On: the pressure to go "personal"
faux_rillz
14,343 Posts
See Ludacris's RnB album, undoubtedly the worst terd he has thus far released.Why is it that everyone suddenly feels the need to veer out of their lane and release "my most personal album yet" and "really speak to the fans on this one"These attempts to hit all the topical bases of introspection, with a song addressed to your unborn child, and one complaining about your fame, etc., are no more defensible than the attempts dudes have been making to triangulate on the market by hitting all the production bases for the past eight years or so, with a track from Li'l Jon, one from Swizz, etc., and lead to similarly weak albums.Not everyone can be Jay or Face, and most dudes would make better albums if they didn't even try. See: Ludacris's vastly superior mixtape with Green Lantern.Cue a bunch of fruitflies talking about "They should just stick to rapping about selling crack, right?"
Comments
Absolutely one of the best rappers out there; not one of the better RnB artists.
In seriousness, though, being one of the best rappers has never really translated into being one of the best makers of rap albums in his case. I think his style works best in contrast with other rappers, which is why Chicken & Beer, which he loaded up with guest appearances that made sense, was his best album after his debut.
I was listening to the mixtape yesterday, it's pretty good. How much, if any, material from it is also on the album?
And from what I heard in an interview with Steve Harvey the other day Luda called his new album Release Therapy because it's last album in his contract with Def Jam. It would make sense to me then that he would air it all out and start fresh next time around (a joint venture signing between Island Def Jam and his own Disturbing Tha Peace label).
Whether going "personal" is going to work for him or not remains to be heard from my perspective. (I only heard allusions to some of those conceptts on the mixtape.)
Edit: Oh, there was that one track about all his family members asking for money, etc.
May Luda stick to technically gimmicky, comedic raps so that his lukewarm singles continue to fool people into thinking that they are actually that real schitt.
I agree--that is definitely their lane.
The arbiter of that real schitt has spoken and he has determined that technically accomplished raps and comedy have no place in hip-hop. Everybody make a note of that.
Very little--the tape convinced me to check for the album, which I probably wouldn't have otherwise done after the disappointment that was Red Light District. Unfortunately, the tape and album don't have much in common.
Wait until you hear his Mary J. Blige-blessed dedication to little girls lost. Or the album closer with guest shots from a bona fide preacher (NO DMXO).
It's all about those those designer[/b] literary devices, shon.
Usually when rappers go soft/wack she has something to do with it.
I have yet to see him in any purple crocheted pants...
Admit it - you were just geeked to hear Ludacris rap over the "He Man" Theme.
the tj toomp track was bangin.
Mabye i was just really high......
Then it got to the first slow number and I thought this is ok, gives the listener a breather........
Ten songs later I was breathing easily and still waiting for Ludacris to stop whining.
No sir, I didn't like it.
I thought this was going to be the thread in which you devoted yourself to:
1. Pictures of your collection/personal space
2. "Blog"-style memorare about "life" and "love" and "other stuff"
3. Tender reminiscences of time spent with your father while fishing and cutting wood
4. "Real talk" about girls and the pressure to settle down
5. Finally shedding that tough shell of cynicism and letting the rest of us in the "community" get to know the rill rillz
My most personal instance of being thoroughly disappointed in you yet,
~B
Dad took one look at the boy-next-door's garments swaying in the wind, the same boy who had recently thrown an apple at our house claiming he was trying to throw it over the house and into his family's friday-night bonfire, the same boy whose mother marched him over to our house, hid behind our maple tree, and looked on as her young trouble-maker forced out the empty words of an apology which hung in the air like drying laundry, dad looked at me with the look of a Christmas-morning child and said "I'm getting the chainsaw." I met him by the woodpile, my hands cold from holding the red gas cannister, he with the new chainsaw in his hands. His clothes, covered in browns and tans from hauling hunks of recently chopped limbs, blended into the woodpile, offering a perfect opportunity to simply lean back into the scenery and let the gasoline vapors creep through the slats like thrushes to linger on the line. I made a mental note to celebrate the occasion with beer once the woodpile stacked up--most men drink with more than one sense: the sociable with a friend, the alcoholic with a bowl of nuts, the outdoorsman has the wind, the smell of fresh timber was ours. Dad, looking over to the line, ripped at the saw and made it bark several times. "Think you can get away with that, do you? I remember." Then he let a log have it, flinging the saw down, leaning into that thing as if he was taking on a Redwood, sawdust overtaking the fumes: some fumes festering, some fumes finding the way through, sawdust flying up like sparks in a friday-night bonfire, finally settling ankle-deep. I gathered up the disks lazily, knowing the point was not to build a tight wall--if they were watching, we wouldn't mind them staring slack-jawed through the porous row of ash, oak, and pine--it was vengeance: dad wasn't slicing through the job to get the job done, he was reminding the young boy with the strong arm that his forearm might soon be lodged in the woodpile, his mother having to pin up one sleeve on his sweatshirts so the kids at school wouldn't make fun of the stump. The tornado having passed, the chainsaw wheezed and quit. "Smell that?" I inhaled deeply, loaded with the smell of trampled sawdust and crisp cuts, dad's face glittered with sweat, beard trapping the last victim's pulverized remains. His eyes sliding back to the line, "That is what we call a job well done."
Probably the best ninth post the board has ever seen. Only a man's man could have written that.
and yes I agree, Luda should make the song every time.
Hahaha! Is that on there? He did that for a proposed He-Man movie, and the production company nixed it due to the shortage of kid-friendly lyrics.