Review Summary: While the content of The Ugly Truth might not be new, it doesn’t matter—for it is not what Prolyphic says that The Ugly Truth showcases, but Prolyphic himself.
Back in 2009 when The Ugly Truth dropped, I was but an adolescent youngling with a sterling interest in hip hop. Amazed by the existence of an album which laid down critique after critique of elements of society which, as an immature intellectual I was in the process of becoming disillusioned with as well, I became infatuated with Prolyphic’s vitriolic world-view. Now, six years later, I return to give a more experienced perspective on the record.
In the underground hip hop scene in the sect frequently referred to as “backpacker rap”, often disparaged for its cultural association with suburban white kids breaking out of their shell through the alien idioms of hip hop, Prolyphic’s topics are not novel. Rappers have come before and will come after spitting on every single topic he covers within this album, from the lack of rewards that come with musical authenticity, to the negative societal influences of religion, to the consumeristic and thoughtless nature of contemporary society—yes, despite how intelligent Prolyphic is he does not cover new ground. The value in what he’s saying comes not in the topics he chooses, but how he presents them.
Prolyphic’s debut with Strange Famous Records comes paired with the capable Reanimator, who gifts him hard-hitting, aggressive-yet-wholesome production which doesn’t experience a significant dip in quality throughout the whole album and often come with tasteful switch-ups. The simple melodies fit Prolyphic’s straightforward delivery and feature a variety of different atmospheres, from mystical to angry, to wistful to defeated, each cannily suiting his bitter lyrics.
In fact, there’s scarcely a better word to suit the spirit of the album than “bitter”. The Ugly Truth opens up with one of the most deep and metaphorical verses in the entire album (“99 Bottles”), combining a myriad of English idioms and proverbs into one of the first of many acerbic rants on the selfish and materialistic nature of American culture. Immediately afterward follows an existential crisis (“Born Alone”) and a further panoply of personally revealing and powerfully dissatisfied tracks. Prolyphic doesn’t deal with everything up in the air, however; there’s a fair share of songs alluding to experience in the album, supplementing his more general critiques. “Flashlight” he describes becoming disillusioned with religion, “The Way That I See It” speaks on being affected by the disloyalty of his peers, and in the standout “Two Track Mind” Prolyphic stops pointing fingers to divest an elegiac tale of lost love.
These tracks are truly the mortar which holds the albums together. Without the ebbs of vitriol giving the listener a break in tracks like “Survived Another Winter”—an underground hip hop artist’s supportive anthem—“Two Track Mind”, and the sublime final track, “Playing with Old Flames” it’s easy to grow tired of Prolyphic’s unabated rage. Supportive cries and nods come from a finite jar of cents, and the energy level really only gives after the most bellicose track on the album, “Box Within a Box”, after which the slow-starting but goosebump-inducing “On the Side” enters a decidedly different in tone second half of the album, in which anger gives way to lamentation. The muted drums and vocals of “Slow to Get Up” paint a darkly depressing atmosphere in which Prolyphic reveals his flirtations with death and lack of motivation, “Easier Said” how his disbelief leaves him with very little support when his life decides not to be charitable, and the penultimate “Sleeping Dogs Lie” is a soliloquy in which Prolyphic speaks directly to the Judeo-Christian god and ends with him sounding almost in tears, the most aggrieved moment in an hour spent, as Prolyphic writes, walking through the rain.
Unlike the previous track, “Playing with Old Flames” beautifully ends the album with a summative and explanatory rap in which Prolyphic speaks as much to himself as us on the last hour he has created, and quite positively. It’s a track which shows the excellence of the album more than any other for it reveals that although The Ugly Truth may appear to be a critique, it is not. It is a personal journal disclosed to the public letting Prolyphic mollify the weight of the world’s ugly truth on his shoulders. While the content of The Ugly Truth might not be new, it doesn’t matter—for it is not what Prolyphic says that The Ugly Truth showcases, but Prolyphic himself.
