weezy_LEAD

Much to Birdman‘s chagrin, Lil Wayne released Free Weezy (his 11th studio album) for free through Tidal, a streaming service that Lil Wayne has part ownership in. It was a shrewd business move that more or less served as an audible middle finger to the Cash Money exec. The only catch is that maybe Birdman had a good reason to hold back.

Free Weezy, which technically is a mixtape since it was never up for sale, is what you’d expect from Lil Wayne, quirky hooks and snappy punchlines. But coming from a 32-year-old it hardly has the appeal it once had. Wayne sounds dated and out of his league, distracted even, by words that no man approaching his mid-30s should speak, even one as vainglorious as Lil Wayne.

It’s the same shtick, which is where he goes wrong. So according to Birdman why invest in Wayne when you can apply the same formula to Young Thug and get a bigger return. Free Weezy is vintage Lil Wayne, and in rap vintage is not a good thing. It’s an antiquated sound that marks the end of a once heralded star.

Glory

His long awaited return is marked by triumphant beats like he were part of some organized crime syndicate. He wants retribution and is spitting the fire, but it’s the same old game from the same old flame. And if he isn’t expressing one superlative it’s another; a dated perspective from a bygone era:

Glory

He’s Dead

Noticeably pop with a quirky bounce, a style that has come to define Lil Wayne. He’s speaking from the perspective of his naysayers who are claiming that his reign of over. It’s a creative twist that puts him above other like minded souls. It’s just too bad we’ve heard it a thousand times before:

He's Dead

I Feel Good

It’s a shame that he had to bring James Brown into this, but when you’re as clueless and blind to your own hype as he is it’s to be expected. He’s patting himself on the back celebrating his own glory, the only catch is he’s the only one present. It’s an ego flex that has been stretched too far:

I Feel Good

My Heart Races On

An altogether corny track that taps into the heart of Wayne’s sentimentality. The hook is a magnificent hunk of cheese, and by the time he enters the fray it sounds like he had already exhausted himself with tears. The mark of a champion is in their unshakable poise and integrity, Wayne has neither:

My Heart Races On

London Roads

Slow, meticulous and faded beyond all measure, a complete rip of A$AP Rocky‘s style. Old man Wayne has little left in the tank and is scrambling to stay relevant. In the process he’s shamelessly biting, which is only tainting his legacy like Michael Jordan wearing a Washington Wizards jersey:

London Roads

I’m That Nigga

The lowest rung of rap hell, and who better to great you than Lil Wayne. He’s salivating at the big wad of cash in front of him not realizing just how much a stooge he is, submitting to every rap stereotype in the book. Using the n-word that much only means he’s covering up for a loss of words:

I'm That Nigga

Psycho

After all the chest pounding and braggadocio Lil Wayne finally collapses within himself, and in woefully pathetic fashion too. In truth it’s an awkward love song, one meant to express how obsessed he is. Either way between the drab beat and poor writtens it’s a multi dimensional failure:

Psycho

Murda

The way his voice meanders in and out of pitch sounds as if he’s shrinking before our very eyes. He’s a midget on the mic, a little kid clomping around in big boy shoes, so when he talks about murder it’s about as intimidating as a My Little Pony convention. He’s trying to rep, but is too far removed:

Murda

Thinking Bout You

An anthem for the little guys; full of exaggerations and myths. He’s zeroing in on one girl and thinks he can swoon her by letting her know that even when he’s working he’s thinking about her. But what he doesn’t he realize is that she’s already looking for another lame rapper to leach off of:

Thinking Bout You

Without You

More uncontrollable sobbing, no wonder Birdman had his doubts. In fact he might even be talking about Birdman, and mulling over what went wrong. Wayne is living in cliche emotions, and none of it seems real or authentic. He’s bitten styles, and now he’s plagiarizing feelings, typical of a fading star:

Without You

Post Bail Ballin

Lil Wayne proves yet again that the well is running dry. It’s a news flash of undramatic proportions; Wayne is rich and famous and wants the world to know. The irony is that it’s his fame that’s isolating him and making inspiration hard to come by, a double edged sword for him to fall back on:

Post Bail Ballin'

Pull Up

Your standard declaration of supremacy, but after a whole album of weepy bellyaching it hits about as hard as an old man in an iron lung. There’s not many avenues left for Wayne to explore and at this juncture the young living makes him sound needy and pathetic, he’s running out of places to run:

Pull Up

Living Right

Two goofballs put their absolute best together and the only thing they can come up with is a rehash of all the familiar rap tropes of yesteryear. Their idea of living right has a lot to do with why they are both formless rap clones whose fanbase consists solely of zombies, drones and lemmings:

Living Right

White Girl

Giving a shout out to cocaine, the one friend he has left. The stock beat does little for the mood, and while he’s trying to sound hard he actually comes across as soft as a Vanilla Ice freestyle. Even longtime fans would be wise to avoid his tainted product, one full of filler and dwindling highs:

White Girl

Pick Up Your Heart

One sad ass way to close the album, so sad that it evokes pity over sympathy. He’s a fading star and has been for years, and now he’s having second thoughts about his celebrity. He’s inviting all to partake in the pity party, it’s just too bad he spent the whole album shamelessly bragging about it:

Pick Up Your Heart