The Aesop Rock produced beat comes blazing in like wildfire creating a hazy smokescreen that funnels the attention towards the lyrics. It’s laced with violent undertones; involving a graffiti writer, a gruesome murder and a case of mistaken identity. Blueprint is a master storyteller and this serves as a tease for a forthcoming album. A movie trailer of sorts that hints at a larger narrative.
Yet another example of De La’s timelessness, a bonus track that could easily be a lead single. The beat dances like a ping pong ball but never gets too far ahead of itself leaving just enough space for some hijinks. The focus is on the ladies and while De La has always been known for their conscious efforts they decide to take a more freewheeling approach; no judgments, just ill wordplay.
The beat sounds like an exploding glow stick while the rap itself is the audible equivalent to a Hawaiian shirt; loud and obnoxious. Lyrically it’s as if a four year old wandered into a recording booth and accidentally hit the record button. And the worst part is that there are two of them; clueless wankers trying to flex when all they have to their name are side-eye gimmicks and wack trends.
A ridiculously funky jam produced by the legendary Sly Stone. It didn’t make as much an impact as it should have, but it did find new life later as a quaint little byline in a growing legacy. The beat machine churns out a simple but classic rhythm, and Little Sister nails it with their sweet harmonies. The lyrics may seem nonsensical, but that’s where Sly exists in between here and there.
Per usual Future tries to pass off his rubber stamp lyrics as legitimate raps. The seething beat feels more like hot garbage radiating on a scorching summer day than it does fire found on a healthy dance floor. His malnourished perspective is in full flight and lands face first in a fresh mountain-sized dung heap. If you don’t understand certain parts don’t worry, you’re not missing a damn thing.
For years Pink has been undergoing a transformation and now it’s official, she’s a Power Ranger. A caricature shaped and molded by a bunch of suits. She’s supposed to be a counter culture figure, but the words she’s slingin’ around are about as bland and generic as bottom shelf cereal. The beat is just as atrocious, the type that tries to pass off a highly produced sound as “organic.”
A deep, ominous beat ushers in a striking and formidable diatribe. The slew of attacks come in from multiple angles and hit with a level of intensity that speaks well beyond his years. He’s calling out all pretenders, and making sure that they understand exactly what they’re going up against when they test his might. It’s an introductory track with potential written all over it.
Nipsey Hu$$le pens his ode to the thug life. Unfortunately it’s a complete wash; saturated with commonplace rhymes and an elementary beat. There are moments were it sounds as if he’s not even rapping, more like interludes between verses. And just when you think he’s about to drop a line he gives way to a lame hook featuring an equally lame artist in Young Thug. A terrible homage with no style.
Thick, heavy-handed bass consumes the beat, leaving a hazy but relatively clean slate for Lanez to croon over. The auto tune is lazy and overbearing, and covers up what is by and large a mediocre voice. He’s yearning and pushing forward looking for a way to get his girl to understand how much he loves her. But his excessive use of the word “ho” might not make for a convincing sell.
There’s no shortage of superlatives in rap and it’s refreshing to see a lyricist like Fashawn put a sledgehammer to them. The sample from “My Guitar Gently Weeps” sets the mood, and the detail in which he explores his circumstances is both noteworthy and commendable. He’s exercising supreme confidence; not hesitating for a second to lambaste his naysayers. A telling piece of poetry with no limits.
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