Review Summary: The most productive man in the game stunts like his daddy.
To be quite blunt, Lil’ Wayne is the busiest motherf
ucker in the hip-hop business. Do you know how many mix tapes, singles, videos, awards shows, and arraignments this guy has entertained in over the past year and a half? Or all the one’s he’s produced. The media sh
it, obviously. It really was kicked alongside a certain little birdie. Naturally, I’m alluding to Birdman. So the duo play urban White Stripes and make an album called
Like Father, Like Son. Certainly this pair aren’t even blood relations, but hey, I’m sure at least one ghetto superstar teenager questioned it.
But seriously- how could you blame them? “Stuntin’ Like My Daddy” was a
powerful single. It bridges the gap between wigger Billboard rap, pass that sh
it rap, and pass that sh
it while I kill these bitches rap. I mean, you can’t really fault a guy for looking up to his father. I mean, even Chris Rock acknowledges that he admires “daddy’s that handle their sh
it.” And he’s a pretty good judge of hip-hop. Also, I mean, damn- stunna. Check my “stunna shades,” “youz a stunna bisssh,” even “stunna spinnas.” That slang is ingrained in it’s 15 minutes of Myspace exposure, with no end to the quarter in sight. Speaking of quarter’s, that’s probably the amount of marijuana that Weezy and Birdman were smoking when they mused up the lyrics of pretty much every song on
Like Father, Like Son, bridging the “smoke that chron” gap universally.
And even if the songs don’t directly reference smoking weed- and almost all of them really do, most notably “Over Here Hustlin’,” “1st Key,” “High,” “Cali Dro,” which all bring to mind thoughts of simply pasting the track list here- there’s at least a line thrown in there about it. And that’s the draw, white kids who can hardly take a hit from the smallest oddball MacGyver’d device in the world can here what the big boys do with kilos of kine bud. It’s practically theme music for every kid you’ve ever met in your drug counseling group who tried to sell you the chain on his neck for some cash to re-up. Never mind that this kid finds a new Ipod practically every day.
Birdman and Weezy can hook plenty of people just on the druggy 4:20 lyrics, but they decided against just crapping in a jewel case and showcased that both can competently spit their game. The duo keep each song fresh, meshing a good array of beats- anything from jazzy horns to sizzling guitar solos- along with the typical selection of other chart topping pals to play sing-a-long for the honor of being featured on the back of the album. The themes of actual maternity ran through the laser that burned each and every copy of this album. Obviously the relationship these two share may not be as big as Jay-Z/Kanye, Cam’ron/f’n everyone at Dipset, or any of that Rolling Stone cover story malarkey. But hey, it’s working. The young stunna Lil’ Wayne stunts to be certainly seems to look up to his Hanna-Barbara parentage. I mean, “it ain’t his birthday” but he’s got his “name on the cake.” Buying his first Mercedes at 15? Holy anti-jalopy son. “1st Key” Birdman’s best shot at something that’s become a bi-law of mainstream rap: rim size, “Ridin’ 25’s and we blazin’ getting’ high.” At least throughout all of it, neither one of these guys fall into the relentless dick-riding that collaborations or idiotic partnerships (Pete Wentz diamond-cutting anyone?) that can f
uck up a good thing for the music industry.
Like Father, Like Son isn’t going to please those looking for an R&B inflection craving, or the hip-hop elitist’s ears. The album also drags on and tends to get a little too same-y a little too often, which is pretty much a no-no in the world of single-strength albums. It’s still fun stuff. And hey, I mean, you memorize the words to all these tunes, and you’re gonna be at the forefront of modern slang for until at least until these two cool down. Hope you’re not in a hurry.
