sense, "Finding Forever" sounds like what you’d expect of a Common album. And though lead-off single "The People" and epic closing opus "Forever Begins" prove he hasn't lost his edge, the album's familiarity is a little disappointing.
Not only has Common rapped on J Dilla-esque beats since 2000's "Like Water for Chocolate," but West's ubiquity makes it feel like a less inspired reprise of 2005's "Be."Worse many of his stories – a ballplayer caught in the hood, a stripper dreaming of a better life – feel as stale as the beats.
Just because music isn't top-100 oriented doesn't make it deep – too often Common and West aim for serious and end up sounding pretentious. The album comes alive when they stop taking themselves so seriously, especially on “Southside”, the Chicago anthem where they trade whimsical rhymes over a hard-hitting guitar lick.
Not surprisingly, the Dilla-inspired album sounds best on the one Dilla-produced track ("So Far To Go") where the evocative and understated instrumentation blend beautifully with the D'Angelo assisted vocals. Subtlety has never been West's strong point, and his attempts at aping Dilla's restrained sound ("Black Maybe," "Break My Heart") are dreary and forgettable.
Common made classics with J Dilla (2000's "The Light"), but time always marches forward, and if he wants to continue making timeless music he can't keep looking back.
