Review Summary: The best Slaughterhouse affiliated release of the year.
Interestingly enough the best Slaughterhouse affiliated record this year comes not from the group as a whole or its most hyped members, but from the collective's left coast representative and his 7-track EP. A great lyricist with a west coast-typical gangsta flow, Crooked I is brilliant in repping (from here to Indonesia) the "two fingers twisted between your pinkie and trigger squeezer" with internal rhymes, alliteratives, catchy hooks, and punchlines galore. Of course, a lyricist is nothing without the proper beats (as witnessed by Slaughterhouse comrade Royce da 5'9"s disappointing
Street Hop); this is where
Mr. Pig Face Weapon Waist delivers above its contemporaries. "U Shoulda Made a Phone Call" is an easy candidate for best track of 2009 - in large part due to Frequency's electrified-funk blended composition and an epic chorus via K. Young. The electronic circus continues sequentially with "One More Time" as delivered by P. Silva's Detroit-reminiscent beats (albeit slightly repetitive) and one of the most hilarious verses likely ever written:
Bitches know niggas ain't shit // we cheat and lie // act like it ain't shit // so when we die // cremate us and put us in your douche // so we can run through that puss // one more time. While these two joints steal the show nearly completely (about one third of the record), Snoop makes an acceptable contribution to the throwback jam in "Guess Who's Back?" - it might not be cutting edge, but it makes your head nod.
After trimming a little fat, removing banal skits and alternate personalities, and embracing the compositional styles of his most effective tracks, Crooked I could potentially put out a modern classic. That said, there's a reason why he's been around 11 years and has yet to drop a solo LP: he's more of a mixtape or guest feature musician, and it doesn't seem as if he's ready for the quality control responsibilities inherent in undertaking such an endeavor. In the meantime, put this in your whip, crank up the bass, and nod your head; this is some raw west coast sh
it.
