For those of us born in the '80s -- the real '80s babies -- Lil Wayne represents our first and seemingly last shot at producing a great MC from our generation. How ironic is it that as Tommy Hilfiger-tagged teenyboppers we were blessed to tap our Jordan-sporting feet to some of the most revered rappers ever, during the '90s (aka the rap renaissance). Yet, we've failed at fostering hip-hop. Even more of a paradox is the fact that our God Mc didn't hail from the hip-hop hubs of New York or Los Angeles, but instead, what was once considered a hip-hop hollow -- New Orleans.
Neutralizing the popular notion that "Dirty South" rappers lacked lyrical prowess, Wayne set out on a crusade to prove his vitriolic vernacular could burn any MC in the game. Via a myriad of mixtapes and guest appearances, not only did Weezy convert some of the most cynical critics of Southern hip-hop, he also garnered more lofty endorsements -- MTV, Rolling Stone and Vibe to name a few -- than Barack Obama. Inevitably, clumsy comparisons would follow -- most notably Jay-Z -- and expectations for his next album grew into a masterpiece-seeking monster, whose hunger seemed impossible to suppress. It had devoured a plethora of innovative mixtapes -- al la Da Drought and Dedication series -- and now it hungered for what was projected to be the crème of Wayne's creative crops -- Tha Carter III.
Logical thinking would lead many to believe that Weezy's highly anticipated opus would be an instant "classic," even before the record was released. Especially after sublime songs like "La La La" and "Feel Like Dyin" were leaked from the album. Unfortunately, whether intentionally, or brought on by our worst fears that Wayne would eventually burn himself out, Tha Carter III conspicuously showcases simplified versions of the meticulous metaphors and poignant puns that made Wayne the biggest rap star since Kanye West. Take for example, "La La" (featuring Brisco and Busta Rhymes), which plays like a regurgitated attempt to match the infectiousness of the aforementioned leaked version. If David Banner's clunky xylophone percussion and a child's "la-la-las" in the background doesn't distract you, one can hear Wayne spit sub par similes like, "F*** me, I'm all about we [spelt oui in French] like Paris" or "I'm richer than Nicole, and I'm a lion like her daddy." This is a far cry from the delectable double entendres Weezy F. Baby dropped to a saccharine chorus of children's voices on the original version: "My spot remains, like a bleach stain or cranberry / It's murder she wrote like Angela Lansbury." Another lyrical letdown comes in the form of Wayne's haphazard verse on "You Ain't Got Nuthin'." What is supposed to be a lyrical slugfest involving Fabolous and Juelz Santana features the self-proclaimed "best rapper alive" being trumped by both MCs as he rambles about having paper like a fax machine and saying "tomata" instead of "tomato." It would have been a better idea for Wayne to call the whole thing off. The certified street anthem "A Milli" has the distinction of being the only track on Tha Carter III where Wayne truly mirrors the lyrical maneuvers heard on mixtape messiahs like "Dough Is What I Got" and "Live From the 504."
"Let The Beat Build" is a true testament to Young Carter's deft delivery, as he rides Kanye West's orchestra of choir voices and church organs with the ostentatiousness of a kid riding a bike without using the handlebars. Of course, he also handles his bars with superb stanzas like, "Believe that, like a true story / Rims big make the car look like it's two stories / If I hop out, they'll be suicide / No back seats, call that paralyzed." As regal as Wayne's rhymes schemes are, the true king of cadence, Jay-Z, holds court on "Mr. Carter." Carter Jr. flexes his lyrical muscles just as much as Hov does on his joint, but Jay's flow matches the instrumental so seamlessly that it results in an unrivaled unison. Even though Wayne is outdone on this track, he must take solace in the fact that Jigga gives him his biggest cosign yet: "I'm right here / In my chair / with my crown and my dear / Queen B, as I share / My time with my heir."
Where Wayne no longer plays second fiddle to Hov -- or anybody else for that matter -- is in his ability to create alluringly off-kilter song concepts. "Phone Home" and "Dr. Carter" are pristine examples of this. Weezy cast himself as an extraterrestrial on the former, hovering above earthling MCs and threatening to "eat them for supper get in [his] spaceship and hover;" and on the latter he puts "his gloves on and his scrubs on" and attempts to heal rappers suffering from symptoms like "lack of concepts, respect and swagger." Wayne also excels at crafting belligerent ballads that both genders can enjoy, flipping Beyonce's "Irreplaceable" lyrics to suit his own sentiments on the Babyface-backed "Comfortable." "To the left / To the left / If you want to leave, be my guest you can step / Feeling irreplaceable listening to Beyonce / Well ok, I'll put you out on your B-day," Wayne raps over Kanye's dense drums.
Highly apparent, is the effort that Lil Wayne put into Tha Carter III. Though aesthetically we've seen him implement his rhymes on a higher level, he's definitely proven he can pen hits like his first #1 single "Lollipop" and his projected second single ""Got Money" (featuring T-Pain). But to label this album a "classic" is a bit of a stretch. Besides "Tie My Hands" (featuring Robin Thicke) -- an introspective dirge dedicated to Wayne's hometown -- he doesn't do much to move your soul as he does your body and mind. His personality and perspective are entertaining and his lyrical aptitude is awe-inspiring at times, but Wayne never really spawns any deep emotions from you with his music. Think about how Biggie dragged you kicking and screaming into his nihilistic, paranoid-plagued world on Ready To Die, or how Nas challenged you to take an intellectually advanced and articulated journey into his hood on Illmatic, not to mention Jay-Z's dissection of a hustler's psyche on Reasonable Doubt. And though Tha Carter III is sonically sound, it's not groundbreaking in the vein of Dr Dre's The Chronic or Jay-Z's The Blueprint. However, Wayne fanatics shouldn't be too disheartened by such realizations; the fact that we're even having this discussion is a great sign of things to come.
Editorials & Columns Hustle Harder: Travel Arrangements Recently I traveled down to Washington D.C. to participate in an event called the "Million DJ March," and I realized ... full story
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