Several emcees were considered for inclusion and just missed the cut. Here are, in alphabetical order, the honorable mentions (some have stronger arguments for making it than others, but all were within shouting distance for various reasons):
AZ
Big Boi
Biz Markie
Busta Rhymes
Craig G
D-Nice
Dana Dane
Dave (of De La Soul)
Del the Funkee Homosapien
DMC (of Run-DMC)
Erick Sermon
Fatlip (of The Pharcyde)
Grandmaster Flash
Imani (of The Pharcyde)
Immortal Technique
Jadakiss
Keith Murray
Kool Moe Dee
Lady of Rage
Lauryn Hill
Left Eye
Lord Jamar (of Brand Nubian)
M-1 (of dead prez)
Masta Ace
MC Ren (of N.W.A.)
Method Man
MF Doom
Prodigy (of Mobb Deep)
Q-Tip
Run (of Run-DMC)
Saafir
Sadat X (formerly Derek X of Brand Nubian)
stic.man (of dead prez)
Tech N9ne
Xzibit
While I tried to be as thorough as possible, I'm sure I inadvertently omitted a name or two. (Some omissions, on the other hand, were absolutely intentional.)
Hopefully the one or two of you who followed along enjoyed the list...feel free to chime in with any thoughts.
Saturday, December 31, 2011
Friday, December 30, 2011
No. 1: Posdnuos
Few emcees are as unassuming, as understated, as un-rap-star-like, as Kelvin Mercer is.
But no emcee is better.
As the driving verbal force behind the greatest hip-hop group ever assembled, Posdnuos has surpassed all of his peers by simply managing to do what none of the others could...
He never once fell off.
Okay, so it's not THAT simple — but in a game of inches, consistency definitely played a part in inching Plug One past the likes of Nas, Eminem and Rakim.
This isn't a case of the tortoise beating the hare by playing not to lose, though — Pos and De La Soul served up some of the most groundbreaking hip-hop music ever made, and Mercer's verses were a lot more potent than he's given credit for.
Pos was just 19 years old when De La Soul's classic debut, 3 Feet High And Rising, dropped in 1989. The record was unlike anything else that was around back then — with the rest of the East Coast caught up in the early stages of the New Jack Swing era and the "gangsta" rhymers rising to prominence out west, De La was a breath of fresh air, a perfect blend of upbeat party music and consciousness. "Me, Myself & I" somehow remains the group's signature song, but tracks like "Say No Go" and "Buddy" are far superior. 3 Feet High And Rising was added to the Library of Congress in 2010 — and it's not even De La Soul's best album.
That came two years later, when De La Soul Is Dead was released. The album spends the bulk of its time bemoaning hip-hop's gradual trend toward the mainstream (shit, if they thought it was bad in 1991, then what about now?!?), but there was space reserved for even more serious material. "Millie Pulled A Pistol On Santa" is a stunningly dark departure from anything De La had ever attempted previously, but it worked thanks largely to the ability of Posdnuos (and, to a lesser extent, Dave) to tell such a disturbing story in such a detached, third-party tone. Their complete dismissal of Millie's allegations is a perfect picture of how society reacts in so many abuse cases.
Just ask the people of State College.
The "traditional" De La Soul sound is still there in abundance, though, with the obligatory sex track ("Let, Let Me In"), a masterful set of skits (something the group pioneered and did better than anyone else in the history of music) — and even a fast-food rap battle ("Bitties In The BK Lounge").
In short, there aren't five hip-hop albums better than De La Soul Is Dead. Ever.
On the group's third album, Buhloone Mindstate, De La experiments a little bit with a more "alternative" sound — and to be honest, I never really warmed to it. Buhloone is, for me, the group's lowest point, but it still didn't suck (I still love "Breakadawn"). Besides, it offered up a pretty honest self-assessment from Pos:
Fuck being hard, Posdnuos is complicated...
Sure enough, he continued to go against the grain on Stakes Is High in 1996. While the rest of hip-hop was trending toward the Scarface-style street tales of Biggie, Mobb Deep, Nas and a young Jay-Z, De La kept doing their own thing, dissing the establishment on the album's title cut. Pos even takes a not-so-veiled shot at Biggie on "Long Island Degrees":
I got questions 'bout your life if you're so ready to die...
The album provided the stage for the debut of Mos Def, and Pos humbly credits Mos with helping him step his game up lyrically. But that's just Pos being his humble self. Lyrics were never a problem...but he is correct in the sense that he continued to get stronger with time.
After the turn of the century, when most of the rest of hip-hop had vanished into the land of radio bullshit, De La kept chugging along with the two (original plans called for three) AOI albums. Posdnuos was at his best on the latter, Bionix — and any argument that his greatness is distorted because he uses a group as a crutch is put to rest on the masterful "Held Down," which is chock full of lyrical nuggets throughout but ends with perhaps my favorite Pos line of all:
...and when I'm watching the news and my daughter walks in and choose to ask:
"Why were all those people on the floor, sleeping covered in red?"/I told her
That they were looking for god but found religion instead...
Instead of the third AOI LP, De La Soul came back with The Grind Date in 2004, and it only turned out to be arguably the best record of the entire decade. Vintage De La through and through, the album again showcases Pos' underrated skills on the mic. He keeps dropping his usual to-the-point, everyman consciousness...
Black man, go put a book in your face...
...and he shows off some heretofore unseen verbal gymnastics on "Rock Co. Kane Flow," following the beat as it changes pace through the last few bars of each of his verses. The last one adds a nice autobiographical note to boot:
They say the good die young/so I added some/badass to my flavor to prolong my life over the drum
Everyone cools off from being hot/it's about if you can handle being cold or not
And we was told to hop/on no one's dick without Prince Paul/we've stayed original ever since, y'all
First to do a lot of things in the game but the last to say it/no need to place it on the scale to weigh it...
Well, I've weighed and measured all of it, Kelvin. Every hit, every miss, every quotable. And when it's all said and done, Workmatic stands alone at the top.
As I've said before, this list is fluid, and Pos could easily lose the top spot one day with a slip-up of some sort. But he hasn't really had one yet, folks — and there's no indication that he's about to.
Recognize.
But no emcee is better.
As the driving verbal force behind the greatest hip-hop group ever assembled, Posdnuos has surpassed all of his peers by simply managing to do what none of the others could...
He never once fell off.
Okay, so it's not THAT simple — but in a game of inches, consistency definitely played a part in inching Plug One past the likes of Nas, Eminem and Rakim.
This isn't a case of the tortoise beating the hare by playing not to lose, though — Pos and De La Soul served up some of the most groundbreaking hip-hop music ever made, and Mercer's verses were a lot more potent than he's given credit for.
Pos was just 19 years old when De La Soul's classic debut, 3 Feet High And Rising, dropped in 1989. The record was unlike anything else that was around back then — with the rest of the East Coast caught up in the early stages of the New Jack Swing era and the "gangsta" rhymers rising to prominence out west, De La was a breath of fresh air, a perfect blend of upbeat party music and consciousness. "Me, Myself & I" somehow remains the group's signature song, but tracks like "Say No Go" and "Buddy" are far superior. 3 Feet High And Rising was added to the Library of Congress in 2010 — and it's not even De La Soul's best album.
 |
| Second to none. |
Just ask the people of State College.
The "traditional" De La Soul sound is still there in abundance, though, with the obligatory sex track ("Let, Let Me In"), a masterful set of skits (something the group pioneered and did better than anyone else in the history of music) — and even a fast-food rap battle ("Bitties In The BK Lounge").
In short, there aren't five hip-hop albums better than De La Soul Is Dead. Ever.
On the group's third album, Buhloone Mindstate, De La experiments a little bit with a more "alternative" sound — and to be honest, I never really warmed to it. Buhloone is, for me, the group's lowest point, but it still didn't suck (I still love "Breakadawn"). Besides, it offered up a pretty honest self-assessment from Pos:
Fuck being hard, Posdnuos is complicated...
Sure enough, he continued to go against the grain on Stakes Is High in 1996. While the rest of hip-hop was trending toward the Scarface-style street tales of Biggie, Mobb Deep, Nas and a young Jay-Z, De La kept doing their own thing, dissing the establishment on the album's title cut. Pos even takes a not-so-veiled shot at Biggie on "Long Island Degrees":
I got questions 'bout your life if you're so ready to die...
The album provided the stage for the debut of Mos Def, and Pos humbly credits Mos with helping him step his game up lyrically. But that's just Pos being his humble self. Lyrics were never a problem...but he is correct in the sense that he continued to get stronger with time.
After the turn of the century, when most of the rest of hip-hop had vanished into the land of radio bullshit, De La kept chugging along with the two (original plans called for three) AOI albums. Posdnuos was at his best on the latter, Bionix — and any argument that his greatness is distorted because he uses a group as a crutch is put to rest on the masterful "Held Down," which is chock full of lyrical nuggets throughout but ends with perhaps my favorite Pos line of all:
...and when I'm watching the news and my daughter walks in and choose to ask:
"Why were all those people on the floor, sleeping covered in red?"/I told her
That they were looking for god but found religion instead...
Instead of the third AOI LP, De La Soul came back with The Grind Date in 2004, and it only turned out to be arguably the best record of the entire decade. Vintage De La through and through, the album again showcases Pos' underrated skills on the mic. He keeps dropping his usual to-the-point, everyman consciousness...
Black man, go put a book in your face...
...and he shows off some heretofore unseen verbal gymnastics on "Rock Co. Kane Flow," following the beat as it changes pace through the last few bars of each of his verses. The last one adds a nice autobiographical note to boot:
They say the good die young/so I added some/badass to my flavor to prolong my life over the drum
Everyone cools off from being hot/it's about if you can handle being cold or not
And we was told to hop/on no one's dick without Prince Paul/we've stayed original ever since, y'all
First to do a lot of things in the game but the last to say it/no need to place it on the scale to weigh it...
Well, I've weighed and measured all of it, Kelvin. Every hit, every miss, every quotable. And when it's all said and done, Workmatic stands alone at the top.
As I've said before, this list is fluid, and Pos could easily lose the top spot one day with a slip-up of some sort. But he hasn't really had one yet, folks — and there's no indication that he's about to.
Recognize.
Who's The Man?
Any guesses?
When I started putting together this list, I thought that the end game would come down to the two guys most heavily discussed as the favorites when my boys and I started playing out our bracket back in September — Nas and Eminem. We never did get to bring that tourney to its conclusion, though, and when I was building a top 10 and started comparing guys more closely side by side, I found myself warming up to a surprise pick for No. 1.
What made him stick out? Well, in no particular order...
a) Longevity. While most of the old-school titans have either faded from sight (Rakim, Chuck D) or fallen into the abyss of total wackness (LL, KRS), this guy has been going strong for nearly a quarter of a century. Only Nas can claim such a long run of quality, but...
b) Consistency. Nas and Eminem each had a gap of almost five years where everything they put out seemed tainted by either a quest for mainstream success or a sudden lack of desire. Meanwhile, our No. 1 guy has never dropped off so precipitously — even his weakest album is some fans' favorite.
c) Content. While Em's rhyme schemes are more complex and Nas' lyricism is more renowned by the masses, our No. 1 can easily hang with both in terms of overall strength of verses. He's conscious, but not preachy. He's entertaining, but not gimmicky. Just solid hip-hop music...all day, every day.
d) Originality. Nas is the natural progression forward from Rakim, just as Dr. J and Michael Jordan grew from the roots planted by David Thompson. But the guy at the top of our list imitated no one. There's no father to his style. (No...that is not a hint, Wu-Tang fans.)
He's had multiple classic albums and never fallen off, yet he's seldom mentioned with the all-time greats. Until now.
The greatest emcee of all time is...
[pause for non-commercial break]
When I started putting together this list, I thought that the end game would come down to the two guys most heavily discussed as the favorites when my boys and I started playing out our bracket back in September — Nas and Eminem. We never did get to bring that tourney to its conclusion, though, and when I was building a top 10 and started comparing guys more closely side by side, I found myself warming up to a surprise pick for No. 1.
What made him stick out? Well, in no particular order...
a) Longevity. While most of the old-school titans have either faded from sight (Rakim, Chuck D) or fallen into the abyss of total wackness (LL, KRS), this guy has been going strong for nearly a quarter of a century. Only Nas can claim such a long run of quality, but...
b) Consistency. Nas and Eminem each had a gap of almost five years where everything they put out seemed tainted by either a quest for mainstream success or a sudden lack of desire. Meanwhile, our No. 1 guy has never dropped off so precipitously — even his weakest album is some fans' favorite.
c) Content. While Em's rhyme schemes are more complex and Nas' lyricism is more renowned by the masses, our No. 1 can easily hang with both in terms of overall strength of verses. He's conscious, but not preachy. He's entertaining, but not gimmicky. Just solid hip-hop music...all day, every day.
d) Originality. Nas is the natural progression forward from Rakim, just as Dr. J and Michael Jordan grew from the roots planted by David Thompson. But the guy at the top of our list imitated no one. There's no father to his style. (No...that is not a hint, Wu-Tang fans.)
He's had multiple classic albums and never fallen off, yet he's seldom mentioned with the all-time greats. Until now.
The greatest emcee of all time is...
[pause for non-commercial break]
Thursday, December 29, 2011
No. 2: Nas
I've gone back and forth on these last two guys for weeks, waffling as recently as yesterday.
In the end, Nasir bin Olu Dara Jones falls a sliver short of the top spot largely because I couldn't pretend that his late-1990s slump didn't happen. The greatest of all time can't fall off like that.
What makes the gap so much more difficult to accept is the fact that Nas has spent the rest of the last 20 years being nothing short of remarkable. From the moment he burst on the scene with his 26-bar leadoff verse on "Live At The Barbeque" in 1991, Nas has been considered one of hip-hop's elite wordsmiths.
The hype surrounding his 1994 debut LP, Illmatic, was almost impossible to live up to — but Nas managed to surpass even the highest of expectations with what remains arguably the greatest album in rap's history. With most of the East Coast's elite producers jumping at the chance to supply beats, Nas puts together a masterful collection of stories and verses that many have fallen well short trying to imitate. Aside from a career-making verse from AZ on "Life's A Bitch," Illmatic is all Nas — and with tracks like "N.Y. State Of Mind" and "Memory Lane," the album has held its replay value throughout the years.
It likely always will. Shit, where do you think this blog got its name?
Nas followed his debut by making a handful of notable guest appearances — his verses on Raekwon's "Verbal Intercourse" and Kool G Rap's "Fast Life" helped make those songs into classics — before dropping his follow-up album, It Was Written, in 1996. Though not as strong as Illmatic (what could be?), the record was solid throughout. The pressure to generate more crossover appeal is evident, with Trackmasters handling much of the production, but for the most part, Nas maintains his lyrical integrity.
The same can't necessarily be said for his next few projects. The Firm, a group featuring AZ, Foxy Brown and Nature (who replaced original member Cormega) fizzled despite being produced by Dr. Dre, and Nas' next LP, I Am..., was considered a massive letdown. The lead street single, the DJ Premier-produced "Nas Is Like," was a gem, proving that Nas still had the goods, but tracks like the Puffy-fueled "Hate Me Now" were ill-advised attempts to remain relevant as a crossover act.
Ditto for Nastradamus, a rush job released in late 1999. When most of the original material for the album leaked online, Nas opted to create a whole new album, and the results were for the most part underwhelming.
Perhaps it was this last subpar effort that allowed Jay-Z to believe Nas' title as the best living rapper in New York was ripe for the taking. Jigga fired the first major salvo in their feud with "Takeover," only to have Nas answer back with "Ether" — without question the most brutal battle record ever. While Jay-Z took the comedic route, Nas opted instead for blunt force trauma:
...and your man stabbed Un and made you take the blame/your ass went from
Jaz to hanging with Kane to Irv to Big and/Eminem murdered you on your own shit...
...before going with the kill shot by reminding us that Jay even named himself after his mentor, Jaz-O:
Shawn Carter to Jay-Z? Damn, you on Jaz('s) dick...
Jay-Z has never been a sympathetic character — despite his blatant commercialism, he's still one of the most highly regarded rappers ever and rich beyond most people's belief — but it's hard not to feel for him when listening to the complete evisceration that the receives on that track. Jigga tried to respond again with "Superugly," but there was no coming back. With one crushing blow, Nas had taken the battle.
In the process, he re-energized himself and resurrected his career. Stillmatic was arguably his best effort since Illmatic, with outstanding tracks like "One Mic," "Rewind" and "My Country." After several years on the mafioso-rap train made popular by himself, Biggie and Raekwon in the mid-1990s, Nas got back to basics on Stillmatic, delivering plenty of thought-provoking material. Oh, and that verbal ass-whooping, too.
God's Son was another solid effort, fueled by the street banger "Made You Look" and "Last Real N**** Alive," on which he puts the Jay-Z feud to rest, and the double LP Street's Disciple, released in 2004, remains one of the most underrated efforts of the last decade. Nas handles a wide range of topics, dissing the likes of O.J. and Kobe Bryant on "These Are Our Heroes," talking life and death on the back-to-back cuts "Live Now" and "Rest of My Life," discussing women and his marriage to Kelis over three tracks on the second disc, and collaborating with his dad, jazz musician Olu Dara, on "Bridging The Gap." Covering the whole spectrum without a real weak spot, Nas didn't get nearly as much credit for this joint as he deserved.
Nas was no stranger to controversy in the years that followed, earning criticism from some rap fans for declaring that Hip Hop Is Dead in 2006 and criticism from damn near everybody for naming his 2008 album after Dick Gregory's autobiography (he later met his record label halfway and released it as Untitled).
He remains busy, having released a collaboration album, Distant Relatives, with reggae star Damian Marley in 2010, and he is set to drop another LP, tentatively titled Life Is Good, in 2012. The first single, "Nasty," which came out in late summer of 2011, offers an old-school sound reminiscent of his earlier years. (Sadly, it's not about Notre Dame women's hoop star Natalie Novosel.)
Time will tell if Nas can continue making solid music — he seems content with his spot outside of the limelight now, more concerned with making quality product than making money, so it's likely that he'll be able to keep going strong for a while. Whether it's enough to fully erase the stains on his discography and eventually propel him into the top spot remains to be seen, but it's certainly not impossible. These rankings are always fluid, especially when the gaps are this tight.
If Nas isn't number one right now, though, then that means...
In the end, Nasir bin Olu Dara Jones falls a sliver short of the top spot largely because I couldn't pretend that his late-1990s slump didn't happen. The greatest of all time can't fall off like that.
What makes the gap so much more difficult to accept is the fact that Nas has spent the rest of the last 20 years being nothing short of remarkable. From the moment he burst on the scene with his 26-bar leadoff verse on "Live At The Barbeque" in 1991, Nas has been considered one of hip-hop's elite wordsmiths.
The hype surrounding his 1994 debut LP, Illmatic, was almost impossible to live up to — but Nas managed to surpass even the highest of expectations with what remains arguably the greatest album in rap's history. With most of the East Coast's elite producers jumping at the chance to supply beats, Nas puts together a masterful collection of stories and verses that many have fallen well short trying to imitate. Aside from a career-making verse from AZ on "Life's A Bitch," Illmatic is all Nas — and with tracks like "N.Y. State Of Mind" and "Memory Lane," the album has held its replay value throughout the years.
It likely always will. Shit, where do you think this blog got its name?
Nas followed his debut by making a handful of notable guest appearances — his verses on Raekwon's "Verbal Intercourse" and Kool G Rap's "Fast Life" helped make those songs into classics — before dropping his follow-up album, It Was Written, in 1996. Though not as strong as Illmatic (what could be?), the record was solid throughout. The pressure to generate more crossover appeal is evident, with Trackmasters handling much of the production, but for the most part, Nas maintains his lyrical integrity.
The same can't necessarily be said for his next few projects. The Firm, a group featuring AZ, Foxy Brown and Nature (who replaced original member Cormega) fizzled despite being produced by Dr. Dre, and Nas' next LP, I Am..., was considered a massive letdown. The lead street single, the DJ Premier-produced "Nas Is Like," was a gem, proving that Nas still had the goods, but tracks like the Puffy-fueled "Hate Me Now" were ill-advised attempts to remain relevant as a crossover act.
Ditto for Nastradamus, a rush job released in late 1999. When most of the original material for the album leaked online, Nas opted to create a whole new album, and the results were for the most part underwhelming.
Perhaps it was this last subpar effort that allowed Jay-Z to believe Nas' title as the best living rapper in New York was ripe for the taking. Jigga fired the first major salvo in their feud with "Takeover," only to have Nas answer back with "Ether" — without question the most brutal battle record ever. While Jay-Z took the comedic route, Nas opted instead for blunt force trauma:
...and your man stabbed Un and made you take the blame/your ass went from
Jaz to hanging with Kane to Irv to Big and/Eminem murdered you on your own shit...
...before going with the kill shot by reminding us that Jay even named himself after his mentor, Jaz-O:
Shawn Carter to Jay-Z? Damn, you on Jaz('s) dick...
 |
| He already knows. |
In the process, he re-energized himself and resurrected his career. Stillmatic was arguably his best effort since Illmatic, with outstanding tracks like "One Mic," "Rewind" and "My Country." After several years on the mafioso-rap train made popular by himself, Biggie and Raekwon in the mid-1990s, Nas got back to basics on Stillmatic, delivering plenty of thought-provoking material. Oh, and that verbal ass-whooping, too.
God's Son was another solid effort, fueled by the street banger "Made You Look" and "Last Real N**** Alive," on which he puts the Jay-Z feud to rest, and the double LP Street's Disciple, released in 2004, remains one of the most underrated efforts of the last decade. Nas handles a wide range of topics, dissing the likes of O.J. and Kobe Bryant on "These Are Our Heroes," talking life and death on the back-to-back cuts "Live Now" and "Rest of My Life," discussing women and his marriage to Kelis over three tracks on the second disc, and collaborating with his dad, jazz musician Olu Dara, on "Bridging The Gap." Covering the whole spectrum without a real weak spot, Nas didn't get nearly as much credit for this joint as he deserved.
Nas was no stranger to controversy in the years that followed, earning criticism from some rap fans for declaring that Hip Hop Is Dead in 2006 and criticism from damn near everybody for naming his 2008 album after Dick Gregory's autobiography (he later met his record label halfway and released it as Untitled).
He remains busy, having released a collaboration album, Distant Relatives, with reggae star Damian Marley in 2010, and he is set to drop another LP, tentatively titled Life Is Good, in 2012. The first single, "Nasty," which came out in late summer of 2011, offers an old-school sound reminiscent of his earlier years. (Sadly, it's not about Notre Dame women's hoop star Natalie Novosel.)
Time will tell if Nas can continue making solid music — he seems content with his spot outside of the limelight now, more concerned with making quality product than making money, so it's likely that he'll be able to keep going strong for a while. Whether it's enough to fully erase the stains on his discography and eventually propel him into the top spot remains to be seen, but it's certainly not impossible. These rankings are always fluid, especially when the gaps are this tight.
If Nas isn't number one right now, though, then that means...
Tuesday, December 27, 2011
No. 3: Eminem
Sometime around 2003 or 2004, just before Encore came out, I said that Marshall Mathers was one or two more solid albums away from making himself a slam-dunk choice for the greatest emcee of all time.
Things don't always work out the way you think they will.
Though he's still undoubtedly the best of the 21st century, Eminem falls just short of the top spot overall because, fair or not, he hasn't been able to continue clearing the incredibly high bar he set for himself. He's without question the most talented rapper ever — but most talented and greatest aren't necessarily the same thing (insert LeBron James reference here).
Before he signed with Aftermath and became the best-selling rapper in the world, Em was an underground battle phenomenon who suffered debatable losses to Juice in the 1997 Scribble Jam and Rap Olympics finals. At the latter event, his second indie album, The Slim Shady EP, got passed to Interscope's Jimmy Iovine.
You all know the rest.
The Slim Shady LP — which reworked some of the songs from the EP and added some more shock-value material — put Em on the mainstream map for good. Sporting a blond dye job, he erases nearly a decade of post-Vanilla Ice backlash and helps hip-hop formally complete its takeover of white America.
Eminem didn't fully hit his stride, though, until the following year, when The Marshall Mathers LP came out. The album is Em at his absolute peak lyrically and showcases an improved delivery. There's still the over-the-top cartoonish stuff on songs like "Kill You" and "Criminal" — but he also shows a more serious side in between those two bookends. "Stan" was — before the radio beat it to death — a chilling exchange with an overzealous fan, and "Kim," the prequel to his EP song "Just The Two Of Us," remains the anthem for any guy who's ever been screwed over by a significant other.
The darker side of Em took over almost completely on both the D12 debut Devil's Night and his third solo effort, The Eminem Show, which was a slight step back content-wise but still a massive commercial success. The drop-off in lyricism was somewhat balanced by a continued improvement in delivery, which can be heard almost right away on "White America" and "Business."
Firmly established as the current king and with the all-time top spot well within reach, Eminem starts letting it all get away little by little.
First, he allows himself to get caught up in "battles" with far inferior rappers like Ja Rule and Benzino, both of whom clearly came after Em for the sake of publicity. (To be fair, Em tried to go after some tougher competition, but Canibus never really engaged him.)
Then, Encore was panned almost universally as a disappointment (personally, I dug it more than most, because I've always been partial to the silly side of Em that we saw on older songs like "Get You Mad").
Things got even worse in 2005, when Mathers' best friend and sidekick Proof was shot and killed in Detroit. Em went into shutdown mode, mailing in a couple of subpar new tracks for a greatest hits album and becoming addicted to painkillers and sleep medication.
His first attempt at a comeback, 2009's Relapse, was unremarkable (with the exception of his zombie Christopher Reeve cameo at the end of "Medicine Ball"). The second, though, was a smash — Recovery returned Eminem to the top of the commercial heap and helped him regain at least some credibility with critics, even if the album still fell well short of his previous apex.
Recovery could still have counted toward that "one or two more solid albums" I had talked about in 2003 — but that would also require forgetting that the previous five years had happened. When we're talking about the greatest ever, you can't have that long of a dry spell, no matter what the reason.
Also working against Em is his apparent need to join the Mutual Dickrider Society of younger pop rappers. When one recalls how infrequent Rakim's guest appearances were, it's somewhat comical to see the greatest of his era stooping down to collaborate with the likes of Drake, Lil' Wayne, Nicki Minaj, Bruno Mars and B.o.B. I get that it's a job and you want to get paid, but you can stain a legacy in the process. Em has done that to some degree over the past year or two.
At 39, he's still not ancient. There's still time for Marshall Mathers to kick it back into overdrive and claim the top spot before he's finished, although that seems somewhat unlikely given the current state of affairs. His talent is still unparalleled, but the pop machine seems to be holding him hostage.
He'll have to settle for a spot in the top three — which still puts him ahead of almost all of the people he grew up worshiping. Not bad for a white boy from the generally worthless state of Michigan.
Things don't always work out the way you think they will.
Though he's still undoubtedly the best of the 21st century, Eminem falls just short of the top spot overall because, fair or not, he hasn't been able to continue clearing the incredibly high bar he set for himself. He's without question the most talented rapper ever — but most talented and greatest aren't necessarily the same thing (insert LeBron James reference here).
Before he signed with Aftermath and became the best-selling rapper in the world, Em was an underground battle phenomenon who suffered debatable losses to Juice in the 1997 Scribble Jam and Rap Olympics finals. At the latter event, his second indie album, The Slim Shady EP, got passed to Interscope's Jimmy Iovine.
You all know the rest.
The Slim Shady LP — which reworked some of the songs from the EP and added some more shock-value material — put Em on the mainstream map for good. Sporting a blond dye job, he erases nearly a decade of post-Vanilla Ice backlash and helps hip-hop formally complete its takeover of white America.
Eminem didn't fully hit his stride, though, until the following year, when The Marshall Mathers LP came out. The album is Em at his absolute peak lyrically and showcases an improved delivery. There's still the over-the-top cartoonish stuff on songs like "Kill You" and "Criminal" — but he also shows a more serious side in between those two bookends. "Stan" was — before the radio beat it to death — a chilling exchange with an overzealous fan, and "Kim," the prequel to his EP song "Just The Two Of Us," remains the anthem for any guy who's ever been screwed over by a significant other.
 |
| Warning...this shit gone be rated R restricted... |
Firmly established as the current king and with the all-time top spot well within reach, Eminem starts letting it all get away little by little.
First, he allows himself to get caught up in "battles" with far inferior rappers like Ja Rule and Benzino, both of whom clearly came after Em for the sake of publicity. (To be fair, Em tried to go after some tougher competition, but Canibus never really engaged him.)
Then, Encore was panned almost universally as a disappointment (personally, I dug it more than most, because I've always been partial to the silly side of Em that we saw on older songs like "Get You Mad").
Things got even worse in 2005, when Mathers' best friend and sidekick Proof was shot and killed in Detroit. Em went into shutdown mode, mailing in a couple of subpar new tracks for a greatest hits album and becoming addicted to painkillers and sleep medication.
His first attempt at a comeback, 2009's Relapse, was unremarkable (with the exception of his zombie Christopher Reeve cameo at the end of "Medicine Ball"). The second, though, was a smash — Recovery returned Eminem to the top of the commercial heap and helped him regain at least some credibility with critics, even if the album still fell well short of his previous apex.
Recovery could still have counted toward that "one or two more solid albums" I had talked about in 2003 — but that would also require forgetting that the previous five years had happened. When we're talking about the greatest ever, you can't have that long of a dry spell, no matter what the reason.
Also working against Em is his apparent need to join the Mutual Dickrider Society of younger pop rappers. When one recalls how infrequent Rakim's guest appearances were, it's somewhat comical to see the greatest of his era stooping down to collaborate with the likes of Drake, Lil' Wayne, Nicki Minaj, Bruno Mars and B.o.B. I get that it's a job and you want to get paid, but you can stain a legacy in the process. Em has done that to some degree over the past year or two.
At 39, he's still not ancient. There's still time for Marshall Mathers to kick it back into overdrive and claim the top spot before he's finished, although that seems somewhat unlikely given the current state of affairs. His talent is still unparalleled, but the pop machine seems to be holding him hostage.
He'll have to settle for a spot in the top three — which still puts him ahead of almost all of the people he grew up worshiping. Not bad for a white boy from the generally worthless state of Michigan.
Monday, December 26, 2011
No. 4: Rakim
For the longest time, it was considered blasphemous to consider anyone other than William Michael Griffin Jr. — better known as Rakim — to be the greatest emcee of all time.
There's still a case to be made for him, because one can easily argue that all of the great lyricists who followed him would never have reached the same heights were it not for Ra's influence. Without Rakim, there is no Nas, no Biggie, no Jay-Z. And that means a lot.
But it means almost as much that the former undisputed champion of hip-hop has been dormant for much of the past 20 years. Spend that much time on the sideline, and you're bound to get passed up sooner or later.
It took a long fucking time for anyone to catch up, though — because Rakim was a game-changer in every sense of the word.
When hip-hop was still in its infancy in the early- to mid-1980s, rhymes were generally simplistic and centered around either rocking a party or bragging about how cool you were (one might say we've come full circle). Just about every rapper out there had done at least one verse starting with:
My name is [insert name] and I'd like to say...
But Rakim changed all of that when he joined up with DJ Eric B. in 1986. The duo released their debut LP, Paid In Full, the following summer and immediately knocked the music world on its ass. Classic tracks like "Eric B. Is President" and "I Ain't No Joke" remain relevant a quarter of a century later — they've been sampled almost as widely as Eric B. sampled James Brown for it, with Marrs building an entire mainstream hit ("Pump Up The Volume") off a single line from "I Know You Got Soul."
The group's next two albums, 1988's Follow The Leader and 1990's Let The Rhythm Hit 'Em further cemented Rakim's place at the top of hip-hop. He continued to broaden his horizons lyrically, getting a bit more topical ("The Ghetto") and offering up a smoother side for the ladies ("Mahogany").
Eric B. & Rakim would part ways in the mid-1990s, but not before delivering a solid swan song in 1992 with Don't Sweat The Technique. Rakim was at his razor-sharp best on "Know The Ledge" (which first appeared on the Juice soundtrack) and "Casualties Of War," on which he delivers both a scathing commentary on the first Iraq scrimmage...and an eerily accurate prediction of the 9/11 attacks that would take place nearly a decade later:
So I wait for terrorists to attack/every time a truck backfires, I fire back
I look for shelter when a plane is over me/remember Pearl Harbor? New York will be over, G...
Following his split with Eric B., Rakim took a five-year leave of absence, coming out of hiding for just a handful of guest appearances before returning in late 1997 with The 18th Letter. In a shrewd bit of marketing, the record was released as a double, with the second tape a collection of his greatest hits. This exposed his prior greatness to a younger audience — a particularly important move given that the new material didn't quite measure up to his work with Eric B. Both of the first two singles, "Guess Who's Back" and "It's Been A Long Time," did little more than pay homage to his earlier music.
After another middling solo release, The Master, Rakim again went underground again before signing with Aftermath in 2000. The idea of the best (or second-best) producer in hip-hop history teaming up with its greatest emcee was enough to make hip-hop fans achieve orgasm — but the climax was never reached. Citing creative differences with Dr. Dre, Rakim scrapped the much-awaited project and left the label in 2003.
He resurfaced with another album, The Seventh Seal, in 2009, but it fizzled both critically and commercially — Rakim's own Michael-Jordan-with-the-Wizards moment.
Despite the gaping holes in his résumé over the last two decades, Rakim remains the standard by which many older hip-hop fans judge everyone else. His lyrics and rhyme patterns paved the way for nearly every great emcee that followed him — shit, even with his blueprint to follow, most rappers still haven't been able to match the lines Rakim spit a quarter of a century ago.
He may have lost his throne, but Rakim will always be hip-hop royalty.
There's still a case to be made for him, because one can easily argue that all of the great lyricists who followed him would never have reached the same heights were it not for Ra's influence. Without Rakim, there is no Nas, no Biggie, no Jay-Z. And that means a lot.
But it means almost as much that the former undisputed champion of hip-hop has been dormant for much of the past 20 years. Spend that much time on the sideline, and you're bound to get passed up sooner or later.
It took a long fucking time for anyone to catch up, though — because Rakim was a game-changer in every sense of the word.
When hip-hop was still in its infancy in the early- to mid-1980s, rhymes were generally simplistic and centered around either rocking a party or bragging about how cool you were (one might say we've come full circle). Just about every rapper out there had done at least one verse starting with:
 |
| Take a deep breath and keep following... |
But Rakim changed all of that when he joined up with DJ Eric B. in 1986. The duo released their debut LP, Paid In Full, the following summer and immediately knocked the music world on its ass. Classic tracks like "Eric B. Is President" and "I Ain't No Joke" remain relevant a quarter of a century later — they've been sampled almost as widely as Eric B. sampled James Brown for it, with Marrs building an entire mainstream hit ("Pump Up The Volume") off a single line from "I Know You Got Soul."
The group's next two albums, 1988's Follow The Leader and 1990's Let The Rhythm Hit 'Em further cemented Rakim's place at the top of hip-hop. He continued to broaden his horizons lyrically, getting a bit more topical ("The Ghetto") and offering up a smoother side for the ladies ("Mahogany").
Eric B. & Rakim would part ways in the mid-1990s, but not before delivering a solid swan song in 1992 with Don't Sweat The Technique. Rakim was at his razor-sharp best on "Know The Ledge" (which first appeared on the Juice soundtrack) and "Casualties Of War," on which he delivers both a scathing commentary on the first Iraq scrimmage...and an eerily accurate prediction of the 9/11 attacks that would take place nearly a decade later:
So I wait for terrorists to attack/every time a truck backfires, I fire back
I look for shelter when a plane is over me/remember Pearl Harbor? New York will be over, G...
Following his split with Eric B., Rakim took a five-year leave of absence, coming out of hiding for just a handful of guest appearances before returning in late 1997 with The 18th Letter. In a shrewd bit of marketing, the record was released as a double, with the second tape a collection of his greatest hits. This exposed his prior greatness to a younger audience — a particularly important move given that the new material didn't quite measure up to his work with Eric B. Both of the first two singles, "Guess Who's Back" and "It's Been A Long Time," did little more than pay homage to his earlier music.
After another middling solo release, The Master, Rakim again went underground again before signing with Aftermath in 2000. The idea of the best (or second-best) producer in hip-hop history teaming up with its greatest emcee was enough to make hip-hop fans achieve orgasm — but the climax was never reached. Citing creative differences with Dr. Dre, Rakim scrapped the much-awaited project and left the label in 2003.
He resurfaced with another album, The Seventh Seal, in 2009, but it fizzled both critically and commercially — Rakim's own Michael-Jordan-with-the-Wizards moment.
Despite the gaping holes in his résumé over the last two decades, Rakim remains the standard by which many older hip-hop fans judge everyone else. His lyrics and rhyme patterns paved the way for nearly every great emcee that followed him — shit, even with his blueprint to follow, most rappers still haven't been able to match the lines Rakim spit a quarter of a century ago.
He may have lost his throne, but Rakim will always be hip-hop royalty.
Friday, December 23, 2011
No. 5: Chuck D
Carlton Douglas Ridenhour doesn't always get his due when people start talking about the greatest emcees of all time — but he's going to get it here.
Chuck D put together the group Public Enemy in 1986 and immediately became one of early hip-hop's most important figures. His hard-hitting delivery and social commentary fueled the first (and really, maybe the only) wave of conscious rap music. With their first two albums, Yo! Bum Rush The Show and It Takes A Nation Of Millions To Hold Us Back, PE was able to open the minds of an entire generation of urban (and even suburban) youth.
But it was with the group's third LP, Fear Of A Black Planet, that Chuck really took things to another level. Noted urban music authority VH1 (kidding, but still) tabbed "Fight The Power" as the No. 1 song in hip-hop history — and it might not even be the best song on the album. I'm partial to "Welcome To The Terrordome" myself. Fear Of A Black Planet was added to the Library Of Congress music stash in 2005.
The fourth and final album during PE's apex was Apocalypse '91...The Enemy Strikes Black, which is arguably the best of a pretty incredible bunch. While the track for "Can't Truss It" isn't all that memorable, the lyrics are:
The hater taught hate, that's why we gang-bang it
Beware of the hand when it's coming from the left/I ain't trippin', just watch your step...
Apocalypse also includes a remake of "Bring The Noise" featuring Anthrax, one of the first and most successful rock/rap collaborations of the 1990s (which unfortunately led to groups like Limp Bizkit down the road)...and "By The Time I Get To Arizona," a political rant about Martin Luther King Day that Sarah Palin and Jared Loughner seem to have misinterpreted.
Public Enemy lost its fastball for a little while with Greatest Misses and Muse Sick-N-Hour Message before enjoying a brief revival in 1998 with the He Got Game soundtrack. After that, the group lost its DJ (Terminator X) and Flavor Flav began his downward spiral into drugs — and worse, reality TV.
As for Chuck D, he released a largely ignored solo album in 1996 before going the political route. Most people forget that he had an early gig at Fox News, but he also co-hosted one of the first programs on Air America Radio. While other rappers have branched off into such frivolous side projects as clothing lines, corporate endorsements and acting, Chuck has kept it 100 — he was a political activist as an emcee, and he remains one even without the drum track behind him.
Hip-hop would be in a much better place if more emcees had tried to emulate Chuck D. He represented the very best of what the music can be.
(By the way...Happy Saturnalia, everybody. I'll unveil the top four next week.)
 |
| Never really had a gun. Didn't need it. |
But it was with the group's third LP, Fear Of A Black Planet, that Chuck really took things to another level. Noted urban music authority VH1 (kidding, but still) tabbed "Fight The Power" as the No. 1 song in hip-hop history — and it might not even be the best song on the album. I'm partial to "Welcome To The Terrordome" myself. Fear Of A Black Planet was added to the Library Of Congress music stash in 2005.
The fourth and final album during PE's apex was Apocalypse '91...The Enemy Strikes Black, which is arguably the best of a pretty incredible bunch. While the track for "Can't Truss It" isn't all that memorable, the lyrics are:
The hater taught hate, that's why we gang-bang it
Beware of the hand when it's coming from the left/I ain't trippin', just watch your step...
Apocalypse also includes a remake of "Bring The Noise" featuring Anthrax, one of the first and most successful rock/rap collaborations of the 1990s (which unfortunately led to groups like Limp Bizkit down the road)...and "By The Time I Get To Arizona," a political rant about Martin Luther King Day that Sarah Palin and Jared Loughner seem to have misinterpreted.
Public Enemy lost its fastball for a little while with Greatest Misses and Muse Sick-N-Hour Message before enjoying a brief revival in 1998 with the He Got Game soundtrack. After that, the group lost its DJ (Terminator X) and Flavor Flav began his downward spiral into drugs — and worse, reality TV.
As for Chuck D, he released a largely ignored solo album in 1996 before going the political route. Most people forget that he had an early gig at Fox News, but he also co-hosted one of the first programs on Air America Radio. While other rappers have branched off into such frivolous side projects as clothing lines, corporate endorsements and acting, Chuck has kept it 100 — he was a political activist as an emcee, and he remains one even without the drum track behind him.
Hip-hop would be in a much better place if more emcees had tried to emulate Chuck D. He represented the very best of what the music can be.
(By the way...Happy Saturnalia, everybody. I'll unveil the top four next week.)
Thursday, December 22, 2011
No. 6: Ras Kass
The top six on this list are a pretty clear cut above the rest for me, and I at least toyed with the idea of each of them as my No. 1 at some point.
John Austin IV, known to the hip-hop world as Ras Kass, might be the best pure lyricist of all time. He's not necessarily an all-time great in terms of making the best music — like Chino XL or Canibus, much of Ras Kass' work is borderline unlistenable unless you care about the content — but his verses rank right up there with anyone's.
An underground phenom, Ras' first song, "Remain Anonymous," earned a Hip-Hop Quotable back when The Source was used for something other than low-grade toilet tissue. He made early guest appearances with Chino XL ("Riiiot!") and Ahmad & Saafir ("Come Widdit") that only further bolstered his credibility as one of the elite lyricists not only on the west coast, but worldwide.
In 1996, Ras Kass dropped his debut LP, Soul On Ice, named after the Eldridge Cleaver book. Though slept on by the masses, the album was a verbal masterpiece, with Ras showing an acidic sense of humor ("Drama"), a pensive side ("The Evil That Men Do") and a knack for delivering elite punchlines ("Sonset"):
Psychologically I masturbate with the hands of fate and bust nuts on Mother Nature...
Takin' off my lambskin Marc Buchanan/'cause I'm a make U-C-L-A like Ed O'Bannon...
The album's crown jewel, though, is "Nature Of The Threat," nearly eight minutes of heavy lifting (and listening) where Ras runs through the evil history of the white man, attacking everything from ancient Greece to Christianity. His only real flaw — fittingly, just like Cleaver — is a stubborn adherence to the played-out practice of homophobia (but what rapper isn't guilty of that to some degree, right?). Beyond that, the track is pure genius and one of the most important in hip-hop history.
His second album, Rasassination, was well-received by critics despite its effort (albeit only a slight one) to cater to a more mainstream audience. Songs like "Conceited Bastard" showed that his roots remained strong.
Though a couple of internet leaks forced Ras to abort official releases for Van Gogh and Goldyn Child in the early 2000s, he has kept his reputation intact on the underground scene thanks to collaborations with the likes of RZA, GZA, Immortal Technique, Canibus and Jedi Mind Tricks.
He doesn't have nearly the same mainstream profile as any of the emcees listed above him, and his body of work is somewhat scattershot when compared with the rest of the all-time greats, but there's no questioning the prodigious lyrical talent of Ras Kass.
Line for line, he still matches up with the best of them.
John Austin IV, known to the hip-hop world as Ras Kass, might be the best pure lyricist of all time. He's not necessarily an all-time great in terms of making the best music — like Chino XL or Canibus, much of Ras Kass' work is borderline unlistenable unless you care about the content — but his verses rank right up there with anyone's.
An underground phenom, Ras' first song, "Remain Anonymous," earned a Hip-Hop Quotable back when The Source was used for something other than low-grade toilet tissue. He made early guest appearances with Chino XL ("Riiiot!") and Ahmad & Saafir ("Come Widdit") that only further bolstered his credibility as one of the elite lyricists not only on the west coast, but worldwide.
 |
| Still shoving an Ampex 499 up your rectum... |
Psychologically I masturbate with the hands of fate and bust nuts on Mother Nature...
Takin' off my lambskin Marc Buchanan/'cause I'm a make U-C-L-A like Ed O'Bannon...
The album's crown jewel, though, is "Nature Of The Threat," nearly eight minutes of heavy lifting (and listening) where Ras runs through the evil history of the white man, attacking everything from ancient Greece to Christianity. His only real flaw — fittingly, just like Cleaver — is a stubborn adherence to the played-out practice of homophobia (but what rapper isn't guilty of that to some degree, right?). Beyond that, the track is pure genius and one of the most important in hip-hop history.
His second album, Rasassination, was well-received by critics despite its effort (albeit only a slight one) to cater to a more mainstream audience. Songs like "Conceited Bastard" showed that his roots remained strong.
Though a couple of internet leaks forced Ras to abort official releases for Van Gogh and Goldyn Child in the early 2000s, he has kept his reputation intact on the underground scene thanks to collaborations with the likes of RZA, GZA, Immortal Technique, Canibus and Jedi Mind Tricks.
He doesn't have nearly the same mainstream profile as any of the emcees listed above him, and his body of work is somewhat scattershot when compared with the rest of the all-time greats, but there's no questioning the prodigious lyrical talent of Ras Kass.
Line for line, he still matches up with the best of them.
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
No. 7: Ice Cube
Kids today know Ice Cube primarily as a movie star and TV producer — but long before he even made the first Friday film, O'Shea Jackson was well established as one of the most influential figures in hip-hop history.
As a teenager, Ice Cube got hooked up with a young Dr. Dre, and the two began making music together as a group called CIA. Shortly thereafter, the duo joined forces with Eazy-E to form N.W.A., and Cube was credited with penning the bulk of the group's rhymes (you didn't think Eazy and Dre wrote their own verses, did you?).
N.W.A.'s second LP, Straight Outta Compton, is considered by some to be the best rap record ever. At worst, it's a top-10 effort that blazed a trail across the country allowing for the commercial success of "gangsta" rap and west coast hip-hop in general. Cube again did the heavy lifting lyrically, and his high-energy delivery set the tone for the album early on the leadoff verses for the title song and "Fuck Tha Police."
The album's success caused friction among group members, though, and after feeling he got the short end of the stick financially, Ice Cube broke away and embarked on a solo career. He immediately put together another classic, dropping AmeriKKKa's Most Wanted in 1990 to massive critical acclaim.
His follow-up LP, 1991's Death Certificate, was at least as strong, giving Cube a string of three bona fide classics that few, if any, emcees have been able to match. The album ran the full spectrum between comedy ("Nappy Dugout") and consciousness ("Us"), and also featured one of the best battle records ever put together — "No Vaseline," the kill shot in his battle with his former N.W.A. brethren.
After two more decent albums, Predator and Lethal Injection, Ice Cube began to focus more of his energy on making movies, starring in the Friday and Barbershop films before working his way into kiddie flicks after the turn of the century. He continued to make music, but it wasn't the same without the hungry rage that had fueled his rise from 1988 through the early '90s.
As an aside...one of my favorite things about Cube in his prime was that he always knew how to set the mood for an album. The first track on each LP during his apex was always a fiery, hardcore cut that got the blood flowing. Listen to "Straight Outta Compton," "The N**** You Love To Hate," "The Wrong N**** to Fuck Wit" or "When Will They Shoot?" and try not to get hyped up.
He can be forgiven for his later musical failures — you can count on one hand the rappers who never fell off — and his peak performances are almost unrivaled. No matter how many movies he makes in the coming years, I'm going to make absolutely certain that my son knows Ice Cube was an emcee first.
I'm pretty sure his music will have more staying power than Are We There Yet? anyway.
As a teenager, Ice Cube got hooked up with a young Dr. Dre, and the two began making music together as a group called CIA. Shortly thereafter, the duo joined forces with Eazy-E to form N.W.A., and Cube was credited with penning the bulk of the group's rhymes (you didn't think Eazy and Dre wrote their own verses, did you?).
N.W.A.'s second LP, Straight Outta Compton, is considered by some to be the best rap record ever. At worst, it's a top-10 effort that blazed a trail across the country allowing for the commercial success of "gangsta" rap and west coast hip-hop in general. Cube again did the heavy lifting lyrically, and his high-energy delivery set the tone for the album early on the leadoff verses for the title song and "Fuck Tha Police."
The album's success caused friction among group members, though, and after feeling he got the short end of the stick financially, Ice Cube broke away and embarked on a solo career. He immediately put together another classic, dropping AmeriKKKa's Most Wanted in 1990 to massive critical acclaim.
 |
| "That guy who does family movies?" |
After two more decent albums, Predator and Lethal Injection, Ice Cube began to focus more of his energy on making movies, starring in the Friday and Barbershop films before working his way into kiddie flicks after the turn of the century. He continued to make music, but it wasn't the same without the hungry rage that had fueled his rise from 1988 through the early '90s.
As an aside...one of my favorite things about Cube in his prime was that he always knew how to set the mood for an album. The first track on each LP during his apex was always a fiery, hardcore cut that got the blood flowing. Listen to "Straight Outta Compton," "The N**** You Love To Hate," "The Wrong N**** to Fuck Wit" or "When Will They Shoot?" and try not to get hyped up.
He can be forgiven for his later musical failures — you can count on one hand the rappers who never fell off — and his peak performances are almost unrivaled. No matter how many movies he makes in the coming years, I'm going to make absolutely certain that my son knows Ice Cube was an emcee first.
I'm pretty sure his music will have more staying power than Are We There Yet? anyway.
Monday, December 19, 2011
No. 8: Big Daddy Kane
Antonio Hardy's reign at the top of the hip-hop world probably didn't last as long as it should have. But for that too-brief period when Big Daddy Kane was at his best, he was completely unfuckwithable.
After rising up through the underground ranks in the mid-1980s, hooking up with the Juice Crew and writing rhymes for his friend Biz Markie, Kane blew up in 1988 with his debut LP, Long Live The Kane. Tracks like "Ain't No Half Steppin" — along with a memorable anchor leg on Marley Marl's "The Symphony" — immediately solidified his reputation as one of the best rhymers around.
With his follow-up, It's A Big Daddy Thing, Kane actually made a strong case for supplanting Rakim as the best emcee on the planet. His ability to spit clever, rapid-fire rhymes (despite asthma) along with his rare ability to appeal equally to both sexes made him a star but also helped him maintain his respect.
Guys wanted to be down with him, and girls wanted to go down on him. At the time, only LL Cool J could make a similar claim...and he couldn't appeal to both on the same song the way Kane did on "I Get The Job Done," one of the most complete hip-hop songs ever made. With a delivery that managed to be hard and smooth at the same time, Kane effortlessly delivers lines full of bedroom braggadocio and intricate rhyme schemes:
A champ like Tyson a captain like Kirk
No, employee of the month, 'cause yo/I do work
The K-A-N-E is on the J-O-B/an expert
'Cause I get it D-O-N-E...
In the early 1990s, though, Kane saw his albums starting to generate less and less buzz. Still, he remained the go-to guy for movie soundtracks, providing jewels for the movies Lean On Me and Juice. His effort for the latter, "'Nuff Respect," might have been his last real stab at remaining on the top of the rap world. From there, it went downhill incredibly quickly.
(Sadly, his most noteworthy achievement to many younger fans might be that he gave Jay-Z his first major-label action on 1994's "Show And Prove.")
For a stretch of at least two years during hip-hop's greatest stretch, Big Daddy Kane was almost indisputably the number one emcee in the world. If only he could have kept it going a little longer...
After rising up through the underground ranks in the mid-1980s, hooking up with the Juice Crew and writing rhymes for his friend Biz Markie, Kane blew up in 1988 with his debut LP, Long Live The Kane. Tracks like "Ain't No Half Steppin" — along with a memorable anchor leg on Marley Marl's "The Symphony" — immediately solidified his reputation as one of the best rhymers around.
With his follow-up, It's A Big Daddy Thing, Kane actually made a strong case for supplanting Rakim as the best emcee on the planet. His ability to spit clever, rapid-fire rhymes (despite asthma) along with his rare ability to appeal equally to both sexes made him a star but also helped him maintain his respect.
 |
| Kane held the crown for a while...but not quite long enough. |
A champ like Tyson a captain like Kirk
No, employee of the month, 'cause yo/I do work
The K-A-N-E is on the J-O-B/an expert
'Cause I get it D-O-N-E...
In the early 1990s, though, Kane saw his albums starting to generate less and less buzz. Still, he remained the go-to guy for movie soundtracks, providing jewels for the movies Lean On Me and Juice. His effort for the latter, "'Nuff Respect," might have been his last real stab at remaining on the top of the rap world. From there, it went downhill incredibly quickly.
(Sadly, his most noteworthy achievement to many younger fans might be that he gave Jay-Z his first major-label action on 1994's "Show And Prove.")
For a stretch of at least two years during hip-hop's greatest stretch, Big Daddy Kane was almost indisputably the number one emcee in the world. If only he could have kept it going a little longer...
Sunday, December 18, 2011
No. 9: Treach
Yes, Anthony Criss is ahead of Chris Wallace. And no, I'm not totally crossed out.
It might be considered sacrilege to say so, but here it is — Treach was a better rapper than Biggie was. The only reasons you probably don't think so are that a) Treach wasn't a solo artist, so he doesn't have the same name recognition; and b) Treach is still alive.
(Yeah, I said it. Sorry, but it's true.)
Treach, better known as the voice who handled about 95 percent of the rhyming for Naughty By Nature, is often forgotten because he didn't go solo or dismissed as a pop rapper because of the group's two massive-beyond-massive crossover anthems, "O.P.P." and "Hip Hop Hooray." But neither is a legitimate reason for keeping him out of the top 10.
For starters, Treach effectively was a solo artist. Remember when we said that (okay, you don't remember) that Brand Nubian's debut album was pretty much a Grand Puba solo project? That goes double for almost every Naughty record. Vinny was always credited with being the group's "backbone," which is all well and good, but on wax, Treach was the group. Vinny was Robin to Treach's Batman.
Secondly, Naughty By Nature didn't sell out. They just happened to blow up. Both Biggie (thanks to Puffy) and post-prison Tupac (thanks to Suge) made more blatant efforts to sell out than Treach and his crew did. Naughty knew how to rock a party, sure — but Treach always came with hard verses even on his most crossover'ish songs (something only a handful of emcees can claim). Besides, listen again to the hard-edged flow and verses on songs like "Yoke The Joker" and "Uptown Anthem" (hey, look, there's Tupac in the video!) and you'll notice that not only could Treach come as rough as Biggie could, but his rhymes were just as tight and his delivery was sharper.
His peers recognized it, too — Treach may have made appearances on R&B tracks with the likes of Michael Jackson, Boyz II Men, Aaliyah and Monica, but he also was tabbed for collaborations with the likes of 2Pac, Redman and Guru as well as numerous Flavor Unit tracks. In nearly every case, Treach was the show-stealer...because unlike many of his peers, he rarely, if ever, mailed a verse in.
Some of Naughty's records were more well-received than others. Their self-titled 1991 LP (which was really the second album, since they released one as The New Style in 1989) was a classic, but each subsequent LP seemed to get less and less shine as the group faded from the limelight in the late 1990s. Still, there wasn't really much dropoff in Treach.
He's limited himself to a handful of cameo appearances in recent years, focusing most of his energy on his acting career, but what Treach and Naughty By Nature accomplished during their salad days (1991 through 1995) is more than enough to warrant him a spot among the elite.
Even if you don't recognize his name, you'll never forget Treach's verses.
It might be considered sacrilege to say so, but here it is — Treach was a better rapper than Biggie was. The only reasons you probably don't think so are that a) Treach wasn't a solo artist, so he doesn't have the same name recognition; and b) Treach is still alive.
(Yeah, I said it. Sorry, but it's true.)
Treach, better known as the voice who handled about 95 percent of the rhyming for Naughty By Nature, is often forgotten because he didn't go solo or dismissed as a pop rapper because of the group's two massive-beyond-massive crossover anthems, "O.P.P." and "Hip Hop Hooray." But neither is a legitimate reason for keeping him out of the top 10.
For starters, Treach effectively was a solo artist. Remember when we said that (okay, you don't remember) that Brand Nubian's debut album was pretty much a Grand Puba solo project? That goes double for almost every Naughty record. Vinny was always credited with being the group's "backbone," which is all well and good, but on wax, Treach was the group. Vinny was Robin to Treach's Batman.
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| I wouldn't cut it for...wait, never mind. |
His peers recognized it, too — Treach may have made appearances on R&B tracks with the likes of Michael Jackson, Boyz II Men, Aaliyah and Monica, but he also was tabbed for collaborations with the likes of 2Pac, Redman and Guru as well as numerous Flavor Unit tracks. In nearly every case, Treach was the show-stealer...because unlike many of his peers, he rarely, if ever, mailed a verse in.
Some of Naughty's records were more well-received than others. Their self-titled 1991 LP (which was really the second album, since they released one as The New Style in 1989) was a classic, but each subsequent LP seemed to get less and less shine as the group faded from the limelight in the late 1990s. Still, there wasn't really much dropoff in Treach.
He's limited himself to a handful of cameo appearances in recent years, focusing most of his energy on his acting career, but what Treach and Naughty By Nature accomplished during their salad days (1991 through 1995) is more than enough to warrant him a spot among the elite.
Even if you don't recognize his name, you'll never forget Treach's verses.
Saturday, December 17, 2011
No. 10: The Notorious B.I.G.
Though Christopher Wallace will always be linked with Tupac Shakur because of their untimely, and likely related, deaths, they're side by side on this list by mere coincidence. The Notorious B.I.G. was actually a far superior rhymer to 2Pac from a technical standpoint. There were only three things that kept him from the top-three spot that most hip-hop fans blindly hand him...
a) His discography is too small compared to everyone else in the top 10. That might not matter when comparing Biggie with the rappers in the middle of this list, but he needed more material to justify being ranked ahead of the heavyweights still to come. With apologies to Pac and everyone else just below, the top 10 is a separate tier.
b) His subject matter wasn't wide-ranging enough. For all of his prodigious talent, Biggie rarely strayed from the mid-1990s staples of braggadocio, bitches, blunts, bullets...and designer clothing.
But most importantly...
c) Much like 2Pac's artistry was somewhat noticeably stifled when he signed with Death Row, Biggie was at least partially done in by The Puffy Factor. It might not be fair to invoke guilt by association here, but it needs to be done, because a decent amount of Biggie's music carries a Puffy stain.
The influence was there from the get-go — Big's first two guest appearances after being signed were on songs by Uptown artists Heavy D and Mary J. Blige. Both were miles away from him stylistically, but it would be far from the last time that Puffy tried to shoehorn Biggie's hardcore style into a softer R&B record. Puffy no doubt increased Biggie's popularity by doing this — girls and white fans that would have had little interest in his grim crack tales tuned in for the Cristal and Coogi — but the quality and integrity of the music suffered a bit.
Biggie was at his best on the songs that had no chance of getting airplay. His first real solo track, "Party And Bullshit" (from the Who's The Man soundtrack), was a glimpse at his superstar potential but without the glitz of obvious samples and Faith Evans hooks. When Ready To Die came out, the masses flocked to singles like "Big Poppa," but the real gems were slept-on joints like "Gimme The Loot," "Machine Gun Funk" and "The What." (The classic "Juicy" managed to appeal to both crossover fans and hardcore heads.)
Ready To Die established an interesting balance — The Notorious B.I.G. (and Puffy) seemed to have struck the perfect mix of pure hip-hop and pop music. Unlike almost every platinum-selling rapper before him, Biggie kept the respect of the streets.
The album's success with that formula, though, set a dangerous precedent that ultimately started hip-hop's downward spiral in motion. Biggie's second LP, Life After Death, pushed the balancing act more toward the pop side with singles like "Mo' Money, Mo' Problems." There were still traces of the old hard edge, such as the wonderful DJ Premier-produced "Kick In The Door," but Puffy had effectively buffed all of the rough spots off of an emcee that had been much better off with the grime.
The Puffy Effect really ended hip-hop's golden edge and led us toward the glossy late-1990s era of Hype Williams videos and rented Bentleys, which led to even worse in the 2000s. (There's little doubt that the Roots' "What They Do" video is pretty much a direct shot at the Bad Boy style.) Again, it might seem a bit fair to pin any of that on Biggie, but he had the opportunity to walk away and make "real" music instead of chasing the cash. Any label would have jumped on him, and he could have worked with any producer he wanted. It's too easy to criticize with the benefit of hindsight (and the benefit of never having been quite as broke as Wallace was growing up), but his decision to go the pop route is disappointing nonetheless.
Sadly, Wallace was shot dead before he got a chance to come all the way back to his roots. Because of his popularity, fans automatically started handing him the title of Best Emcee Ever — but ironically, it was probably the music that brought him such mainstream appeal that also helped make it impossible to legitimize him as The Greatest.
He's still right up there, though.
a) His discography is too small compared to everyone else in the top 10. That might not matter when comparing Biggie with the rappers in the middle of this list, but he needed more material to justify being ranked ahead of the heavyweights still to come. With apologies to Pac and everyone else just below, the top 10 is a separate tier.
b) His subject matter wasn't wide-ranging enough. For all of his prodigious talent, Biggie rarely strayed from the mid-1990s staples of braggadocio, bitches, blunts, bullets...and designer clothing.
But most importantly...
c) Much like 2Pac's artistry was somewhat noticeably stifled when he signed with Death Row, Biggie was at least partially done in by The Puffy Factor. It might not be fair to invoke guilt by association here, but it needs to be done, because a decent amount of Biggie's music carries a Puffy stain.
 |
| Don't be mad, UPS is hiring. |
Biggie was at his best on the songs that had no chance of getting airplay. His first real solo track, "Party And Bullshit" (from the Who's The Man soundtrack), was a glimpse at his superstar potential but without the glitz of obvious samples and Faith Evans hooks. When Ready To Die came out, the masses flocked to singles like "Big Poppa," but the real gems were slept-on joints like "Gimme The Loot," "Machine Gun Funk" and "The What." (The classic "Juicy" managed to appeal to both crossover fans and hardcore heads.)
Ready To Die established an interesting balance — The Notorious B.I.G. (and Puffy) seemed to have struck the perfect mix of pure hip-hop and pop music. Unlike almost every platinum-selling rapper before him, Biggie kept the respect of the streets.
The album's success with that formula, though, set a dangerous precedent that ultimately started hip-hop's downward spiral in motion. Biggie's second LP, Life After Death, pushed the balancing act more toward the pop side with singles like "Mo' Money, Mo' Problems." There were still traces of the old hard edge, such as the wonderful DJ Premier-produced "Kick In The Door," but Puffy had effectively buffed all of the rough spots off of an emcee that had been much better off with the grime.
The Puffy Effect really ended hip-hop's golden edge and led us toward the glossy late-1990s era of Hype Williams videos and rented Bentleys, which led to even worse in the 2000s. (There's little doubt that the Roots' "What They Do" video is pretty much a direct shot at the Bad Boy style.) Again, it might seem a bit fair to pin any of that on Biggie, but he had the opportunity to walk away and make "real" music instead of chasing the cash. Any label would have jumped on him, and he could have worked with any producer he wanted. It's too easy to criticize with the benefit of hindsight (and the benefit of never having been quite as broke as Wallace was growing up), but his decision to go the pop route is disappointing nonetheless.
Sadly, Wallace was shot dead before he got a chance to come all the way back to his roots. Because of his popularity, fans automatically started handing him the title of Best Emcee Ever — but ironically, it was probably the music that brought him such mainstream appeal that also helped make it impossible to legitimize him as The Greatest.
He's still right up there, though.
Friday, December 16, 2011
No. 11: 2Pac
Even though 97 percent of readers probably just saw the number in the header and tuned me out forever, I'm going to explain this one...and I'm going to do a damn good job of it:
If Tupac Shakur wasn't dead, you wouldn't consider him a top-5 emcee of all time. Nor should you.
(That explanation was a little more simple than I thought it would be, actually.)
Look...unlike many of the younger hip-hop fans out there who just parrot the cliché bit about Biggie and 'Pac being the best ever, I was actually alive for and old enough to remember the entire 2Pac experience. And let me very clearly state what should be obvious but what is apparently uncool to say: We have most definitely let his tragic and premature death skew our view of how great he really was, even if it's not by much.
It's not a phenomenon that is exclusive to 'Pac — almost every celebrity that dies young gets deified, whether or not it's deserved. It happened to James Dean, Marilyn Monroe, Elvis, Kurt Cobain...the list goes on and on. And it happened with 2Pac and Biggie, too.
So let's try to place his truncated career in perspective as rationally as we can:
After getting one foot in the industry door as a roadie, backup dancer and later guest emcee with Digital Underground, 2Pac made his big double-barreled splash in 1992 with a starring role in the movie Juice and his first solo LP, 2Pacalypse Now. For that album and his second, 1993's Strictly 4 My N****Z, 'Pac's sound gravitates more toward the East Coast (he was born in New York and lived for a couple of years in Baltimore). With songs like "If My Homie Calls" and "I Get Around," these two albums often go underappreciated when discussing 2Pac's career. Strictly... may be his best all-around album.
With his third release, Me Against The World, 'Pac became a true chart-topping powerhouse. The record was released while he was in prison on a sexual assault conviction, and it exposed a personal side that listeners hadn't seen as much of on the first two records. The first single, "Dear Mama," remains one of his most acclaimed songs.
After being released from prison, 2Pac signed with Death Row Records, abandoning his East Coast roots completely and aligning himself squarely on the other side of a growing beef between Suge Knight and Puffy. All Eyez On Me, a double album, was another massive commercial success, but from a musical standpoint it paled in comparison to his first three records. In a way, 'Pac seemed content to settle into the Bishop character he played in Juice, becoming an almost cartoonish figure. That front he put up shielded his much more complex and thoughtful persona from public view.
Life wound up imitating art, and Bishop...errr...Shakur was shot and killed in September of 1996. Eight posthumous albums have followed — Tupac had been stockpiling material before his death in a rumored effort to get off of Death Row as soon as possible. It would be unfair to count those records as part of his catalog, however — many rappers leave dozens of songs on the cutting room floor (usually for good reason), and outtakes are precisely what these albums were made up of.
To be fair, we're only taking the first four 2Pac albums (and the Thug Life and Makaveli projects) into account when evaluating him. 2Pacalypse was a very solid but unspectacular album, Strictly and Me Against The World were very good to great, and All Eyez was a commercial smash but a disappointment musically. It's hard to say which direction Tupac Shakur's career would have gone in had he not died — but it was slowly trending downward when he met his end. There's no doubt that he had the ability to continue making great music again, but that wouldn't have been a guarantee, especially on a Death Row label that had Suge Knight calling the shots (and no longer had Dr. Dre).
He clearly made an impact on hip-hop, both for better and worse. While his cartoon'ish Bishop "thug" persona would spawn a generation of knock-off imitations that helped to kill real hip-hop (and, one might argue, do a major disservice to black culture in general), Tupac Shakur also proved that a hardcore hip-hop artist didn't have to build all of his songs around bravado. It was okay to let your emotions hang out there in your music without being branded as a pussy. Too few people have taken the cue on the latter count, but Shakur deserves credit for it nonetheless.
He did a lot in his short lifetime, and he has left arguably the biggest cultural imprint of any emcee ever. That isn't the same as being the best, though.
If Tupac Shakur wasn't dead, you wouldn't consider him a top-5 emcee of all time. Nor should you.
(That explanation was a little more simple than I thought it would be, actually.)
Look...unlike many of the younger hip-hop fans out there who just parrot the cliché bit about Biggie and 'Pac being the best ever, I was actually alive for and old enough to remember the entire 2Pac experience. And let me very clearly state what should be obvious but what is apparently uncool to say: We have most definitely let his tragic and premature death skew our view of how great he really was, even if it's not by much.
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| "How this motherfucker not have me number one?" |
It's not a phenomenon that is exclusive to 'Pac — almost every celebrity that dies young gets deified, whether or not it's deserved. It happened to James Dean, Marilyn Monroe, Elvis, Kurt Cobain...the list goes on and on. And it happened with 2Pac and Biggie, too.
So let's try to place his truncated career in perspective as rationally as we can:
After getting one foot in the industry door as a roadie, backup dancer and later guest emcee with Digital Underground, 2Pac made his big double-barreled splash in 1992 with a starring role in the movie Juice and his first solo LP, 2Pacalypse Now. For that album and his second, 1993's Strictly 4 My N****Z, 'Pac's sound gravitates more toward the East Coast (he was born in New York and lived for a couple of years in Baltimore). With songs like "If My Homie Calls" and "I Get Around," these two albums often go underappreciated when discussing 2Pac's career. Strictly... may be his best all-around album.
With his third release, Me Against The World, 'Pac became a true chart-topping powerhouse. The record was released while he was in prison on a sexual assault conviction, and it exposed a personal side that listeners hadn't seen as much of on the first two records. The first single, "Dear Mama," remains one of his most acclaimed songs.
After being released from prison, 2Pac signed with Death Row Records, abandoning his East Coast roots completely and aligning himself squarely on the other side of a growing beef between Suge Knight and Puffy. All Eyez On Me, a double album, was another massive commercial success, but from a musical standpoint it paled in comparison to his first three records. In a way, 'Pac seemed content to settle into the Bishop character he played in Juice, becoming an almost cartoonish figure. That front he put up shielded his much more complex and thoughtful persona from public view.
Life wound up imitating art, and Bishop...errr...Shakur was shot and killed in September of 1996. Eight posthumous albums have followed — Tupac had been stockpiling material before his death in a rumored effort to get off of Death Row as soon as possible. It would be unfair to count those records as part of his catalog, however — many rappers leave dozens of songs on the cutting room floor (usually for good reason), and outtakes are precisely what these albums were made up of.
To be fair, we're only taking the first four 2Pac albums (and the Thug Life and Makaveli projects) into account when evaluating him. 2Pacalypse was a very solid but unspectacular album, Strictly and Me Against The World were very good to great, and All Eyez was a commercial smash but a disappointment musically. It's hard to say which direction Tupac Shakur's career would have gone in had he not died — but it was slowly trending downward when he met his end. There's no doubt that he had the ability to continue making great music again, but that wouldn't have been a guarantee, especially on a Death Row label that had Suge Knight calling the shots (and no longer had Dr. Dre).
He clearly made an impact on hip-hop, both for better and worse. While his cartoon'ish Bishop "thug" persona would spawn a generation of knock-off imitations that helped to kill real hip-hop (and, one might argue, do a major disservice to black culture in general), Tupac Shakur also proved that a hardcore hip-hop artist didn't have to build all of his songs around bravado. It was okay to let your emotions hang out there in your music without being branded as a pussy. Too few people have taken the cue on the latter count, but Shakur deserves credit for it nonetheless.
He did a lot in his short lifetime, and he has left arguably the biggest cultural imprint of any emcee ever. That isn't the same as being the best, though.
Thursday, December 15, 2011
No. 12: Jeru The Damaja
It may have been dumb luck that Kendrick Jeru Davis — that's Jeru The Damaja to you — wound up becoming high-school buddies with DJ Premier. But let's not let the fact that he's been able to spit so many of his rhymes over beats made by arguably the best producer ever change the fact that Jeru is one of the best to ever grip a microphone.
He could have been rapping over No Limit production this whole time and he'd still sound fresh.
Jeru made his first splash with a guest appearance on Gang Starr's "I'm The Man" in 1992, and he blew up the underground a year later with "Come Clean," spitting methodical bombs over a classic Primo track that sounds sort of like an underwater steel drum.
"Come Clean" fueled the full-length solo debut, The Sun Rises In The East, in 1994. The album (which, in a bit of foreshadowing, depicts the World Trade Center towers on fire) was a massive critical success, quickly establishing Jeru as one of the best in a group of young New York rappers that would dominate hip-hop in the mid-1990s.
The follow-up, 1996's Wrath Of The Math, was lauded by many but slept on by the masses. Following this, Jeru and Premier parted ways and the former vanished from the scene for a while, resurfacing in 1999 with his third LP, Heroz4Hire. He has continued making music since, and his next project reportedly features a long-awaited reunion with Premier.
In addition to his own albums, Jeru made a number of notable appearances on other works during the mid-'90s, including a cleanup verse on the posse cut "1,2 Pass It" and a fantastic anti-police riff, "Invasion," that was featured on the second installment of the New Jersey Drive soundtrack...
When I was young I used to shoot for the stars, but got shot down by demons in patrol cars...
That track showcases Jeru's somewhat unconventional cadence and thought-provoking verses — it's one of the best and most ignored songs of the era...which, in a way, sums up his career perfectly.
His time in the spotlight didn't last as long as it probably should have, but with an ability to get deep like few others, Jeru has definitely earned his place among the upper crust.
He could have been rapping over No Limit production this whole time and he'd still sound fresh.
Jeru made his first splash with a guest appearance on Gang Starr's "I'm The Man" in 1992, and he blew up the underground a year later with "Come Clean," spitting methodical bombs over a classic Primo track that sounds sort of like an underwater steel drum.
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| Ready to leave comp defunct... |
The follow-up, 1996's Wrath Of The Math, was lauded by many but slept on by the masses. Following this, Jeru and Premier parted ways and the former vanished from the scene for a while, resurfacing in 1999 with his third LP, Heroz4Hire. He has continued making music since, and his next project reportedly features a long-awaited reunion with Premier.
In addition to his own albums, Jeru made a number of notable appearances on other works during the mid-'90s, including a cleanup verse on the posse cut "1,2 Pass It" and a fantastic anti-police riff, "Invasion," that was featured on the second installment of the New Jersey Drive soundtrack...
When I was young I used to shoot for the stars, but got shot down by demons in patrol cars...
That track showcases Jeru's somewhat unconventional cadence and thought-provoking verses — it's one of the best and most ignored songs of the era...which, in a way, sums up his career perfectly.
His time in the spotlight didn't last as long as it probably should have, but with an ability to get deep like few others, Jeru has definitely earned his place among the upper crust.
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
No. 13: Big Punisher
It's a damn shame that Christopher "Big Punisher" Rios couldn't manage to weigh less than a small car — otherwise, we might be talking about him as one of the three or four greatest emcees of all time.
Big Punisher burst onto the national hip-hop scene quickly after meeting up with fellow Bronx Boricua Fat Joe in 1995, making a guest appearance on his mentor's album Jealous Ones Envy and outshining him on a "freestyle" for the first Funkmaster Flex 60 Minutes Of Funk LP later that year. With the underground buzz building, Pun set his solo career off with "I'm Not A Player," a virtuoso performance laced with the clever multisyllable rhymes that would become his calling card. Overnight, he had earned a place alongside the genre's most respected lyrical heavyweights.
The growing legend expanded with his debut LP, Capital Punishment, in 1998. The remix of his first hit, "Still Not A Player," brought him major crossover appeal, but it was the rest of the album that continued to bring him underground acclaim. "Twinz," his back-and-forth with Fat Joe over Dr. Dre's "Deep Cover" instrumental, was another masterpiece:
Dead in the middle of little Italy, little did we know that we riddled some middlemen who didn't do diddly...
Two months before his second album, Yeeeah Baby, Rios died of a heart attack. On the lead single released just after his death, "It's So Hard," Pun says, "I just lost 100 pounds...I'm trying to live!" — yet he was reportedly 780 pounds at the time of his passing, the highest he'd been in his entire life.
Yeeeah Baby was a disappointment, and that's not the only pock mark on Pun's scorecard. Perhaps in part because of his weight issues, Pun had trouble with breath control, making it difficult at times to spit his intricate verses without punch-ins. Other top rappers like Raekwon and Slick Rick have been guilty of the same, though, so that's not a legacy-killer — and almost every rapper on this list is guilty of at least one flop album.
(He's the only one guilty of lifting a hook from me, but that's another story for another post. I've forgiven him.)
Would Pun have gone full-blown sellout in the earlier part of the aughts like his buddy Fat Joe? His final album (posthumous releases after Yeeeah Baby don't count) seems to indicate that he might have, but we'll never know for sure. All we can go on are the rhymes that he spit while he was around — and there weren't too many who ever wrote better verses.
Like Big L, Big Punisher could have easily become at least a top-10 emcee with a little more time. Unfortunately, his inability to take care of himself cost us all. Still, he did enough during his short career to assure that he'll never be forgotten.
Big Punisher burst onto the national hip-hop scene quickly after meeting up with fellow Bronx Boricua Fat Joe in 1995, making a guest appearance on his mentor's album Jealous Ones Envy and outshining him on a "freestyle" for the first Funkmaster Flex 60 Minutes Of Funk LP later that year. With the underground buzz building, Pun set his solo career off with "I'm Not A Player," a virtuoso performance laced with the clever multisyllable rhymes that would become his calling card. Overnight, he had earned a place alongside the genre's most respected lyrical heavyweights.
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| Sometimes pictures scream 1,000 words we don't want to hear. |
Dead in the middle of little Italy, little did we know that we riddled some middlemen who didn't do diddly...
Two months before his second album, Yeeeah Baby, Rios died of a heart attack. On the lead single released just after his death, "It's So Hard," Pun says, "I just lost 100 pounds...I'm trying to live!" — yet he was reportedly 780 pounds at the time of his passing, the highest he'd been in his entire life.
Yeeeah Baby was a disappointment, and that's not the only pock mark on Pun's scorecard. Perhaps in part because of his weight issues, Pun had trouble with breath control, making it difficult at times to spit his intricate verses without punch-ins. Other top rappers like Raekwon and Slick Rick have been guilty of the same, though, so that's not a legacy-killer — and almost every rapper on this list is guilty of at least one flop album.
(He's the only one guilty of lifting a hook from me, but that's another story for another post. I've forgiven him.)
Would Pun have gone full-blown sellout in the earlier part of the aughts like his buddy Fat Joe? His final album (posthumous releases after Yeeeah Baby don't count) seems to indicate that he might have, but we'll never know for sure. All we can go on are the rhymes that he spit while he was around — and there weren't too many who ever wrote better verses.
Like Big L, Big Punisher could have easily become at least a top-10 emcee with a little more time. Unfortunately, his inability to take care of himself cost us all. Still, he did enough during his short career to assure that he'll never be forgotten.
Monday, December 12, 2011
No. 14: Andre 3000
Okay...for both of you who have been following along, you may remember back in the mid-30s of this countdown when I admitted that I had a bias against the south (not just in music, either) and that I didn't necessarily have the same orgasmic love affair with Outkast that some do.
That doesn't mean I don't have a major appreciation for what they've done — and the placement of André Benjamin (aka André 3000) in the top 15 is proof of that.
André is the rarest of rarities — a southern rapper who actually puts thought into his rhymes — and he's arguably the most well-rounded emcee on this list musically. He's completely unafraid to be different and take risks. Not all of those gambles paid off, mind you, but the vast majority have.
Outkast became an instant sensation in late 1993 with the release of their debut single, "Player's Ball," then followed up with their first LP, Southernplayalisticadillacmuzik. That album established the group as a national hip-hop powerhouse and broke the stranglehold that the New York and Los Angeles metrozones had on the genre in 1994.
André started taking some more chances on the next two Outkast projects, ATLiens and Aquemini, both of which continued the group's early run of success. Their greatest work, however, may have come on Stankonia, where André seemed to find just the right amount of strange.
While extremely successful commercially, Stankonia was also a hit with critics, and it firmly established André as one of the world's elite emcees (no disrespect to Big Boi, who was probably one of the last three or four to miss the cut for this countdown). His verse on "B.O.B." was a masterpiece — how many other rappers could flow so effortlessly over that warp-speed beat?
But then, André went on a bit of a hiatus as an old-school funk/R&B singer of sorts, scoring his biggest commercial success with "Hey Ya!" and using a similar style on the Idlewild soundtrack in 2006. He seems to finally be returning to his roots in recent years, making a few guest appearances toward the end of the decade and starting work on a new solo album as well as another Outkast project.
Like Common just below him, not all of André's experiments necessarily worked...but again, most of them did, and he brought something to hip-hop that nobody else has. In addition, the success he enjoyed with Big Boi transcended geography and paved the way for a slew of southern artists to blow up, including Ludacris, Goodie Mob and far, far too many other (less talented) acts.
No matter how much garbage the south churns out in the now and later, however, they'll always have André 3000 to brag about.
That doesn't mean I don't have a major appreciation for what they've done — and the placement of André Benjamin (aka André 3000) in the top 15 is proof of that.
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| Yeah. I'm fucking weird. What genius isn't? |
Outkast became an instant sensation in late 1993 with the release of their debut single, "Player's Ball," then followed up with their first LP, Southernplayalisticadillacmuzik. That album established the group as a national hip-hop powerhouse and broke the stranglehold that the New York and Los Angeles metrozones had on the genre in 1994.
André started taking some more chances on the next two Outkast projects, ATLiens and Aquemini, both of which continued the group's early run of success. Their greatest work, however, may have come on Stankonia, where André seemed to find just the right amount of strange.
While extremely successful commercially, Stankonia was also a hit with critics, and it firmly established André as one of the world's elite emcees (no disrespect to Big Boi, who was probably one of the last three or four to miss the cut for this countdown). His verse on "B.O.B." was a masterpiece — how many other rappers could flow so effortlessly over that warp-speed beat?
But then, André went on a bit of a hiatus as an old-school funk/R&B singer of sorts, scoring his biggest commercial success with "Hey Ya!" and using a similar style on the Idlewild soundtrack in 2006. He seems to finally be returning to his roots in recent years, making a few guest appearances toward the end of the decade and starting work on a new solo album as well as another Outkast project.
Like Common just below him, not all of André's experiments necessarily worked...but again, most of them did, and he brought something to hip-hop that nobody else has. In addition, the success he enjoyed with Big Boi transcended geography and paved the way for a slew of southern artists to blow up, including Ludacris, Goodie Mob and far, far too many other (less talented) acts.
No matter how much garbage the south churns out in the now and later, however, they'll always have André 3000 to brag about.
Sunday, December 11, 2011
No. 15: Common
The son of a professor, Lonnie Lynn Jr. has always been capable of putting together top-quality verses...and more often than not, he's done just that.
Common Sense made his debut in 1992 with Can I Borrow A Dollar?, and he sounded very little like the Common most fans have become familiar with. His style was clearly influenced by early-1990s East Coast acts (kind of like Jay-Z on his early "Show And Prove" cameo), as evidenced by his flow on the "Soul By The Pound" remix.*
(* — This was the first Common song I heard...and I was quasi-heartbroken when I bought Can I Borrow A Dollar? and the remix wasn't on there.)
After not generating enough buzz with his first LP, Common Sense went back to the lab to work on a new style. He emerged with Resurrection in 1994, sounding completely different and much more like his present-day self. The album brought him major critical acclaim, particularly for the classic "I Used To Love H.E.R." That same song wound up causing a beef between Common and the Westside Connection, eventually leading to Common's battle-ending "The Bitch In Yoo," one of the better dis tracks ever.
For his third album, One Day It'll All Make Sense, Common dropped the "Sense" from his name but not from his product. One Day might be the best all-around work of his career, featuring a host of notable guest appearances (De La Soul, Black Thought, Cee-Lo, Erykah Badu, & Q-Tip, among others). The three "Stolen Moments" tracks offer a solid example of storytelling, and Common delivers strong, boastful punchlines with Canibus on "Making A Name For Ourselves" — but the true jewel is "Retrospect For Life," a duet with Lauryn Hill looking back with regret at a terminated pregnancy:
From now on/I'm a use self-control instead of birth control
'Cause 315 dollars ain't worth your soul...
Common stayed conscious on Like Water For Chocolate, which proved to be his first true commercial success, then slipped a bit on Electric Circus, an experimental album that was ridiculed by some (including me) as too soft. Us critics got our comeuppance in 2005 with the release of Be, one of the better records of the last decade. Almost exclusively produced by Kanye West (who is much better behind the boards than he is on the mic), Be delivers an old-school feel throughout and reclaims Common's street cred.
He's mellowed again since...but while his music has been fairly hit-and-miss at times, Common deserves a ton of credit for maintaining an aura of positivity in a genre increasingly dominated by materialism, violence and bullshit in general. He's managed to carve out a long and distinguished career without (too many) blatantly commercial efforts, and he's shown himself capable of evolving and pulling off different styles.
Common is one of the few mainstream emcees left keeping real hip-hop alive. Honestly, I can't be mad if you think I under-ranked him by a couple of spots. But here he is.
Common Sense made his debut in 1992 with Can I Borrow A Dollar?, and he sounded very little like the Common most fans have become familiar with. His style was clearly influenced by early-1990s East Coast acts (kind of like Jay-Z on his early "Show And Prove" cameo), as evidenced by his flow on the "Soul By The Pound" remix.*
(* — This was the first Common song I heard...and I was quasi-heartbroken when I bought Can I Borrow A Dollar? and the remix wasn't on there.)
 |
| Pretentious? Maybe. But I've earned the right to be. |
For his third album, One Day It'll All Make Sense, Common dropped the "Sense" from his name but not from his product. One Day might be the best all-around work of his career, featuring a host of notable guest appearances (De La Soul, Black Thought, Cee-Lo, Erykah Badu, & Q-Tip, among others). The three "Stolen Moments" tracks offer a solid example of storytelling, and Common delivers strong, boastful punchlines with Canibus on "Making A Name For Ourselves" — but the true jewel is "Retrospect For Life," a duet with Lauryn Hill looking back with regret at a terminated pregnancy:
From now on/I'm a use self-control instead of birth control
'Cause 315 dollars ain't worth your soul...
Common stayed conscious on Like Water For Chocolate, which proved to be his first true commercial success, then slipped a bit on Electric Circus, an experimental album that was ridiculed by some (including me) as too soft. Us critics got our comeuppance in 2005 with the release of Be, one of the better records of the last decade. Almost exclusively produced by Kanye West (who is much better behind the boards than he is on the mic), Be delivers an old-school feel throughout and reclaims Common's street cred.
He's mellowed again since...but while his music has been fairly hit-and-miss at times, Common deserves a ton of credit for maintaining an aura of positivity in a genre increasingly dominated by materialism, violence and bullshit in general. He's managed to carve out a long and distinguished career without (too many) blatantly commercial efforts, and he's shown himself capable of evolving and pulling off different styles.
Common is one of the few mainstream emcees left keeping real hip-hop alive. Honestly, I can't be mad if you think I under-ranked him by a couple of spots. But here he is.
Saturday, December 10, 2011
No. 16: Kool G Rap
Part of the reason I couldn't put Big L any higher than 17 is the fact that it would've been wrong to rank him ahead of the rapper whose career he most likely would have wound up emulating.
Nathaniel Wilson, better known as Kool G Rap, was everything that Big L probably could have been — an incredibly gifted lyricist with a flair for making real hip-hop music, but someone who got far less time in the limelight than his music merited.
Kool G started out as a tag-team act with DJ Polo in the late 1980s, making a name with the single "It's A Demo." After joining up with the Juice Crew, Kool G blew up thanks to a verse on Marley Marl's "The Symphony," and he subsequently made three solid albums with DJ Polo before the two parted ways in 1993.
Anyone who was slow to get on the Kool G Rap & DJ Polo bandwagon for whatever reason (and I'm embarrassed to admit that I was) had to be fully on board after his first solo LP, 4,5,6, dropped in late 1995. The single "Fast Life," a back-and-forth with Nas, remains one of my favorite tracks of all time, and Kool G delivers a rapid-fire lesson in breath control on the first verse.
Most rappers would have needed multiple punch-ins to spit it. I practiced my own delivery by practicing it. Nas — who is ranked very, very high on this list — gets outshined on this one in a big way despite delivering an outstanding performance himself. It's a fucking awesome performance.
Kool G has remained prolific ever since, putting out a handful of solo albums and doing collaborations with fellow top-50 emcees such as Heavy D, Fat Joe, Big L, Chino XL, Canibus and Ras Kass, among many others. Now in his mid-40s, he remains one of the most respected figures in hip-hop.
My only real beef with Kool G is that he maintained a career-long obsession with the mafioso/organized crime lifestyle — and while it worked on songs like "Fast Life," it became overkill'ish when done over and over. (We needed more "Talk Like Sex," yo!)
Had there been more diversity, he might've become a top-10 emcee for me. The whole package was there — lyricism, flow, delivery, rhyme structure, you name it — but Kool G falls just short of being in that upper-uppermost tier.
Ain't no shame in being here, though.
Nathaniel Wilson, better known as Kool G Rap, was everything that Big L probably could have been — an incredibly gifted lyricist with a flair for making real hip-hop music, but someone who got far less time in the limelight than his music merited.
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| Takin' over the (Gary) Carter. |
Anyone who was slow to get on the Kool G Rap & DJ Polo bandwagon for whatever reason (and I'm embarrassed to admit that I was) had to be fully on board after his first solo LP, 4,5,6, dropped in late 1995. The single "Fast Life," a back-and-forth with Nas, remains one of my favorite tracks of all time, and Kool G delivers a rapid-fire lesson in breath control on the first verse.
Most rappers would have needed multiple punch-ins to spit it. I practiced my own delivery by practicing it. Nas — who is ranked very, very high on this list — gets outshined on this one in a big way despite delivering an outstanding performance himself. It's a fucking awesome performance.
Kool G has remained prolific ever since, putting out a handful of solo albums and doing collaborations with fellow top-50 emcees such as Heavy D, Fat Joe, Big L, Chino XL, Canibus and Ras Kass, among many others. Now in his mid-40s, he remains one of the most respected figures in hip-hop.
My only real beef with Kool G is that he maintained a career-long obsession with the mafioso/organized crime lifestyle — and while it worked on songs like "Fast Life," it became overkill'ish when done over and over. (We needed more "Talk Like Sex," yo!)
Had there been more diversity, he might've become a top-10 emcee for me. The whole package was there — lyricism, flow, delivery, rhyme structure, you name it — but Kool G falls just short of being in that upper-uppermost tier.
Ain't no shame in being here, though.
Friday, December 9, 2011
No. 17: Big L
I really, really wanted Lamont "Big L" Coleman to be higher than this. And were it not for some mindless idiot with a gun, he almost undoubtedly would have been.
Big L was an underground phenom in the early 1990s, first with his group Children Of The Corn (which also included Cam'ron and Mase) and then as a solo artist. He caught the ear of Lord Finesse, which led to him joining the incredibly talented D.I.T.C. collective. After making guest appearances on a handful of D.I.T.C. projects, Big L dropped his first LP, Lifestyles Ov Da Poor & Dangerous, in 1995.
The album was lyrically vicious, filled with entertaining stories and hard-hitting punchlines, and Big L seemed destined for at least underground superstardom if not mainstream success. But according to Mase's autobiography about a decade ago, Puffy and Bad Boy Records secured the rights to an El DeBarge sample that was eventually used for Biggie's "One More Chance" remix.
Big L had used the same piano loop first for his lead single, "M.V.P.," but with the rights to the sample now swallowed up, he was relegated to the background forever. According to Mase:
Big L...was circulating his first single on tape and it was hot. Somebody must have heard 'It' because Bad Boy ended up with the rights to the sample and that was all she wrote...Big L's career was over before it even started.
And hilarious tracks like "No Endz, No Skinz" got No Play.
After being dropped by Columbia, Big L eventually started his own label, Flamboyant Entertainment, leading off with the fantastic 12-inch single, "Ebonics." That was enough to catch the ear of Roc-A-Fella Records, who began the process of trying to sign Big L (and his crew, at his insistence) in early 1999.
Before the deal ever got done, though, Lamont Coleman was gone. On February 15, 1999, he was killed in Harlem, shot nine times in the face and chest. Theory has it that the murder was in retaliation for something that one of Coleman's two brothers had done before going to prison, but the crime remains unsolved.
Thus, all of us were robbed of the chance to see one of the world's elite wordsmiths hone his craft. Nonetheless, Big L did more than enough in his 24-plus years to earn a place among the all-time greats.
Big L was an underground phenom in the early 1990s, first with his group Children Of The Corn (which also included Cam'ron and Mase) and then as a solo artist. He caught the ear of Lord Finesse, which led to him joining the incredibly talented D.I.T.C. collective. After making guest appearances on a handful of D.I.T.C. projects, Big L dropped his first LP, Lifestyles Ov Da Poor & Dangerous, in 1995.
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| I wasn't poor, I was po'/I couldn't afford the O-R... |
Big L had used the same piano loop first for his lead single, "M.V.P.," but with the rights to the sample now swallowed up, he was relegated to the background forever. According to Mase:
Big L...was circulating his first single on tape and it was hot. Somebody must have heard 'It' because Bad Boy ended up with the rights to the sample and that was all she wrote...Big L's career was over before it even started.
And hilarious tracks like "No Endz, No Skinz" got No Play.
After being dropped by Columbia, Big L eventually started his own label, Flamboyant Entertainment, leading off with the fantastic 12-inch single, "Ebonics." That was enough to catch the ear of Roc-A-Fella Records, who began the process of trying to sign Big L (and his crew, at his insistence) in early 1999.
Before the deal ever got done, though, Lamont Coleman was gone. On February 15, 1999, he was killed in Harlem, shot nine times in the face and chest. Theory has it that the murder was in retaliation for something that one of Coleman's two brothers had done before going to prison, but the crime remains unsolved.
Thus, all of us were robbed of the chance to see one of the world's elite wordsmiths hone his craft. Nonetheless, Big L did more than enough in his 24-plus years to earn a place among the all-time greats.
Thursday, December 8, 2011
No. 18: Jay-Z
Yeah, I said it.
Here's where I undoubtedly start catching some heat. I'm well aware that there is a growing segment of the hip-hop populace that believes Shawn "Jay-Z" Carter is the greatest rapper of all time. If you're not in that group, you're most likely in the group that believes Jay-Z ranks just behind Biggie and Tupac and ranks merely as the greatest living rapper of all time.
Sorry, folks, but you're all way the fuck off base.
You'll likely attack anyone ranked above Jay-Z by saying they didn't sell as many records...but again, if record sales mattered, then joke rappers like Vanilla Ice, Hammer and Lil' Wayne would all be in the top 10. Sales don't mean shit here.
Here are a few of the other counter-arguments, in no particular order:
a) Jay-Z was on the receiving end of the most vicious dis track of all time ("Ether"), losing an incredibly one-sided battle despite starting it and trying to finish it.
b) Jay-Z effectively named himself after another rapper (his mentor, Jaz-O). You can't ride a dick like that and be No. 1. Or even close.
c) Jay-Z's best work (his first LP, Reasonable Doubt) was little more than a decent carbon copy of what the best New York rappers of the time were doing. You'll struggle to find a great and original Jay-Z work. He never broke any new ground. Listen to his big-label debut (Big Daddy Kane's "Show And Prove") — his style is a regurgitation of what several others were doing. That hasn't changed much.
d) Jay-Z is very rich, sure. And I know that having money supposedly impacts somebody's greatness these days. But business acumen has nothing to do with the rankings. If it did, Master P and Puffy would be in the top five.
and, most importantly...
e) Jay-Z failed to live up to his enormous potential in terms of making consistently good music. He may have gotten more money and fame that way, but his discography is tainted. Hard Knock Life was an awful album, a blatant cash grab...and nearly everything he's done since could be labeled the same way.
I'd rather have seen Jay hang it up early than let his considerable talent go unused on bullshit songs like "Change Clothes." Had he retired or been killed just before In My Lifetime, Vol. 1 came out — just like the man (Biggie) he so closely emulated — he'd probably have placed about eight to 10 spots higher. Reasonable Doubt was every bit as good as Ready To Die and better than any Tupac Shakur album...but neither of them lived long enough to churn out as much pop bullshit as Jay did.
At his best, Jay is tremendous — I loved "Ain't No N****" despite the presence of Foxy Brown, and he's smooth as shit on songs like "Who You Wit II." But his worst is unforgivably wack sellout garbage, and that's what the majority of his career has tilted toward. I'll admit that I didn't mind crappy pop songs like "Can I Get A..." and "Give It To Me" when I was in the cluuuuub dancing and shit. But as a true hip-hop head who values lyrics and rhyme schemes over all, that shit doesn't cut it.
If you want to try arguing that Jay-Z should be ranked higher than 18 based on impact, that's an even easier argument. Snoop Dogg, KRS-One and LL Cool J are ranked 21 through 23 and all had at least as big an impact, if not greater. As previously stated, Jay didn't break any new ground. None.
Very few rappers could get away with putting out as much bullshit as Jay-Z has and still be ranked this highly. I tried to strike a balance between an incredibly high ceiling that was rarely reached and a dirty-ass floor that he visited with alarming frequency. All of the rappers listed above Jay-Z have a much stronger résumé than he did and/or would win a battle against Jay-Z. One already did so convincingly.
Basically...18 is more than fair. Sorry.
Here's where I undoubtedly start catching some heat. I'm well aware that there is a growing segment of the hip-hop populace that believes Shawn "Jay-Z" Carter is the greatest rapper of all time. If you're not in that group, you're most likely in the group that believes Jay-Z ranks just behind Biggie and Tupac and ranks merely as the greatest living rapper of all time.
Sorry, folks, but you're all way the fuck off base.
You'll likely attack anyone ranked above Jay-Z by saying they didn't sell as many records...but again, if record sales mattered, then joke rappers like Vanilla Ice, Hammer and Lil' Wayne would all be in the top 10. Sales don't mean shit here.
Here are a few of the other counter-arguments, in no particular order:
a) Jay-Z was on the receiving end of the most vicious dis track of all time ("Ether"), losing an incredibly one-sided battle despite starting it and trying to finish it.
b) Jay-Z effectively named himself after another rapper (his mentor, Jaz-O). You can't ride a dick like that and be No. 1. Or even close.
c) Jay-Z's best work (his first LP, Reasonable Doubt) was little more than a decent carbon copy of what the best New York rappers of the time were doing. You'll struggle to find a great and original Jay-Z work. He never broke any new ground. Listen to his big-label debut (Big Daddy Kane's "Show And Prove") — his style is a regurgitation of what several others were doing. That hasn't changed much.
d) Jay-Z is very rich, sure. And I know that having money supposedly impacts somebody's greatness these days. But business acumen has nothing to do with the rankings. If it did, Master P and Puffy would be in the top five.
and, most importantly...
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| Shit...I can't argue with any of that. But I'm rich. |
I'd rather have seen Jay hang it up early than let his considerable talent go unused on bullshit songs like "Change Clothes." Had he retired or been killed just before In My Lifetime, Vol. 1 came out — just like the man (Biggie) he so closely emulated — he'd probably have placed about eight to 10 spots higher. Reasonable Doubt was every bit as good as Ready To Die and better than any Tupac Shakur album...but neither of them lived long enough to churn out as much pop bullshit as Jay did.
At his best, Jay is tremendous — I loved "Ain't No N****" despite the presence of Foxy Brown, and he's smooth as shit on songs like "Who You Wit II." But his worst is unforgivably wack sellout garbage, and that's what the majority of his career has tilted toward. I'll admit that I didn't mind crappy pop songs like "Can I Get A..." and "Give It To Me" when I was in the cluuuuub dancing and shit. But as a true hip-hop head who values lyrics and rhyme schemes over all, that shit doesn't cut it.
If you want to try arguing that Jay-Z should be ranked higher than 18 based on impact, that's an even easier argument. Snoop Dogg, KRS-One and LL Cool J are ranked 21 through 23 and all had at least as big an impact, if not greater. As previously stated, Jay didn't break any new ground. None.
Very few rappers could get away with putting out as much bullshit as Jay-Z has and still be ranked this highly. I tried to strike a balance between an incredibly high ceiling that was rarely reached and a dirty-ass floor that he visited with alarming frequency. All of the rappers listed above Jay-Z have a much stronger résumé than he did and/or would win a battle against Jay-Z. One already did so convincingly.
Basically...18 is more than fair. Sorry.
Wednesday, December 7, 2011
No. 19: Special Ed
Few emcees were tougher to place on this list than Edward Archer, better known to the world as Special Ed.
In terms of longevity, he falls well short of many elite-level rappers — look at his discography compared to that of Redman, KRS-One or LL Cool J, for example. But that's not necessarily a deal-breaker — a handful of other rappers ranked ahead of him also come up short on quantity (though in most cases, it's because they died).
Quality wins out over quantity here, though, and so a rapper who hasn't released anything noteworthy since the age of 17 — more than 20 years ago — somehow cracks the top 20.
Yes, he was that good.
Ed was still a week shy of his 16th birthday when Youngest In Charge dropped in 1989 — and yet his rhyme structures were more complex than those of nearly every emcee alive at the time. On "I Got It Made" and "I'm The Magnificent," he showcases his mastery of the "inside" rhyme (sticking two or more rhyming words in between two different-sounding ones, for those who don't know) years before rappers like Proof and Eminem got to it.
His second LP, Legal, came out the following year and was nearly as strong. "The Mission" proved that Ed could tell a story as well as nearly anyone else out there, and the album clearly established him as one of the elite rappers of the time. A great career was no doubt blossoming...
...until it wasn't.
It was five years before we heard from Special Ed again, and by then his buzz had died down. In the last full year of the Golden Age, he simply wasn't able to stay afloat in a market saturated with great work from the likes of Biggie, Mobb Deep and Raekwon. Ed's rhymes, while still technically superior to most, continued to prove that he was sort of a one-trick pony who relied almost exclusively on boasts and punchlines (a la Canibus or Chino XL).
Not that there's necessarily anything wrong with that if you do it well, but it takes more than that to get higher than 19th — especially if your career is effectively over before you're old enough to vote (and you looked like you could be Chris Bosh's uncle).
Special Ed managed to do something that almost no other teenager could do — lyrically hang with the best in the game. At his peak, he belonged in an elite class that included only Big Daddy Kane, Rakim and maybe Kool G Rap. He's been surpassed by a few others since, but not enough to bump him out of the top 20.
He was like that really hot girl you knew in high school who peaked too soon and skipped the 10-year reunion because she had completely lost her fastball. You wouldn't touch her now, but you still have the memory of how ill she was back in the day.
Two decades later, we still remember The Magnificent.
In terms of longevity, he falls well short of many elite-level rappers — look at his discography compared to that of Redman, KRS-One or LL Cool J, for example. But that's not necessarily a deal-breaker — a handful of other rappers ranked ahead of him also come up short on quantity (though in most cases, it's because they died).
Quality wins out over quantity here, though, and so a rapper who hasn't released anything noteworthy since the age of 17 — more than 20 years ago — somehow cracks the top 20.
Yes, he was that good.
Ed was still a week shy of his 16th birthday when Youngest In Charge dropped in 1989 — and yet his rhyme structures were more complex than those of nearly every emcee alive at the time. On "I Got It Made" and "I'm The Magnificent," he showcases his mastery of the "inside" rhyme (sticking two or more rhyming words in between two different-sounding ones, for those who don't know) years before rappers like Proof and Eminem got to it.
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| Feel free to blink another million times. I'm broke. |
...until it wasn't.
It was five years before we heard from Special Ed again, and by then his buzz had died down. In the last full year of the Golden Age, he simply wasn't able to stay afloat in a market saturated with great work from the likes of Biggie, Mobb Deep and Raekwon. Ed's rhymes, while still technically superior to most, continued to prove that he was sort of a one-trick pony who relied almost exclusively on boasts and punchlines (a la Canibus or Chino XL).
Not that there's necessarily anything wrong with that if you do it well, but it takes more than that to get higher than 19th — especially if your career is effectively over before you're old enough to vote (and you looked like you could be Chris Bosh's uncle).
Special Ed managed to do something that almost no other teenager could do — lyrically hang with the best in the game. At his peak, he belonged in an elite class that included only Big Daddy Kane, Rakim and maybe Kool G Rap. He's been surpassed by a few others since, but not enough to bump him out of the top 20.
He was like that really hot girl you knew in high school who peaked too soon and skipped the 10-year reunion because she had completely lost her fastball. You wouldn't touch her now, but you still have the memory of how ill she was back in the day.
Two decades later, we still remember The Magnificent.
Tuesday, December 6, 2011
No. 20: Redman
I was never a huge, huge EPMD fan, so I got hyped up for Redman's solo career through word of mouth. When Whut? Thee Album dropped in 1992, I was sold immediately.
Reggie Noble's debut starts off on a perfect note — there aren't too many songs out there that get you hyped up as easily as "Time 4 Sum Aksion" — and keeps the bar set high throughout. Red even gets a little educational on that ass with "How To Roll A Blunt."
When the follow-up, Dare Iz A Darkside, dropped in 1994, my roommate and I set a new record for beating the shit out of a single tape (excluding the accidental drop down 4 flights of stairs that it magically survived). "Can't Wait" remains one of my favorite hip-hop songs ever.
Few emcees can claim a better three-album run than Whut?, Dare and Muddy Waters (which many critics consider his best work). By 1996, Redman was on track to put together a top-10 career, and his rumored project with a still-hot (at the time) Method Man had fans foaming at the mouth.
Unfortunately, Blackout!, was repeatedly delayed, not coming out until fall of 1999...and in the meantime, Redman's career took a hit when his fourth solo LP, Doc's Da Name 2000, proved to be a massive disappointment. When Blackout! finally did drop, it also failed to live up to the considerable hype, and any hope that Red had of making the short list of elite emcees was essentially gone.
In recent years, he's probably been more well-known for his movie work, but Reggie has gotten back to making records after a six-year hiatus between full-length projects (2001 to 2007). He hasn't come close to replicating his early success commercially or critically, so the mid-1990s is pretty much all that he has to brag about.
That's still plenty.
Reggie Noble's debut starts off on a perfect note — there aren't too many songs out there that get you hyped up as easily as "Time 4 Sum Aksion" — and keeps the bar set high throughout. Red even gets a little educational on that ass with "How To Roll A Blunt."
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| Press rewind if I haven't blown your mind... |
Few emcees can claim a better three-album run than Whut?, Dare and Muddy Waters (which many critics consider his best work). By 1996, Redman was on track to put together a top-10 career, and his rumored project with a still-hot (at the time) Method Man had fans foaming at the mouth.
Unfortunately, Blackout!, was repeatedly delayed, not coming out until fall of 1999...and in the meantime, Redman's career took a hit when his fourth solo LP, Doc's Da Name 2000, proved to be a massive disappointment. When Blackout! finally did drop, it also failed to live up to the considerable hype, and any hope that Red had of making the short list of elite emcees was essentially gone.
In recent years, he's probably been more well-known for his movie work, but Reggie has gotten back to making records after a six-year hiatus between full-length projects (2001 to 2007). He hasn't come close to replicating his early success commercially or critically, so the mid-1990s is pretty much all that he has to brag about.
That's still plenty.
Sunday, December 4, 2011
No. 21: Snoop Dogg
If you've been following — and if your name isn't Dan Silver, you probably haven't been — then you know I've never been a fan of lyrical lightweights, no matter how influential they might be. It's a big reason why some of the pioneers you'd probably expect to see in a top-50 list (Q-Tip, Run, Erick Sermon, et al.) aren't here, and a big reason why almost nobody who's been on the mainstream radar screen the last decade had a prayer. Lyricism doesn't matter at all when it comes to selling records, but it matters here. A lot.
Calvin Broadus is pretty much the lone exception.
Snoop Doggy Dogg has never pretended to spit meaningful shit. He's not a conscious rapper. He's not known for spitting complex multisyllable rhymes. Basically, he's not known for much more than simple party rhymes about smoking weed and killing people (and B-Real probably did that shit better).
But Snoop also helped define a genre of rap that dominated the culture for a good chunk of the golden era, and he might be the single greatest influence on the pop rappers that have dominated the airwaves since 2000 (that's not necessarily a compliment, but still).
Originally a part of the 213 collective with Warren G and Nate Dogg, Snoop's meteoric rise to fame began in 1992, when he collaborated with Dr. Dre on the title cut for the Deep Cover soundtrack. Snoop's mellow voice contrasted perfectly with Dre's booming vocals (not to mention perhaps the best bass line ever), and it was clear that a star was about to break out.
The Chronic — by any measure one of the top 5 or 10 hip-hop records of all time — belonged to Dre in name, but Snoop made it his, dropping his sleepy rhymes over classic tracks like "Nuthin' But A G Thang" and "Bitches Ain't Shit." Without even having so much as a single to call his own, Snoop's oft-delayed solo project became the most anticipated record in hip-hop history, and maybe one of the most hyped debut releases in any genre of music.
When Doggystyle finally dropped in 1993, it didn't disappoint. Picking up where The Chronic left off, Dre and Snoop made magic again with such classics as "Pump Pump," "Tha Shiznit" and the wonderful "Gin & Juice," still the only song ever that begins with somebody's drunken stream of urine fading into a beat.
Suddenly, Snoop was the biggest star in music. Then it all began to unravel...at least musically. By the time his second solo LP, Tha Doggfather, came out in the fall of 1996, Dre had left Death Row Records and labelmate Tupac Shakur had been killed. The music suffered considerably. Snoop would eventually leave the crumbling Death Row label and sign on with the crown prince of late-1990s wackness, Master P.
(Puffy still being the king...more on that later.)
Though he had a few hit singles after the turn of the century, Snoop essentially transitioned from rap star to celebrity brand, starring in reality shows and making cameos in movies such as Old School. It's a step up from Flavor Flav, but certainly not anyplace that a hip-hop icon should have gone.
Then again, Snoop never really fit into a box anyway. He was different than anyone that came before him...and though countless wannabes have emerged as microwave-popcorn stars in recent years, he's still one of a kind.
We'll choose to remember his iconic run as the driving force behind the G-Funk era, two classic albums and several inexplicable quotables/urban-dictionary entries (beeotch, fo' shizzle, chuuch, etc.).
He might be the biggest lyrical lightweight in the top 50, but you'd be hard pressed to find five emcees that made a bigger imprint during their apex. For that, Mr. Broadus, we salute you.
Calvin Broadus is pretty much the lone exception.
Snoop Doggy Dogg has never pretended to spit meaningful shit. He's not a conscious rapper. He's not known for spitting complex multisyllable rhymes. Basically, he's not known for much more than simple party rhymes about smoking weed and killing people (and B-Real probably did that shit better).
But Snoop also helped define a genre of rap that dominated the culture for a good chunk of the golden era, and he might be the single greatest influence on the pop rappers that have dominated the airwaves since 2000 (that's not necessarily a compliment, but still).
Originally a part of the 213 collective with Warren G and Nate Dogg, Snoop's meteoric rise to fame began in 1992, when he collaborated with Dr. Dre on the title cut for the Deep Cover soundtrack. Snoop's mellow voice contrasted perfectly with Dre's booming vocals (not to mention perhaps the best bass line ever), and it was clear that a star was about to break out.
The Chronic — by any measure one of the top 5 or 10 hip-hop records of all time — belonged to Dre in name, but Snoop made it his, dropping his sleepy rhymes over classic tracks like "Nuthin' But A G Thang" and "Bitches Ain't Shit." Without even having so much as a single to call his own, Snoop's oft-delayed solo project became the most anticipated record in hip-hop history, and maybe one of the most hyped debut releases in any genre of music.
When Doggystyle finally dropped in 1993, it didn't disappoint. Picking up where The Chronic left off, Dre and Snoop made magic again with such classics as "Pump Pump," "Tha Shiznit" and the wonderful "Gin & Juice," still the only song ever that begins with somebody's drunken stream of urine fading into a beat.
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| Michael Vick ain't got shit on me... |
(Puffy still being the king...more on that later.)
Though he had a few hit singles after the turn of the century, Snoop essentially transitioned from rap star to celebrity brand, starring in reality shows and making cameos in movies such as Old School. It's a step up from Flavor Flav, but certainly not anyplace that a hip-hop icon should have gone.
Then again, Snoop never really fit into a box anyway. He was different than anyone that came before him...and though countless wannabes have emerged as microwave-popcorn stars in recent years, he's still one of a kind.
We'll choose to remember his iconic run as the driving force behind the G-Funk era, two classic albums and several inexplicable quotables/urban-dictionary entries (beeotch, fo' shizzle, chuuch, etc.).
He might be the biggest lyrical lightweight in the top 50, but you'd be hard pressed to find five emcees that made a bigger imprint during their apex. For that, Mr. Broadus, we salute you.
Friday, December 2, 2011
No. 22: KRS-One
In a way, it's fitting that Lawrence Krisna Parker, better known to the world as KRS-One, is ranked right next to LL Cool J, because they're pretty similar cases:
Extremely important contributions to the growth of hip-hop in its early stages and golden years? Check.
Failure to contribute anything meaningful in the last decade or so? Check.
Outsized egos that have managed to survive, or even thrive, through years of humbling nothingness? Check.
Just like LL, KRS-One legitimately seems to believe that he is unquestionably the greatest emcee of all time. And just like LL, he was almost undoubtedly in the top 10 as recently as the late 1990s. But both have seen themselves passed up by younger, hungrier rappers who took the foundation laid by the pioneers and built on it (before today's bubblegum hit-poppers destroyed it all anyway).
KRS deserves credit for laying the foundation, though.
His best work came as the lead voice for Boogie Down Productions, a conscious collective that debuted in 1987 with the classic LP Criminal Minded. At the time, the group consisted of KRS-One and his DJ, Scott LaRock — but Scott was killed shortly after the release of Criminal Minded, and KRS would reform the group with his brother Kenny Parker, D-Nice and Ms. Melodie (who was married to Kris for four years).
Though BDP's first album brought the most acclaim, some of the best work KRS ever did came with the second incarnation of the group, particularly on the slept-on Edutainment. KRS drops knowledge like a motherfucker on such cuts as "Blackman In Effect," "Beef" and "Material Love." His last album with the group, Sex And Violence, proved that he still had the edge, particularly on "Duck Down" and the statutory rape anthem "13 And Good."
(Yes, I just introduced the term "statutory rape anthem." Embrace it.)
In 1993, KRS-One began his solo career, originally following the same blueprint* that had made BDP so respected — hard beats, hard rhymes, no bullshit. Return Of The Boom Bap brought a little bit lighter feel, thanks to such songs as "I Can't Wake Up," but it was still vintage KRS.
(* — Ignorant Jay-Z fans, take note: BDP used "The Blueprint" in an album title first.)
By the later part of the decade, however, commercialism had started to take over hip-hop, and even Kris proved that he wasn't immune to the money grab. On 1997's I Got Next, he stains an otherwise strong album by capping it with a remix of "Step Into A World" that featured the guy we had all recognized as the Anti-Kris — Puffy. Suddenly, the guy who had slapped down sellouts for years was one of them:
The scholar/gets the dollars/while you other scholars just holler
With no dinero/you're zero...
And like that, karma grabbed KRS-One's career and threw it off a cliff. His next album, Maximum Strength, was reportedly so wack that Kris decided to release it only in Japan, and none of what he has done since has managed to generate so much as a blip on the Radar Of Good Shit.
Thus, a legend slides all the way down to No. 22. But as with LL below him, the fact that more than a decade of wackness didn't drop him out completely is evidence of how strong KRS once was.
Extremely important contributions to the growth of hip-hop in its early stages and golden years? Check.
Failure to contribute anything meaningful in the last decade or so? Check.
Outsized egos that have managed to survive, or even thrive, through years of humbling nothingness? Check.
Just like LL, KRS-One legitimately seems to believe that he is unquestionably the greatest emcee of all time. And just like LL, he was almost undoubtedly in the top 10 as recently as the late 1990s. But both have seen themselves passed up by younger, hungrier rappers who took the foundation laid by the pioneers and built on it (before today's bubblegum hit-poppers destroyed it all anyway).
KRS deserves credit for laying the foundation, though.
His best work came as the lead voice for Boogie Down Productions, a conscious collective that debuted in 1987 with the classic LP Criminal Minded. At the time, the group consisted of KRS-One and his DJ, Scott LaRock — but Scott was killed shortly after the release of Criminal Minded, and KRS would reform the group with his brother Kenny Parker, D-Nice and Ms. Melodie (who was married to Kris for four years).
 |
| When will my poisonous product cease? I used to be ill... |
(Yes, I just introduced the term "statutory rape anthem." Embrace it.)
In 1993, KRS-One began his solo career, originally following the same blueprint* that had made BDP so respected — hard beats, hard rhymes, no bullshit. Return Of The Boom Bap brought a little bit lighter feel, thanks to such songs as "I Can't Wake Up," but it was still vintage KRS.
(* — Ignorant Jay-Z fans, take note: BDP used "The Blueprint" in an album title first.)
By the later part of the decade, however, commercialism had started to take over hip-hop, and even Kris proved that he wasn't immune to the money grab. On 1997's I Got Next, he stains an otherwise strong album by capping it with a remix of "Step Into A World" that featured the guy we had all recognized as the Anti-Kris — Puffy. Suddenly, the guy who had slapped down sellouts for years was one of them:
The scholar/gets the dollars/while you other scholars just holler
With no dinero/you're zero...
And like that, karma grabbed KRS-One's career and threw it off a cliff. His next album, Maximum Strength, was reportedly so wack that Kris decided to release it only in Japan, and none of what he has done since has managed to generate so much as a blip on the Radar Of Good Shit.
Thus, a legend slides all the way down to No. 22. But as with LL below him, the fact that more than a decade of wackness didn't drop him out completely is evidence of how strong KRS once was.
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