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The Great Lil Wayne Debate:
Is Tha Carter III a Classic?
Guide by Jonah Weiner, Nick Sylvester, Josh
Eels, and Robert Christgau
This past Tuesday (6/10), Lil Wayne's Tha Carter III
finally hit stores, a week after it leaked online. It's the New
Orleans MC's sixth LP, and the most anticipated hip-hop release of the
year. In an online-exclusive roundtable, unfolding throughout the
week, panelists Jonah Weiner (Blender senior editor),
Nick Sylvester (writer and riffmarket.com blogger), Josh
Eells (Blender senior editor) and Robert Christgau
(Blender contributing editor) debate the burning question: Does
it live up to the hype?
- Opinion: Jonah Weiner
- Opinion: Nick Sylvester
- Opinion: Josh Eels
- Opinion: Robert Christgau
- Opinion: Jonah Weiner
- Opinion: Nick Sylveter
- Opinion: Josh Eels
- Opinion: Robert Christgau
1: Jonah Weiner
Dear Nick, Josh and Bob,
Finally. Last week, Barack Obama won the Democratic nomination and
Tha Carter III leaked. Today, it's in stores for
real. African-Americans and white, Volvo-owning, sizzurp-sipping
elites, this is your now!
Bridging the gap between these two events, sorta, is Jay-Z, who
released "A Billi" over the weekend. A remix of Tha Carter
III's monstrous "A Milli," the song features two fewer verses but,
you know, three more zeroes at the end, because Jay-Z is very rich. It
also features hip-hop's highest-profile Obama love to date: "Brrrap!
Brrrap! Lick a shot for Brrrack Obama/ Change gon' come or I'mma buy
the whole 'hood llamas." (Llamas, I learned when T.I. came to the
Blender offices a couple years ago and schooled me, are
pistols--ironic that he was the one to tell me since his llama farm
wound up biting him in the ass last October). Disappointingly, at no
point in the song does Jay-Z utter the phrase, "Barack-a-Fella,
y'all," but I'm holding out hope for the remix to the remix. (Funny
enough, Juelz Santana likened himself and Lil Wayne to Obama on the
2007 Roc-a-Fella taunt "Black Democrats"--they were the new breed
running Jay and Nas "out of office"--but that non-beef is apparently
squashed.)
The fact that "A Milli" proved so irresistible to Jay-Z seems to
reinforce my hunch: If this isn't the single of the summer, it's got
to be the street single of the summer. When you live in New York City,
this basically amounts to the same thing. It's the nasty-ass loogie
every other car radio is going to hock, stinking and sizzling, onto
the asphalt. This is momentous for Wayne. A decade into his career,
he's never before been a summer-dominating hopeful (two excellent
flame-themed singles notwithstanding), which speaks to his stunning
transformation from regional novelty to the rock star Jay-Z calls "my
heir." How did he get here?
Nor has Wayne ever been a No. 1 pop artist, an injustice the sex
jam "Lollipop" has rectified for the last four weeks and
counting. It's funny that "A Milli" and "Lollipop" are Tha Carter
III's two lead singles, though, because they're so perfectly
opposite. The former is a four-minute rumble, all steamrolling punch
lines and no chorus; the latter is nothing but chorus, with one punch
line repeated over and over. I like "Lollipop," but there's something
cynical about it. A virtuoso MC:
1) muffles his wit, foregoes his rhythmic acrobatics, essentially
deep-sixes his virtuoso-MC-ness, 2) cribs a Blow-Pop-as-penis metaphor
from 50 Cent, cribs the phrase "lady lumps" from Fergie, cribs a beat
from Mims, cribs the rest from T-Pain, and 3) enjoys the biggest hit
of his career for his not-very-much trouble.
Which brings me here: After releasing a rough average of 137
brilliant mixtapes a day for the last two years (curious readers are
advised to download standouts Dedication 2, Da Drought 3
and LilWeezyAna Vol. 1), the pressure was on Wayne to prove he
could translate his gray-market genius to an old-fashioned, capital-A
album. When rap heads draw a line between albums and mixtapes, I think
the distinction they intend is between a cohesive collection of songs
and a wild collection of ideas. So, did Lil' Wayne pull it off on
Tha Carter III? What are the demands of one medium versus the
other, and how does Wayne balance them here? And, anyway, do we even
want "songs" from Wayne, when the alternative (non-sequitur-rich,
tangent-chasing, de-centered material like "Sportscenter,"
"C.O.L.O.U.R.S," "Dough is What I Got," or "Live from the 504," for
example) is so fantastic?
Oh, and while we're at it, what's your favorite track, and which
one do you already skip?
Yours Trilli,
Jonah
2: Nick Sylvester
Josh Jonah Bob--
I like to shit in the sink every now and then, too; that doesn't
make me a Martian. Let's talk "Phone Home," wherein our hero recycles
his fourth-best line from his 2006 "Show Me What You Got" freestyle
and uses it for his jump-off; wherein he makes preemptive reference to
his physical likeness to E.T. (though I always thought the dreads put
him in Predator's camp); wherein Wayne plays the Martian card against
anyone who dares compare or cramp or criticize: "We are not the same/
I am a Martian." Well! As someone who makes a buck off the occasional
stunt, I feel obliged to point out that I hold my Martians to a high
standard.
It's a tall claim for any artist to make, that he's beyond
criticism. That one's style is so bastardly, so autonomous and/or
hermetically sealed, that to hate is to not-fathom. I'll ride--I
always do--but you better take me somewhere good. Remember when Will
Smith said the parents just don't understand? Then just sorta left it
at that? What a prince. With Bel-Air he even gave parents a second
chance to get with it (I refuse to use the J-word), and you better
believe Beth and Barry Sylvester had the rap game figured out by the
time Jim West got "Wild Wild" in 1999. Which is to say, there was
nothing more Will Smith wanted in this world than for parents to
understand. They gave up after "Big Willie Style," of course. So did
Big Willie.
Likewise, remember that post-Smith rapper named Young Jeezy. In
2005 the Atlanta rapper wrote off his lazy pen as evidence of street
tough. What fools we were! No true trapper has the time to write good
lyrics! Hardly a seamless garment, gangsta rap came apart because
suspension of disbelief became passe, yet Jeezy made those rags work
for him, wore them like a wave cap. "Denzel Washington-ass niggas,
that's what I call them," Jeezy said on Can't Ban the Snowman. "They
good actors." Am I the Dr. Dre of rap critics? Maybe the Q-Tip? I
ride! You always let me. And like you, just like you, I enjoyed
exploring the ins and/or outs of another myth of authenticity, not to
debunk but to swim in it, not to ethnologize but to draw the dots from
rap's self-immolating fix for the real to Oprah's long knives for
James Frey to the rapid proliferation of gonzo porn to the heavy-edit
paradox of reality television. We gave each other space and not the
evil eye. On and on and on.
But so, anyway, Martians. Lil Wayne. Tha Carter III. "Phone
Home" is as close as we're gonna get to an entry point into Wayne's
World. We can try to divine his one-liners for some kind of sequential
logic: "Like I bought it from Target" into "Hip-hop is my supermarket/
Shopping cart full of fake hip-hop artists" into "I'm starving, sorry,
I gotta eat all it/ And I be back in the mornin'" makes sense to me,
coming from the Rapper Eater. But this is tiring, and tedious, trying
to carve out some narrative from his free association--trying to get
inside Wayne's head. Doesn't taste good. I got Jobs on the brain,
granted, but Wayne's asking us to think different. Quintessentially
Southern, he's a lyricist using words in a non-lyrical way, keeping
his verse on the same level of importance as the beat and the delivery
and the attitude.
What's tough is that not all the beats knock, yet almost every line
is a money shot. It's distracting, overwhelming in a way (say) that a
Bun B record never will be. I don't think you're supposed to be able
to rap along with Wayne or, like a Magic Eye, key into anything
grander. Rather--and this is what Jonah was getting at, and I agree,
cue the curtain--the fact is that Everything Is A Mixtape. Rather
rather, A Sizable Amount of Our Culture Is Disseminated And/Or
Processed Mixtape-Like. And ? this is tough ? maybe we're not supposed
to make it through every track. It's not that Wayne is beyond
criticism, just that he's beyond a certain kind of it. The lazy
kind. The kind that wants to turn everything anybody ever does into
some kind of Statement, to put everything into context. The kind that
dares eat a Rapper Eater. Well! This is reality, Greg. May you die
slow.
Nick
P.S. My favorite track is "Dr. Carter"; the one I skip is "Playing
With Fire," or whichever one it is where Wayne compares himself to
Martin Luther King.
3: Josh Eels
My fellow Wayniacs,
I'll start with a confession. As much as I love them, I've always
found Lil Wayne's mixtapes a wee bit exhausting. Brilliant and
unrelenting, they're best when dipped into judiciously, like an
America's Next Top Model marathon or the stash of Thin Mints in your
office kitchen. Which is why Tha Carter III may be the first
Lil Wayne album that I can play all the way through. Yeah, Everything
Is a Mixtape, and Paul Is Dead, and Weezy Is God, and All Your Base
Are Belong To Us. But this capitalist cash-in does just what an album
is supposed to do: It hangs together, it flows, it lives, it
breathes. For me Wayne's biggest weakness has always been his suspect
taste in beats--the reason those two flame-themed singles Jonah
mentioned never took off the way they should have. With Carter
III Wayne finally has a slate of A-list tracks all his own, while
making fewer concessions to capital-P Pop than you'd expect an artist
as weird as him to have to. And while I'll agree that jacking Fergie
and T-Pain is a tad cynical, if it means more songs as irresistible as
"Lollipop," well then, carry on, sir. (Although just for the record, I
prefer the remix.)
I'm not sure I buy Nick's claim that Wayne's
stream-of-consciousness raps defy parsing, or that he doesn't
privilege lyrics over beats (or at least sounds). Sure, anyone who
rhymes enemy with sympathy with energy with Eric Bienemy is a guy who
gets off on hearing himself croak. But Wayne futzes with words in a
way that only a true language lover can--punning without shame,
jumbling syntax, even mangling pronunciation when it suits his
purposes. Eff a Martian; he reminds me of another little green dude
who also lives on a planet all by himself. (Same eyes too.) This is
all the more impressive for the fact that Wayne does it all while
seemingly high as freaking balls. It's the reason he's always rapping
about Funyuns and soufflés and eating stars. On "Don't Get It" you can
even hear him toking up--which may explain the lovably bizarre
ten-minute monologue about mandatory drug sentencing and how Al
Sharpton's race-baiting is tearing America apart.
That rant takes me back to a point Jonah made glancingly: Could
Wayne be hip-hop's Obama? He's certainly got the herb-love. Also, as
Bob has pointed out elsewhere, a guy who's spent most his life as a
professional musician couldn't possibly have sold half the coke or
murked half the bodies that Wayne claims in his raps--but that doesn't
mean I don't get goosebumps hearing him talk about it. Rhetoric over
reality! Deval Patrick, get at him! Wayne's label is predicting a
first-week turnout of a milli, which sounds like record-company
bullshit, but these days who knows? Can we reasonably expect Carter
III to be the biggest cross-demo uniter since, like, "Umbrella"?
Yes we can!
Oh, and Nick, good looking on the Will Smith tip. (Although
considering how much Wayne loves sharks, I bet he prefers Oscar to Jim
West.) The Willie-Weezy comparison is actually one Wayne makes
himself, in one of my favorite lines from "A Milli": "Boy I got so
many bitches like I'm Mike Lowrey/Even Gwen Stefani said she couldn't
doubt me." Unless he's talking about this guy?
As for my favorites: "Phone Home" is the best song about E.T. since
Neil Diamond's "Heartlight." "Mrs. Officer" is the best song about
fucking police since "Fuck Tha Police." "Dr. Carter" is ingenious--but
a 2-out-of-3 patient death rate? Lil Wayne is not a very good doctor!
The only song I skip is "La La," and that's because it reminds me of a
troubling encounter with Disney's It's a Small World ride.
One thing I'm curious to hear from you, Bob, is your take on
Wayne's sexual politics. Here's a guy who's never been shy about
pleasing the ladies (check two of my favorite mixtape tracks, "Pussy
Monster" and "Prostitute," neither of which made the album), but who's
also got a stubborn antifeminist streak. As someone who's never let
anyone off the hook for misogyny, how do you feel about Wayne's
treatment of women in song? Also, isn't "Let the Beat Build"
incredible?
Extraterrestrially yours,
Josh
4: Robert Christgau
Dear Young People--
To quote our hero, I'm me. Four decades older than my fellow
bloggers and writing about hip-hop before they were alive or at least
out of diapers, which is not a casual metaphor. But despite this bona
fide, I'm not a hip-hop person the way they are--especially Nick and
Jonah. I am downloading-impaired (wasted 15 minutes this morning
trying to cop LilWeezyAna Vol. 1), buy mixtapes only when
someone like Nick tells me to twice, never listen to hip-hop or any
other kind of radio because I'm too busy playing CDs, and dance to
hip-hop maybe once a year, one of many learning experiences I wish I
had more time for. By my lights, I love hip-hop--play it for my
contemporaries whenever they give me the chance. But it's not the
center of my musical universe--which in fact has no center, expanding
as it does.
The purpose of this lengthy preamble is to set up my own response
to Tha Carter III, which I now own in three almost totally
different iterations, two ID'd as "mixtapes." That's counting the burn
Blender got to me Saturday and the one I AmExed at Virgin at
midnight Monday as one, although the track order is different and my
"deluxe edition" includes a disc containing The Leak EP (which
starts with "I'm Me," as I already knew from Rhapsody and my Sansa
player). I think Jonah is right--"album" means something very
different from "mixtape" in the commercial climate Wayne has mastered
or at least confronted with such audacity and imagination. I've
listened to that album half a dozen times now, and--sorry, but this is
how I run my business--still don't really know what I think of it. But
I can say this much. I like it, sure. A or A minus record, very
likely. Right now, however, there's not a thing on it I enjoy as much
as "I'm Me" or "Kush" on my bonus disc. Maybe tomorrow that'll
change--likely it will change. But although my favorite hip-hop album
of the decade is Kanye's highly produced Late Registration, in
this case album-ness is not a plus. "Lollipop," which I first heard
here for reasons suggested in my first graf? Pretty weak. Kanye's
"Comfortable"? I'm not convinced even though--unlike Nick, if I'm
understanding him correctly, though I was surprised to see him say
this--I don't normally give a fuck about "authenticity." I don't give
a fuck whether Weezy wrote the rhymes or Gillie the Kid did (though a
return to Gillie the Kid today left me highly dubious about the
latter), and I don't give a fuck if Weezy is any kind of love man (or
indeed, heterosexual, though it would admittedly be cool if he was in
fact gay). But six times in, with room to change my mind,
"Comfortable" is not a slow jam for me and my lady. Its dishonesty
lacks conviction.
Although like Josh I find Wayne's mixtapes overwhelming, it's their
overwhelmingness that has rendered him the most important rapper and
indeed pop artist since Kanye fell off, as he did last September. He
is unlikely ever to make a Late Registration or even a The
Chronic (which I still can't stand but respect for its influence
and iconicity). What's great about him is that he's out of control. He
overproduces, runs on at the mouth, can't stop himself. As Josh says,
he's in love with language--more even than Eminem or Chuck D, very
nearly (although not quite) in early Dylan territory. At the same
time, he loves rapping, but the two aren't really distinguishable. The
shit just rolls on and on and on, and some of it is brilliant and some
of it isn't, but when it isn't brilliant it gets close enough soon
enough. I especially love "I Feel Like Dying," the best song about
getting high since the Rolling Stones' "Moonlight Mile." But the track
I play for my contemporaries is "Intro" from Da Drought 3. It
has that Mims beat that I never heard until Weezy brought it to my
attention, and thank you Mims even if I can't understand why the fuck
your version was so huge. (One reason I like the mixtapes is that
Wayne jacks and improves all those hit beats I'm not nearly tired
of. Though the long sample from the Beatles' "Help" on one of my
Carter IIIs holds up pretty good.) But that moment when he
moves from "I can jump on any nigga's song and make a part two" and
all its attendant impossible rhymes and then moves on to the
dancehall-stylee "Murder dem," as if to say before I was this and now
I'm that and four lines from now I'll be something else and that's why
I'm better than you. Or rather, one reason I'm better than you. There
are many. I heard something in his flow even when he was pushing the
thug shit I hate.
This brings me to the misogyny question Josh
raised. Gangsta-etc. is a metaphor system. Problem is, very often it's
a socially retrograde metaphor system, or even worse, a metaphor
system invented to camouflage the socially retrograde. I have no use
for it unless it's truly brilliant--classic example: M.O.P.'s "Ante
Up," one of the great singles of the past decade (with a pretty good
album attached). But Lil Wayne is clearly playing with the shit. There
are moments--I'd have to go looking for them, but I do notice them as
they pass by--when he shades over into the socially retrograde. But
his sense of play swallows those moments up. Very New Orleans,
this. Listen to the Wild Tchoupitoulas sometime. Mardi Gras
Indians. Very upful. Sing about killing each other, among other
things. I love 'em.
My favorite track so far is on the bonus disc. "I'm Me," natch. Let
me say bye with a few lines: "The only time I will depend is when I'm
70 years old/That's when I can't hold my shit within, so I shit on
myself/Cause I'm so sick and tired of shitting on everybody else."
Just one thing, authenticity-wise. In my experience, folks don't need
Depends--those are diapers, young people--till they're past 80. Hope
I'm right.
RC
5: Jonah Weiner
Dear Wayne Trust:
Like Josh, I was surprised to see Nick describe Wayne as
"quintessentially southern, using lyrics in a non-lyrical way." I've
taken a different lesson from him since Carter II. When Wayne
raps, on "Dough is What I Got," that he's "the only down-south nigga
could have been in the Firm or the Commission or a Wu-Tang nigga," I
take it as explicit notice that he cares a hell of a lot more about
traditional east-coast rapping values (which basically means rhythmic
complexity and metaphorical density, right?) than, you know, Lil Jon
or Young Jeezy (whose realer-than-real anti-rhyming myth Nick
elegantly traced). Wayne's got a marvelous voice, and I think a huge
part of his rise to greatness involves the way it grew from an
adolescent wheedle to its raspy, ravaged current condition. But--and
if I'm putting words in your mouth, Nick, and they taste nasty, spit
'em back at me--that doesn't mean he values sound over sense, much
less regards them as equals. Consonant-obliterating T.I. boils his hot
lines down into drawl-drones (see "What You Know"), but Wayne is a guy
who stops to laugh at his jokes every other bar! As he says on
"Dr. Carter," he means "every letter in the words in the sentence of
my quotes"--and he wants us to catch every last one, even if it means
rewinding a whole bunch.
But it's true: job one for Wayne is not Hov-esque, clear-eyed
communication or Nas-esque, urgent dispatches. Bob puts it very
nicely: Wayne's brilliance shines when "he overproduces, runs on at
the mouth, can't stop himself." One of my favorite rhymes of Wayne's
is from "C.O.L.O.U.R.S.," on Tha Carter III Sessions mixtape,
where he brags, "My body's unique, like the Sistine Chapel/Fresh! Like
six green apples." This couplet is three things: unabashedly goofy;
strikingly formalist as it yanks our attention toward the
constructed-ness of the rhyme, the work of rhyming going on; and a
fantastic punch line by even the most hardened '90s-purist's
standards: A thoroughly unexpected, thoroughly original
characterization of "freshness." Fresh like Certs? Heard that or
something like it before. Fresh like your first year at college?
Zzz. But fresh like the half-dozen Granny Smiths I got at Fairway last
October? Yum!
These sorts of rhyme schemes--"parallel rhymes," as I've seen
critics call them--are the gems of Wayne's recent catalogue: Sistine
Chapel/Six green apples. Arrogance is funny/Asparagus is yummy. Lot of
weed/Pot of peas. Hockey team/Rocky theme. One of my favorites is from
"Dr. Carter": Yeast infection/Geese erection. It's something Eminem
does (used to do?) astonishingly well, but with him the rhymes come in
the service, more or less, of a narrative (mom's spaghetti/palms are
sweaty/calm and ready, from "Lose Yourself"). Wayne, by contrast, is
great at putting narrative at the service of his rhymes. He starts
with a yeast infection. What rhymes with that? Geese erection. How the
hell does he get from yeast infection to geese erection in a bar?
Well, what properties do geese erections have? They are hard, and they
fly. Voila: "Fly, go hard like geese erection." A chaotic,
twelve-way-train-wreck-of-thought meets rigorous rhyme discipline. (I
am happy to mention I got to watch Wayne conceive of and record this
rhyme for this feature).
So I half-agree with Josh--the mixtapes are exhausting, but the
upshot of that is, they're almost impossible to exhaust: dense,
excessive, unpredictable, as surprising and rich with play on a
fifteenth listen as the first. I love Tha Carter III, but am I
asking too much if I wish there were a bit more excess to it? Not
excess in the sense of skits and irritating "ladies' jams" featuring
Bobby Valentino (it's got the latter--that's the one I always skip,
"Mrs. Officer"), but excess in the sense of buckets of WTF-ness, rules
not just being ignored but rewritten in Martian hieroglyphs--Cf. "I
Feel Like Dying," a daydream/waking nightmare Bob aptly identifies as
one of Wayne's most fascinating songs.
Wayne raps, as I put it in a forthcoming hard-copy Blender
magazine review, in hypertext links: I love how he pings from tangent
to tangent on Tha Carter III. But I wish he'd get lost in those
tangents some more, feel out and expand their contours a bit, the way
he does in the "Phone Home" Target rhyme Nick mentioned.
Oh, and my favorite song here, if it wasn't implicit in post No. 1,
is "A Milli." If we're going by Bob's rules, though, "I Feel Like
Dying" and Wayne's hard-knock-youth-reminiscence "La La La"--not to be
confused with "La La" here--give it stiff competition.
Like, geese-erection stiff.
Jonah
6: Nick Sylvester
Dear J-Love and Waynans Brothers,
Thanks for your major pain and not-so-hidden darts. Let's get this
party started quickly. This post is brought to you by Kraftwerk:
Don't sweat "quintessentially Southern." When I say the New
Orleans rapper Lil Wayne uses words in a non-lyrical way, I do not
mean that's the only way he works them. I certainly don't mean to say
I think the man is just scatting up there. To be clear, I love this
album. 93 RIFFS or 90 RIFFS, very likely. The guy can rhyme. But I'm
bummed by what I fear is some New York Critical Approach valuing only
Wayne's East Coast Rapperness: the dense metaphors, the rhyme schemes,
the science dropped, while Wayne's non-ECR qualities and non-ECR
delivery are glossed over. In this roundtable setting, I am trying to
correct that. I apologize if I'm overdoing it. But the NYC approach
forsakes one of rap's key traits, which is its orality. The stuff you
won't see on elyricsworld.com or Sing365. The NYC approach keeps all
the venom in the jar--or worse, considers venomous that which is not
East Coast Rapperly. NYC isn't necessarily an academic approach, and
doesn't produce lazy scholarship per se, but it's very clinical, a
little too Wynton Marsalis for my tastes, and shrives Wayne
short.
Perhaps because it's easier to write about words, I do think
critics tend to wax long on lyrics more than the so-called non-verbal
qualities of a rapper's delivery. And all I'm trying to get at, swear
to Christ, is why Wayne's rhymes are more fun, more physically
pleasing than (but just as science-droppy as) your usual East Coast
Rapper's. Wayne pays as much attention to the circumstances of his
delivery--laughing at every other joke, garbling his best lines,
running out of breath, mispronouncing words for the sake of a rhyme
then apologizing for doing so, etc.--as he does to that which he
delivers. He physically draws attention to the fact that he is a
rapper, rapping. These are not secondary to the content. They are the
content themselves. And I find his particular sort of attention to
delivery, in service to his persona, to his attitude, to the ease with
which he wants his words to hit our ears, very Southern--or at the
very least, not exactly on the top of the priority list for the
science-dropping East Coast Rapper type. I find many lyric-driven rap
artists are difficult to listen to. Either I don't like the way his
voice sounds, and I don't like how he articulates, or I don't like the
words he uses--too many nouns, maybe, or too many abstractions. Dense
metaphor is strictly for-the-mind shit. It's there with Wayne
too--there in all the ways people have been pointing out so far--but
there's a Macbeth side to him too: Look like the innocent flower, but
be the serpent under't. Anyone can understand Wayne, and yet no one
can understand Wayne.
I really enjoyed Jonah pointing out the rhyme structures Wayne
leans on, and picking apart the methods to his madness. (I swear I'm
done with the Shakespeare references.) The recreation of Wayne's
thought process though, i.e. how Wayne got from "yeast infection" to
"geese erection," and how his bridge from one rhyme to the other
("fly, go hard") comprises something particularly unique or
praiseworthy in the game . . . Let's not get carried away. Lil Wayne
is a rapper. Rappers rhyme. Rhymes exist only as sound. Occam would
have it they start at the next couplet's rhyme, and then they figure
out how to get there, all while maintaining some semblance of grammar
and syntax so we can understand what they're saying. I don't think
this is just Lil Wayne's M.O. It's just what rappers do. Let's not get
carried away, because otherwise, we're just rewarding rappers for
talking in sentences--we're singing their praises basically for not
being Aesop Rock. It's a slippery slope. By that logic, Rick Ross
might truly be the biggest boss that you seen thus far.
The word "narrative" has come up a few times. Narrative comes from
narrare, which is O.G. for to tell a story. "Fly, go hard like geese
erection" is not a story. It's barely a sentence. It's brilliant. But
it's not a story, and it's barely a sentence, and the next verse (to
my ears) is "fashion patrol, police detection/ Eyes stay tight like
Chinese connection." But maybe that's not the best part of
"Dr. Carter" to bring up if you want to talk about the few and
fabulous times Lil Wayne stays on point. As I said last time, this is
my favorite rap song on the album, key word being "rap song." There's
an overarching theme (Wayne is a doctor who operates on rappers), the
theme is roughly but not dogmatically adhered to, and Wayne allows
himself plenty flights of fancy and dead-end tangent-chasing. That'd
be enough for me. But this is why the song is brilliant. As Josh
pointed out, Wayne is a terrible doctor. Each verse, he starts out
focused, but as he continues the operation, he becomes distracted by
his own tangents, as if catching his own reflection in the stainless
steel of his scalpels. His first two patients die. Wayne sends up his
own vanity, critiques his own style. As in "Phone Home," he preempts
all criticism. He's a doctor. You can't read his writing. What's
implicit is that: Sometimes neither can he. Notice that the only
patient he saves is Hip-Hop herself. The same thing happens as the
first two verses--Wayne loses himself in the tangents--but this time
he catches himself and focuses back on the task at hand: "Wait! As I
put the light down his throat/ I can only see flow/ His blood starting
to flow/ His lungs starting to grow/ This one starting to show/ Strong
signs of life/ Where the stitches, here's the knife/ Smack his face,
his eyes open/ I reply with a nice welcome back/ Hip-Hop, I saved your
life."
But most tracks on Tha Carter III aren't "rap songs." They are
free-for-alls and freestyles and unstructured and (in a word)
mixtape-like. As as I was getting at last time: For me this is an
entirely new way of listening to rap music. Wayne's approach is of the
times, very honest, oddly humble. Let's go bowling: I hear Music
For Airports here more than I do The Blueprint or anything
rap canonical. This is wallpaper music in the honorable way Eno meant
it: Physically pleasing, non-demanding sounds, yet if you take the
time to listen, at any given point you will find depth and meaning and
brilliance in spades. It is a pastiche of koans, haikus, and RIFFS,
nonlinear and with no main entry point. Just drop in. Bob seemed to be
getting at this same point, by negation, when he said Wayne will never
make a Late Registration. That album was an event, and so
struck me anomalous and anachronistic to begin with. Maybe that was
its power. But music doesn't have the Event Power it used
to. Dematerializing to the point that it's about to bankrupt the very
industry that took it this far, music has become part of the daily
fabric, taken for granted like heat in the summer and advertisements
on the subway. And yet! There is no reason to mourn. Wayne
promises.
I don't wanna be a number either,
Nick
7: Josh Eels
To my homeys working on the Wayne Gang,
It's fitting that both Bob and Jonah have brought up Eminem. More
than anyone else--the elder Mr. Carter included--Em is the rapper
Weezy reminds me of most right now. Not so much his cadences or rhyme
patterns, though those are there too (as Jonah pointed out). It's more
the fact that he seems to just be--playing with it. On The Eminem
Show Eminem sounded like he'd lost his damn mind, doing Pee Wee
Herman impressions and rhyming about utterly wacky nonsense because he
just didn't give a fuck anymore. Wayne projects the same sense of
just-foolin'-around, but instead of boredom, he's driven by
curiosity. He loves getting lost inside his own brain, slipping inside
every unlocked door just to see where it goes. My favorite example of
this is four bars near the end of "Mr. Carter," where he just takes an
idea and runs with it--"Off the Richter /Hector/ Camacho Man Randy
Savage/ Far from average/ Above status/ Quo . . . flow . . . so
. . . pro . . ." It's an earthquake metaphor followed by a name that
kind of rhymes with the thing people use to measure earthquakes
followed by the last name of a boxer who has that first name followed
by a Jeopardy "Before and After" joke about a professional wrestler
followed by an offtime couplet that eventually devolves into a string
of just-happen-to-rhyme signifiers. And down the rabbit hole we
go.
I learned long ago not to argue with someone who knows more Latin
than me, so I won't take issue with Nick's claim about narratives
vs. sentences vs. shit that just sounds really cool. But I would like
to point out that "non-linear" is not the same as "non-narrative." By
which I mean, just because Wayne doesn't have expositions and
resolutions and character arcs, doesn't mean he's not telling a
story. Even if the story is just, I am effing crazy.
I do have to disagree though, Nick, with your comparison of
Carter III to one of Brian Eno's physically pleasing,
non-demanding ambient odysseys. (Fun fact: "Ambient Odyssey" is also
the name of a delicious blueberry-apple smoothie I had yesterday.) To
me, Carter III is the opposite of non-demanding. I was trying
to write this post with the album playing in the background, in fact,
and I couldn't do it. Had to turn it off. I kept getting drawn in--by
the beats, by Wayne's one-liners, and yes, by his "orality." (No
you-know-what.) Eno's wallpaper music is cool and monochrome, the
aural equivalent of a rainy Saturday afternoon spent playing chess on
your iMac. Wayne's wallpaper, on the other hand, is sizzurp-vision
colorful, and peeling at the corners, and reeking of weed and sweat
and not a little sex, and hey, is that blood over there?
David Lee Roth had a great line about rock critics loving Elvis
Costello because rock critics all looked like Elvis Costello. I think
music critics love Wayne because we think like Wayne--or at least
would like to believe we do, or would if we could. Wayne sees
juxtapositions, patterns, dots waiting to be connected. He thinks, in
other words, like a critic. Here's somebody or other, writing about
Da Drought 3:
[Wayne is] a rapper who secretly albeit clearly to me gives a shit
about what he's doing, so much so that he doesn't even want to get
paid for it. He just wants validation. He wants somebody to rise to
his level and read the fuck out of these lyrics, really think about
how they fit together track after track.
In other words, Lil Wayne needs us! And he appreciates us! On
Dedication 2's "Sportscenter" he even gave a special shout-out
to magazine editors. Not our magazine, granted, but hey, we take what
we can get. Word nerds, unite!
But lucky for Wayne (and us), critics aren't the only ones who love
him. I hate to keep harping on sales (although then again why not,
because sales are the whole point here--otherwise he'd be giving this
one away free, too), but a projected 900K+ in the first week? More
than Mariah and Usher did in their first weeks combined? To me, that
qualifies as an event. Maybe Nick is right, and in this fractured,
ADHD, hyper-whatever culture, Everything Is a Mixtape. But I have
friends who buy maybe three albums a year and they couldn't wait to
get their hands on this one. Does it count as irony that one of the
people most responsible for exposing the flaws of the
record-industry's distribution model might also be doing more than
almost anyone to save it?
Anyway, rap album of the year. Download it now if you haven't
already. Heck, BItTorrent a copy to give to your daddy this
Sunday. And be sure to give it to him with a big wet kiss.
Josh
8: Robert Christgau
Fellow Rock Critics?
So I'm supposed to provide the summation, eh? Fat chance,
especially with this open-ended character, who as Jonah informed us
just rematerialized or whatever you call it today with the online-only
six-minute Carter III "bonus cut" "Whip It," which I just
streamed and then downloaded (free! hey! It worked!) because Jonah
loves it. More than me, so far, but you know, I'm not a quick study?no
instant judgments, very pre-blog. Yesterday I refused even to finalize
on the album. But having first softened myself up with saturation
listening and then decompressed by spending the evening with a lot of
New Orleans and related Latin tinge piano (first at a private chamber
concert, then on CD at home), I woke up this morning raring to go. I
was going to take notes on every track, get my m-b-c around every
one. Only by the time I got to "A Milli," track three, I was
weary. Where was that rush I get when I bear down on music by artists
this good? "3 Peat," "Mr. Carter," "A Milli"--all creditable. But no
rush. Then came "Got Money," which soon revealed itself as my least
favorite track here even though I have nothing against T-Pain (come
on, guys, it's no "Low") and "Comfortable" ("I would never 1-2-3-4get
you?" Come on.) Then my wife woke up and made tea and I took a long
break, depressed. Etran Finatwa at breakfast, not a great Sahara
album, was a relief.
A few hours later I came back and fell in love. Not with the whole
album--my read at the moment is that it starts slow, peaks for five
terrific songs in the middle, and then recedes enjoyably enough. The
game-changer--Weezy's North Carolina--is the hilarious "Dr. Carter,"
which I think Nick nails as far as he goes, peaking with the glorious
"He's a doctor. You can't read his writing" (only I'm not sure whether
that's a Weezy line I missed or Nick's own--perfect either
way). There's more, though. Skit part's essential, especially Weezy's
wearily idiomatic "ach"s when the nurse details the patients'
ailments. More important, not only is Weezy an ineffective doctor,
he's KILLING bad rappers--murdering dem, with malpractice. And most
important of all, the beat, which I found so rich I checked out David
Axelrod's "The Smile," which it samples. The effective string part I
figured. What killed me was that the hyperactive drums and off-center
bass were also there, near as I can tell chopped and looped to be much
crazier by Swizz Beats. Nick, we do all know and basically agree about
this East Coast words-versus-music stuff; that's what my apostrophe on
"Intro" said yesterday. "Dr. Carter" wouldn't be such an up if the
lyric wasn't so maniacal. But the lyric itself can?t carry the song,
and for me isn't even at the center of its excitement. Rather, it's
the l-m-c (that one means lyrics-music continuum, you figure out the
other). "Dr. Carter" is a song. That's how most songs work.
I love the next three tracks too, in "Mrs. Officer," "Phone Home,"
"My Hands Are Tied" order (Robin Thicke gets best cameo award here,
ahead of both Jay-Z and Betty Wright). But my favorite track on the
record is the other Kanye West production, apparently a two-bar loop
Wayne added drums to: "Let the Beat Build." Once again, the music
carries the track--as I said last time, one reason Wayne's mixtapes
rule is that they jack proven beats that only the novelty snobs who so
distort both alt-rock and beatmaking are tired of. It just builds and
builds. But it wouldn't build as effectively if the rhyming wasn't
Wayne at his best. Let me quote one, er, let's call it a quatrain,
though I could also just say credo: "I can see the end of the
beginning/So I'm not racin' I'm just sprintin'/'Cause I don't wanna
finish/They diminish, I replenish."
Nick says Carter III is really a mixtape. I say no mixtape
has a "Got Money," a "Comfortable," a "Lollipop" (which I'm warming
to, I think). Those songs turn it into a Statement--about pop,
really. Josh thinks that statement is also a kind of salvation. I
doubt it--like Jonah, I want more excess because excess is Wayne's
gift. But there's enough excess, contradiction in terms thought that
may be. With Wayne, contradictions in terms are specialite de
maison. Mighty cootie fiyo.
RC
Blender, June 11, 2008
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