Semi-imperative Southern pre-grim-era trap that falls victim to the usual-suspect obstacles of oh so many hip-hop albums circa 2003: needlessly prolonged, inferior second half, chiefly shopworn beats, stylistic homogeneity, choruses like the one from "24's" -- therefore the two Kanye productions come off as extraordinary succor-gems (particularly the aw-shucks dope-dealer lament of "Doin' My Job"), as does David Banner's baseball organ/kiddie la-la/beatbox-bass banger "Rubber Band Man". T.I. is proficient and authentic and an ample enough wordsmith, sure. But he never really strays from, well, trap life, and he tends to glaze over gritty deetz, electing instead to stick with generalities and brandish this whole 'I'm the best/I'm better than all ya'll/but don't be like me' thing. Oh, and women come up of course, but not often. They may get in the way of da game or something.
Bump |
