Review Summary: Clipse going through the motions
For Virginia Beach rap duo Clipse, what more fitting time to release their third album than when the weather starts to turn white? Brothers Malice and Pusha T have long made their name on critically-acclaimed, popularly-ignored hardcore rap that largely focused on one thing and one thing only: cocaine, and all the business ventures and death threats that go along with it. From their brutal lyrics, relentless flow, and minimalist Neptunes-provided beats, they’ve always seemed darker than their contemporaries, more real and, most importantly, more believable. But after yet another long layoff and another sub-standard mixtape to whet their fans’ appetites, Clipse have found themselves in a weird place: successful, and with nothing to prove.
Perhaps then they can be forgiven for making their first so-so record, one that on the surface seems to have all the necessary ingredients for another celebrated release. The brothers Thornton have retained their sharp tongues and smooth but distinctive flows, rapping out lyrics like “I keep that dirty money / I’m talkin’ fast cash / I’m talkin’ razor shaving / I’m talkin’ duffle bags” with the same equal amounts of nonchalance and subtle vigor that they use to spit lines like “hell, even my garage a ménage / like my hoes exotic, same as my cars” or “they think it’s cute / while they’re giving me dome” so viciously. They’re still obsessed with coke, although here they focus more on the money and fame it’s brought them than the actual travails of drug dealing. And the Neptunes are still on board, providing low-key beats with the focus on the brothers’ storytelling.
But while the formula is there, it seems that the cold heart that
Hell Hath No Fury thrived on has been replaced with a lax sense of peace, a feeling that they’ve reached the plateau of the hip-hop/coke world and there’s no point in trying to find anything more to climb. Hell Hath No Fury was a drug-rap classic, an album fueled by Pusha T and Malice’s grimy, lurid stories, tales told with all the intensity of a grainy, black-and-white crime scene photograph.
Til The Casket Drops, meanwhile, seems content to celebrate its’ creators’ ascendancy with look-at-me hoopla like the embarrassing “Kinda Like A Big Deal” and almost masturbatory self-congratulations like on the bland “I’m Good” or standard club jams like “All Eyes On Me” or “Counseling.”
These are tracks that call to mind less savory and far less talented rappers with nothing better to write about, songs that concentrate more on all the sluts Clipse can score or how much high-class clothing they’re currently sporting than the kind of realistic imagery they’ve made their name on. Clipse are still obsessed with reminding people that they “[got] it from the streets,” but when they follow it up with lines like “rockin’ those Prada goggles / you’re my next top model / your style like Jackie yo now just sit back and let ‘em marvel” or “pump that camera mama, rip that runway baby / now pop that collar, see them dollars,” it comes across as the kind of empty posturing Clipse used to be the antithesis of.
The Neptunes don’t help things with beats that often come across as recycled or merely undercooked, from the lame synths of “Champion” to the faux-funk of “There Was A Murder,” but by and large the blame here falls squarely on the Thornton brothers.
Til The Casket Drop’s hollowness is even more glaring when they actually sound like the Clipse of three years ago. Opener “Freedom” spins a tale of redemption from a sweet sample, melodic electric guitar, and sharp string accents behind spirited verses, while a hard-hitting song like “Showing Out” calls to mind
Hell Hath No Fury’s single-minded passion and boasts one of the catchiest choruses on the record. The best tracks, however, are those that return to Clipse’s roots, namely the one-two punch of “Door Man” and “Never Will It Stop,” both of which mix drugs, violence, and money in a volatile cocktail that always seems on the verge of blowing up in one’s face.
But Clipse can do so much better than much of
Til The Casket Drops, and it’s disappointing to see such a talented duo seem to go through the motions so often. Clipse’s biggest strength was always their realism and combustive flow, and when they spend so much of their talents rambling on about tired rap stereotypes like girls, fast cars, and huge diamonds, it only makes the difference between songs like “Kinda Like A Big Deal” and “Never Will It Stop” so painfully obvious. It’s a deserved victory lap, to be sure, but one hopes that Clipse won’t lose sight of what got them here next time around.
