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T.I.‘s ninth studio album, Paper Work: The Motion Picture, marks an important turning point in the 34-year-old rapper’s career – a goodbye to Atlantic, who he had been with for ten years to start anew with Columbia, teaming up with one of pop’s biggest superstars, Pharell. In theory it seemed like a good idea, and in the end probably so, but the execution of his first album in his new digs couldn’t have been worse.

All the familiar tropes are present in this debacle: the typical club banger, the come up song, the me-against-the-world anthem and who could forget, the homage. But the culprit is not predictability. It’s T.I.’s willingness to relinquish the creative direction to his younger, less established guests – a frenetic attempt at siphoning fans. The beats don’t hold up either, as the Summer of Pharell has already wound down to an anticlimactic and extremely annoying end.

The stilted contributions combined with the mailed in beats lay a dense fog over the album that neither T.I. nor his guests can overcome. It’s a misguided effort lost in space trying to find context. Instead of worrying about his bottom line he should have just put his head down, shut the world out and wrote. But he didn’t, and for that reason Paperwork: The Motion Picture is just another run-of-the-mill album.

King

Proclaiming himself as the king amongst kings and showing no qualms about it. It’s tidy, accessible and a typical output from a superstar of his caliber. The beat is odd, ghoulish even, as if he were the crypt keeper. Nevertheless it’s a firm step forward done so with unwavering style and confidence:

King

G Shit

When Pharell is involved it’s hard not to roll your eyes, he’s everywhere. The beat holds several familiar elements – the punchy percussion and usage of empty space – all of which equate to a big hunk of stinky cheese. Tip doesn’t mind, in fact he’s extra comfortable gettin’ gangster over a trendy beat:

GShit

About the Money

What other motivation is there other than the cabbage? Together with the Pippi Longstocking of rap the two frolic hand in hand down a sonic path that’s heavy on the loftiness and thin on the skill. T.I. lets his guard down and his guest dictate his delivery, which is the mark of a shoddy artist:

About the Money

New National Anthem

The classic come up story, done to a beat that celebrates his ascension from street tough to million dollar mogul. Most rappers like to believe they’re still that guy, but give T.I. credit, he’s mature enough to say that those days are over and he’s happy cashing those checks. The American dream realized:

New National Anthem

Oh Yeah

The all too familiar “me against the world” trope leaving a bitter taste in the mouth. It has the heart but lacks the moxie, and Pharell‘s presence has a lot to do with that, sinking T.I.’s credibility faster than the Titanic. Making matters worse T.I. sounds a bit too much like DMX. A bad look:

Oh Yeah

Private Show

A personal striptease set to music, and yet for some reason T.I. thought it’d be wise to have Chris Brown as the featured guest. There is an appeal in that they both have residency status in strip clubs all across America. Yet still, even from T.I., it comes across as boorish and juvenile with zero personality:

Private Show

No Mediocre

Another odd guest spot considering the track’s namesake because the most mediocre artist of the past decade is Iggy Azalea. The vibe is haphazardly put together with the out of place steel drum and menacing undertones falling flat on its face. It leans more towards ‘stalker’s anthem’ than club banger:

No Mediocre

Jet Fuel

Mike WiLL Made It beats are sounding more b-movieish as the days go by. It’s got a snotty appeal that is one quirk away from being a shtick and T.I. seems to be gobblin’ it all up. The lyrics degrade into a thin stale piece of bread, which is to say that they’re dry, flavorless and a bit over-salted:

Jet Fuel

Paperwork

A little bit of Motown, a little bit of doo-wap and a whole lot of biting from 2015 Puff Daddy. The juxtaposition between the happy-go-lucky beat and the cold hard truth behind the lyrics is strange and characteristic of blind delusion. Yet another potentially righteous song misfiring on all marks:

Paperwork

Stay

The sensitive G role has been a part of hip-hop since forever and it still hasn’t gotten any better especially for the type of rapper who’ll spend a whole album pissin’ on women only to come back begging for forgiveness. The high pitch vocal sample and sultry guest spot only add to the charade:

Stay

About My Issue

Smooth and buttery like an old school blaxploitation flick, drenched in the moods of the ’70s. This is T.I. at his most natural, letting his effortless flow carry the narrative instead of jumping through hoops to show he can still hang. The laid back attitude and throwback sensibility is vintage T.I:

About My Issue

At Ya Own Risk

T.I. going left field and sounding like a clown doing it. The beat especially, chiming in like a bad remix of the Unsolved Mysteries theme. He’s trying to go the Sleepy Brown route, but is too far removed from the scene for it to sound believable. It lacks the moxie needed for entry into the Vinyl Room:

At Ya Own Risk

On Doe, On Phil

Sizzling synth and heavy-handed bass does little to salvage the train wreck. It’s supposed to be a shock narrative and explore the seedier side of livin’ in the dark corners, but instead Tip goes back to eye-rolling smack talk. It’s a young man’s game he’s playin’ and he doesn’t have the lungs to keep up:

On Doe On Phil

Light ‘Em Up

An homage to a friend who had passed far too young. It’s a good way to make yourself accessible without being vulnerable, and T.I. keeps it tight and in the pocket. It’s an average song at best, but there’s enough effort here with the horns and the boom-bap to make it more tolerable than the others:

Light Em Up

Let Your Heart Go

A soft way to end an album, and an example of why certain rappers just can’t be taken seriously. Of all the hype he’s been boastin’ – how bad and close to the streets he is – it’s a strange way to send off his listeners like a limp handshake and a sweaty palm. Par for the course by today’s standards:

Let Your Heart Go