In a year when Jay-Z's American Gangster set the bar pretty low for what constitutes a "concept album," Lupe Fiasco may be forgiven for thinking he could pull one off. His latest offering, The Cool, revolves around three characters (The Cool, The Game, and The Streets) that provide the foundation for his unique and pleasant brand of moralistic soapboxing. As physical embodiments of various problems that Lupe discerns in the quest for "cool," these inventions allow him to weave together the different sights, sounds, and emotions of the city into a Frankenstein's monster of hip-hop culture. It's an ambitious conceit, and it is not entirely unsuccessful. But where the intrigue of Frankenstein lies in the eventual conflict between the monster and his creator, Lupe never confronts his own characters, instead leaving them to wander amorphously through a similarly half-hearted sonic landscape.
Lupe has said in interviews that he purposefully chooses poppy productions in order smuggle his message subversively onto the airwaves. The problem is that once he's got our ear, it's difficult to decipher exactly what that message is. We learn that "uncool" things include rape, the government, drugs, and other rap music; "cool" things are iPhones, Goyard luggage, and anything from Japan.
More often than not, his verses boil down to a random laundry list of society's ills -- he rarely focuses on one issue for any extended period of time, instead opting to jump from drug dealing to the Oval Office to slavery without any sort of thesis other than that it's all bad. "Intruder Alert" draws a tenuous thematic link between rape, drug abuse, and illegal immigration. Meanwhile, "Little Weapon" (produced by Patrick Stump from Fall Out Boy) connects videogame violence to child soldiers in Africa and school shootings. Did "Mortal Kombat" just come out? What year is this?
Lyrically, Lupe always remains impressive, and his flow has become more versatile and effortless than it was on 2006's Food & Liquor. On "Go, Go Gadget Flow" he channels the rapid-fire delivery of fellow Chi-town native Twista; while on darker tracks like "Dumb It Down" and "Put You On Game," he slows down his delivery and sharpens his diction. These songs, along with "The Coolest" and "Hip Hop Saved My Life," display Lupe's many talents as a rapper. But through the layers of alter egos, parody, and the endless lists of products and problems, it is almost impossible to mine any sort of cohesive narrative out of The Cool. So why even have a concept?
Ironically, the best song on the album is one in which you suspect that Lupe is finally telling us what he thinks is cool rather than inhabiting one of his characters. Over a bizarrely catchy and completely unexpected beat from Soundtrakk, "Gold Watch" plays out like a hipster's remake of "My Favorite Things" as Lupe playfully name-checks a slew of luxury labels and brand names (he also delivers the nerdcore line of the year: "I like 'Street Fighter 2,' I just really hate Zangeif / If only Ken and Ryu I find it hard to beat Blanca."). After all of the elaborate conceits, it turns out that Lupe just wants to buy things like everyone else (they just happen to be more expensive and exclusive). What a surprise!
In many ways, The Cool makes most of the albums released in the same year look like child's play. But Lupe asks -- and deserves -- to be held to a higher standard, and time and again it feels like there is something missing. His lyrics and flow are impressive, but they lack the gravitas and swagger of a great MC. His concepts are inventive and intriguing, but they falter on execution, and his production either sells him short or proves that he does not have the swagger to handle a bigger sound -- either way, it is not quite dope. So let's hope those retirement rumors are false, because chances are Fiasco has a great album in him yet.
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