cdreviews
by Maurice G. Garland
LUDACRIS RELEASE THERAPY DTP/Def Jam
YOUNG DRO BEST THANG SMOKIN’ Grand Hustle/Atlantic
METHOD MAN 4:21... THE DAY AFTER Def Jam
If there’s one thing that Ludacris has proved over the years it’s that he can rap in his sleep. Unfortunately, his larger-than-life personality has caused many to sleep on his lyrical ability. With his fifth studio album Release Therapy Luda aims to wake up the rest of the world.
After a few show-stealing cameos on P$C’s 25 To Life and T.I.’s King, Young Dro let it be known that he was not going to be looked at as a sidekick or homeboy with a record deal. His Grand Hustle debut does a good job of introducing him to the world and leaves you wanting to hear more.
The days of the world constantly asking “when is Meth dropping another album?” are long gone. Hell, the days of people saying Method Man is the best Wu-Tang member have disappeared too. The Ticallion Stallion’s latest effort 4:21…The Day After won’t bring those days back single-handedly, but it is a step in the right direction. Totally void of blatant attempts at radio and club spins, The Day After serves as an apocalyptic account of what music may sound like after people getting tired of dancing and balling. It’s how music sounded before the shiny suit era.
As usual ‘Cris opens the album with no-holds barred verbal assaults. The frantic horn-looped intro, “Warning,” has him revisiting what he did to open Back For the First Time; warning us that he’s “Like pots with the steam, I’m ready to get it cracking” and “It’s bout time they gave it to me, I’m the reigning champ, your favorite rapper went to Ludacris’ training camp,” and then following it with shit-talking from his naysayers and supporters. He keeps the energy level high on “Grew Up A Screw Up” featuring Young Jeezy. Of course there wasn’t going to be any real lyrical challenge there, but Field Mob shows up for some “mouth-to-mic resuscitation” on “Satisfaction” with Luda once again getting outdone by his newest employees. With punchlines already a strong part of a Luda’s arsenal, clever wordplay and witty one-liners are always expected. But what sets this album apart from his previous works are attempts to go from profane to profound. “Mouths to Feed” has ‘Cris talking about responsibilities like supporting his daughter, DTP staff and his artists; stressing that he is so busy that he “Can’t keep up with the news, but I get that daily paper.” He then gives some good game on “Tell It Like It Is,” telling aspiring artists about everything from shady promoters, money management, Hip Hop police and then posing the question: “All that, and this is just the start of it / Hip Hop, you really wanna be a part of it?” “War With God” has had internet chat rooms buzzing for months, but “Do Your Time,” featuring Beanie Sigel, Pimp C and C-Murder is the “it” record on this album with all four artists giving their unique experiences on the effects of jail life. A group of somber, spiritually charged songs rounds out the album. Even though the narratives on “Runaway Love” and the confessionals of “Freedom of Preach” can and should be applauded, the bottom line is that they just sound okay. Overall, Release Therapy is a strong effort that showcases Luda’s growth as an artist and writer. 102
Throughout the album, Dro proves that he is indeed an emcee equipped with charisma, unique flow, wordplay and creativity. Unfortunately, he tends to limit his colorful imagination to rapping about money, cars, clothes and hoes. At least he does it well. On “They Don’t Really Know About Dro” he attacks the track with a veteran’s swagger, telling us that “I’ma die awesomely, with grands on the top of me.” However, this opener virtually serves a blueprint for what you will hear on the rest of the album. “Man In the Trunk” has Dro spitting clever braggadocio in the form of “Polo I be dressing in, man I be damaging / Hoes be like damn that’s a mannequin.” He hits the track running on the Jazze Pha-produced and Slim Thugfeatured “You Don’t See,” spazzing out on the opening verse: “80K in Wachovia, pussy nigga phobia, I call them like a Nokia, they know I got the juice ‘cause the whip is Frutopia.” Lines like “I’m the Bankhead veteran, got ‘em taking Excedrin, suckas caught headaches when they saw me on David Letterman” make “100 Yard Dash” memorable. The same can be said about his performance on the album’s standout record, “Rubberband Banks,” when he spits, “Outerspace ballin’ put you up on astronomy / Mathematically with the pistol I do trigonometry” and “I’m a chief like an Indian, freaks are Caribbean, my feets are amphibian.” There are a good number of lyrical jewels and heart-wrenching moments on the album, but they easily get lost in the shuffle with the overabundance of car color references. One minute Dro has a “Cutlass same color of a bumblebee,” the next he has a “Jolly Rancher car.” The album also trails off towards the end with weak hooks, monotonous material and lagging production, making “Fresh” one of the only reasons to keep listening. Dro clearly has a penchant for crafty wordplay ala Raekwon and Ghostface. With a little more seasoning and direction he could easily become a top tier lyricist that could leave a lasting impact.
Meth tries to rehash memories of “All I Need” on “4Ever,” but the guest singer Megan Rochell is no Mary J. Johhny Blaze does manage to get the rapper/female singer collab correct on the somber “Say,” featuring Lauryn Hill. Sounding like two former 1990s media darlings gone bitter, Meth matches the pain in Lauryn’s voice with critic-slapping lines like “They writing that I’m Hollywood trying to tell you my shit ain’t ghetto and ain’t hardly hood / C’mon man, until you dudes can write some rhymes keep that in mind when you’re reciting mines.” On that note, Meth spits plenty of rhymes worth reciting on “Konichiwa Bitches.” He takes it up another notch when he is among his NYC peers Fat Joe and Styles P on “Ya’ Meen.” Redman makes an appearance on the Isaac Hayes-sampled “Walk On” but the cameos that you’d expect to the most prolific still might have you pushing the skip button. Raekwon and RZA come through on “Presidential M.C.” for some darkside Hip Hop that only the Shaolin can produce, however the song is more forgettable than it is nostalgic. The same goes for the lackluster O.D.B. (R.I.P.) assisted “Dirty Mef.” But “Everything” featuring Streetlife and Inspectah Deck serves as a good rebound.
4:21 is far from perfect. While Meth’s bitter attitude can be understood, it gets tiresome at times (at least he isn’t blaming the South for everything). But it is safe to say that this is Meth’s rawest work since Tical. So clubhoppers and radio drones, steer clear of this album unless you’re looking to change your musical diet.