Taking It Back To the Streets
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Jay-Z — the President and CEO of Def Jam, New Jersey Nets co-owner, and ex-retiree — has returned to bury hip-hop, not to praise it. The evil of rap lives in its shopworn rhymes, and its vulgar and misogynistic celebrations of the luxuries afforded a drug-dealing life of crime. He says as much in his sarcastic rant against rap, “Ignorant S—,” from his 10th album, “American Gangster,” which comes out today. The album (not the soundtrack to the film, which features soul and rap classics by artists such as the Staple Singers and Public Enemy) is inspired by and shares its title with Ridley Scott’s film treatment of the life of 1970s Harlem drug lord Frank Lucas. Jay-Z’s song’s title refers to the content of most rap lyrics, which are riddled with boastful, partial truths about drug dealing and gluttony, and which he lampoons with an unmitigated string of profanity featuring every gangsta-rap cliché. “I’m only trying to give you what you want,” he nonchalantly explains in the chorus.
That the track works on multiple levels is what makes “American Gangster” such a messy, brilliant album. “Ignorant S—” is partly a response to the critical view that Jay-Z had fallen off his verbal game with his 2006 “comeback” album, “Kingdom Come.” It’s also a wry comment on the current crop of rap’s biggest albums, such as T.I.’s “The King,” Clipse’s “Hell Hath No Fury,” and Ghostface Killah’s “Fishscale,” all of which capitalized on the return of drug tales to hip-hop. That Jay-Z performs this style of rap better than his peers with a much more subtle backing beat piles brio on top of the poison darts he slings. And he knows it: “I’m a really confuse you on this one,” he announces before diving into the song’s aggressive flow.
Jay-Z’s “American Gangster” shares more with Mr. Scott’s film than just a stirring character. On a certain level, Mr. Scott’s “Gangster” takes a blaxploitation movie and transforms it into a Hollywood blockbuster; similarly, Jay-Z’s album takes the gritty subject matter of his early years, especially his 1996 debut “Reasonable Doubt,” and buffs it to polished hip-hop pop. This album is built with commercial beats, accessible soul samples, and the most uncomplicated delivery of the Brooklyn rapper’s career.
For any other artist, such a move would scream sellout, but Jay-Z has billed “American Gangster” as a concept album, and not just because it uses Lucas as a storytelling springboard. Although the “American” in the title is redundant, it’s there to make a point: The story of organized African-American crime/capitalism is an American story, rooted in this country’s turbulent history. Rap artists have long equated the career tracks of successful MCs and successful drug dealers. Over the course of the album, Jay-Z sketches an operatic narrative of the rise and fall of that enterprise from the perspective of a former insider looking from his perch at the top.
The album’s early tracks about breaking into the proverbial game, such as “American Dreamin'” and “Hello Brooklyn 2.0,” are followed by a stretch in the album’s middle that celebrates the life of living large (“No Hook,” “Roc Boys (And the Winner Is …,” “Sweet,” and “Party Life”). The producers — a rotating cast of DJ Toomp, the Neptunes, Just Blaze, up-andcomer No –I.D., Sean Combs’s hit makers LV and Sean C, and the dependable Jermaine Dupri — favor skeletal beats and recognizable samples, from Marvin Gaye’s “Soon I’ll Be Loving You Again” to the Beastie Boys’ “B-Boy Bouillabaise (Hello Brooklyn)” and Curtis Mayfield’s “Short Eyes,” all of which lend the album a nostalgic patina. During these songs, Jay-Z raps the perfunctory braggadocio of the self-congratulatory: “You don’t even got to bring your purses out,” he smiles in “Roc Boys.” “We’re the dope boys of the year, drinks is on the house.”
The tone begins to change in the aforementioned “Ignorant S—,” on which Jay-Z becomes more self-aware, self-critical, and self-reflective. From this point forward, the album features Jay-Z’s best songs and vocal performances in years. No-I.D. and Mr. Dupri co-produced “Success” and “Fallin,'” the strongest tracks, which pair short samples — a scorching organ line from Larry Ellis and the Black Hammer’s “Funky Thing (Part 1)” in the former, a vocal loop of the Dramatics’ “Fell for You” in the latter — with elemental beats.
“Success” mines the cost of being the boss. “What do I think of success? / It’s tough, too much stress,” he opines in the first verse, before running dazzlingly through all the things he had to do to get there: “In broad daylight I’ll off your on switch / not too bright, good night, the long kiss.” And “Fallin'” actually wonders if it’s all worth it: “The irony of selling drugs is sort of like using it / Guess there’s two sides to what substance abuse is.” The song takes the rap-hustling parallel to its logical conclusion, with Jay-Z questioning whether that’s all there is to being a rapper: Why try to reach the top if the only place to go next is the bottom?
Or is he? In “Ignorant S—,” Jay-Z also warns listeners to be skeptical of rappers. “They’re all actors,” he claims, “De Niros in practice” — including himself. “Believe half of what you see / none of what you hear / even if it’s spat by me.” As the song concludes, Jay-Z proclaims, “It’s only entertainment,” after which you half expect him to chuckle to himself for being so daft. With this song, Jay-Z blows holes in rap’s biggest selling points — its claims to authenticity, rap as personal narrative — as he goes about demonstrating how to do it without becoming just another example of the common rap product.
At 38, Jay-Z is an elder statesman of hip-hop, but he’s still got some songwriting tricks up his sleeve. His flow might not be as tight as it was, his beats might boom like those of the young MCs coming up behind him, but he still possesses one of the sharpest minds in the recording booth. “American Gangster” is a potent reminder not to count him out of this game just yet.