Review Summary: Is this Lil' Kim, or is this Iggy Azalea?
In some cases, the retired should stay retired, right" It couldn't be more true than for one of the pioneers of hip-hop of the female lens, Lil' Kim. In the glitz and glamour of the rejuvenated state of female immersion in hip-hop, with their own diluted, colored appropriation on its culture, one of the premier veterans has decided a return was in dire need. Especially with the female overload of cringeworthy products such as Iggy Azalea, sporting the infamy of being labeled to appropriate the culture in its finest example. Being the former girlfriend of the infamous Notorious B.I.G, and a lucid, gauging rapper in her own right of years past, Brooklyn's finest female fatale conspires and deviates a whirlwind of sorts for her newest compilation in two years with the piercing Lil' Kim Season. Like a favorite athlete who's made their grandiose return to the field, her hardened, primal experience silvers through in an immediate instance. However as it sifts, to gracefully regress and eventually limp to its faulty, confusing culmination - like that same athlete getting pummeled and gutted by the younger, superior talent that graces the landscape. Progressing down the trends of which even her own lacking counterparts have transpired to convey.
Like a mirrored two-faced reflection, the shifts of both the Lil' Kim we have come to admire and the bungled, dismantling side of her that's easy to berate showcase in this subsonic homage of mainstream, generic vibes. To its dismay, the downright awful, almost hilarious presence of her animalistic, grimy vocals and cringeworthy lyricism poisons the little good that you can sap away from this collection. The display of sheer lack of antiquity is blasted full-throttle in the smoky, uninspired "Diego", faltered with greasy, sour synth lines cheesing its way through with a sheetlet of horrific, comedic lyricism slipped in. Lame, childish poetry plastered with pop culture nods, like "I got all this work like El Chalpo/just made a million, I need eight more" feel like it's only installed for the sake to "keep up with the times". Her vocals are devoid of any naturalistic vibrancy, feeling synthetically robotic and dull, even in the awkward moments as she gleams out her voice. The devolution continues to shimmer down rock bottom when it crashes into her own version of O.T Genesis' "Cut It", bungled with fragmented, ironic lyricism of disapproval of garbage rap and "cowabungas" and other unrelated, frankly unreliable content meshed together. She only fits in with her lacking counterparts with ease. It doesn't do any sort of approving justice to the mellow, summer-esque composition, especially with its cool, chill piano flowing into sync with its blasting bass lines in the atmosphere. It's only worse when it's ripped to shreds by guest rapper TLZ, making terrible, hilarious lines like "ESPN is gay", which only summarizes the lack of seriousness placed into this compilation.
The only glimpse of hope that is saving this mess from needing disaster aid, is dark, conjuring pieces like the ominous "Fountain Bleu" that unlocks a vault of powerful, badass lyricism inside. Sunbathed in a ultraviolet, somber piano also laced in fuzzy, rocking bass lines, subjectivity the best from the compilation (which isn't saying much), Lil' Kim navigates through the haunting composition over exotic purchases and sexual connotations with demand and bluntness. It almost feels like this would be a song meant for Taraji P. Hensen for her lavish, outspoken character Cookie on Empire, it's built almost to be like a tribute to her. Even her remix to Drake's "Summer Sixteen" was a rousing success, delivering once again with elusiveness fitting to its killer premise. Despite these flashes of promise, all you're getting from Lil' Kim Season is a comeback season worth forgetting about, only to be lost in the piles of mix tapes alike. She might as well sign her retirement papers after shying her way down to this low point, especially with a cover that emulates and almost exactly resembles Iggy Azalea, a masterpiece of what not to do with hip-hop. It speaks true to what this lacking attempt is carved all up about.