About a month ago I attended a Wale and Pete Rock show at New York's Highline Ballroom. It was a great show, thanks in part to Wale's nine-piece go-go band and appearances by Styles P, Black Thought, and Queens' Royal Flush.
After the show I waited by the door while my girlfriend looked for her scarf in the coat room (turns out they lost it and we now have two free tickets to another show -- cash back?). While waiting, a faded looking dude rolled up to me and said, "F*** Pete Rock! Jim Jones? How is he gonna be that fa--ot on his album?"
With no interest in pursuing this type of conversation, or an explanation as to why someone with an obvious distaste for Pete Rock would attend his show, I slinked my way back into the crowd and rolled out. A few days later I finally popped in NY's Finest and quickly realized the irony of the previous night's interaction: "We Roll," featuring Jim Jones and Max B, is by far the best song on the album. Over one of the hottest beats of the year, Jimmy offers a laidback ode to Sunday, the day when he likes to start drinking before noon. Even Max B comes off sounding like a slightly brain-damaged Madlib -- which is a good thing -- and if making Max B sound good is a testament to a producer's beat-making ability, then so be it.
I bring up this anecdote not because it is particularly amusing or interesting, but because it distills the strange imbalance of the album: the best tracks stand out with the odd distinction that they manage to be good in spite of lackluster MCing. Ultimately, this is a flawed endeavor, and NY's Finest ends up feeling like a stellar beat tape that got misused.
The range of MCs on the album (other guests include Papoose, Raekwon, Redman, and Little Brother) provide a diversity that neutralizes the monotony of Rock's lyricism, which is serviceable, but rarely impressive. But besides a solid showings from Styles P on the moody "914" and Royal Flush's swagger-heavy appearance on "Questions," there are almost no rewind-worthy moments. All in all, Rock's choice of MCs really only shows his open-mindedness to the current climate of hip-hop.
On "Till I Retire," one of the few unassisted tracks on the album, Pete separates himself from those who cry "purist" without backing it up: "Y'all n****s hatin' on the South 'cause they getting they shine / I advice you rap dudes: better get on yo' grind." It's a refreshing sentiment from someone with Rock's history and status; he does not cling to the "old days" or foster antipathy for the new breed of MCs.
The problem is that among the other artists, Rock never finds his own stance: one minute he's playing the good-natured back-in-the-day dude -- "Been a classic since Rakim was rocking a fade" -- but the next he's awkwardly adopting the gangster lean of his cohorts: "They want a round of applause, give 'em a gun clap." If he has a story to tell, Pete seems to have kept it out of his rhyme book; and unfortunately, Jimmy and Co. seem to have left theirs at home. Even Pete's great production can't overcome 58 minutes of lyrical ennui. Perhaps the self-proclaimed "poster boy for the MPC" should stick to the boards, and find himself some MCs who are hungry enough to know what to do with beats this good.
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