T.I. vs. T.I.P., and No One Wins

Wearing a suit doesn't make him Denzel anymore than this record makes him great.

Of the bloggers whom I've met or those whose sites I read on a consistent basis, Ian has always been among my favorites (no Alby Grant). Were the congruence of our political ideology and his familiar sensibilities not enough, I've also long admired his attitude toward rap music. Whereas I can't help but insist upon the genre's decline to the point that I almost resent the success of so many newjack practitioners, Ian instead hears new, exciting MCs and styles while challenging some of the legacy orthodoxies that may, in fact, no longer make sense or command the consensus they're afforded. That's not to say that my man has eschewed De La Soul for Choppa, but rather, he finds Little Brother staid and T.I. impressive, two attitudes that I don't share.

Our divergence was hammered home this weekend when I was challenged to name southerners whose rap stylings I genuinely enjoy, and I was left to extol Scarface, OutKast, Goodie Mob, and the limited few others one might expect a New York enthusiast to summon. Toward the end of high school and through my first year of college, I was fairly certain that Juvenile was my dude, but the archetypal excellence of 400 Degreez proved to engender little lasting esteem for his sub-genre cohorts.

This is all relevant to a discussion of T.I.'s latest record, T.I. vs. T.I.P., because Mr. Harris epitomizes the new-era hip-hop that I reject and others enjoy (though this album appears to be disappointing even admitted T.I. fans). When T.I. rhymes, I hear a distinguishable but boring microphone presence while some hear the ever amorphous "personality" coming out. Though I find his subjects to be fairly trite and tired, others believe that he has refined a certain mode of hip-hop that is at least excusable if not actually worthwhile. The rhymes that strike me as largely forgettable enrapture others. And though I tire of the endless synthesizers, others just can't get enough. I just don't really get the big deal about T.I. Beyond wanting to feel like you belong, like you're in on the successful marketing that has fueled his recent ascension, what is the appeal that makes him anything more than a mostly pedestrian MC? What makes any of these supposed "movement" rappers--stylistic or geographic--all that interesting? D4L, Rich Boy, Mike Jones, all of them--thanks for stopping by.

But let's not digress too far. Back to the lecture at hand: I doubt that T.I. vs. T.I.P. will offer many conclusive answers to any of my questions. So far, I've listened to it four times and won't lose sleep if I never hear it again. As you might suspect, I wasn't all that into last year's King of the Charts from the King of the South, King, but at least T.I. got what he paid for on that joint. The production was strong. This latest record is a disjointed hot mess: wannabe anthems that fall woefully short; confused, novelty production from Wyclef; a cheap Casio sound "perfected" on "We Do This"; the latest abortion from Eminem. Even Just Blaze phoned it in, relative to his standards (must have been too busy blogging). It says something really bad about this record that "Big Shit Poppin'," a track that has been constantly derided by fans, is ultimately the best song on the whole joint. Like, when your lead single bricks and there is no relief in sight, you're not the king of shit.

Worse for T.I.P. (or is that you, T.I.?), someone like Ludacris doesn't exactly make great albums, but at least he's funny. And at least he can put together some memorable lines. T.I. vs. T.I.P. is one boring, somber, self-involved march through the usual litany of contrivances. Even the album's concept--some sort of bullshit personality disorder born of the dichotomy that arises as someone from the streets achieves enviable success--is tedious and unimaginative. Accordingly, the rhymes are what you might expect: T.I. and T.I.P., they'll both tell you, are not people that you want it with; selling drugs is just how it goes (and even the government is a dopeman!); and being broke, as you may have heard while you were being underwhelmed, is not an option. Delivered with T.I.(P.)'s effortless (a good thing) assonance (also good) but largely uninspired (not that good) vocab and cadence, the lyrics make it hard for your mind to not wander toward better hip-hop or even a novelty song like Joe Esposito's "You're the Best" (which I can't get out of my head having watched Karate Kid this weekend).

I realize that this review makes T.I.'s album sound like it's only marginally better than a Jeezy record, but it's not that bad. Really, it's just boring. And lazy. And forced. This is an album that a newly successful rapper thinks that he needs to make. I'll get some big money guests, I'll throw together a quasi-deep concept, I'll have a song for every kind of fan--it's gonna be great! That's really where it goes wrong. It feels empty despite being so long. And it only reinforces what I was already fairly certain about: T.I. is not what I've been told he is.

Finally, a few miscellaneous, lingering thoughts:

- As I wondered over at Bol's, should Eminem be banned from hip-hop at this point? His production is, literally, among the worst in the game. He has unleashed the plague we call 50 Cent upon the world. And his verses aren't particularly good anymore. If he can't rap, can't produce, and can't make better choices, why are we still fucking with him? Give me 15 beats from Dre with rhymes from the Game, in all his arrested development and ambivalence-inspiring glory, and I'd be happier than I am now putting up with Eminem's continual blight.

- You'll never believe this, but take my word: Jay-Z makes a guest appearance.

- Though Wyclef is now some sort of senile calypso hip-hop circus act, The Carnival remains a great album. Just remember that.

- When Busta Rhymes isn't playing homophobic snitch vigilante and instead spits a focused verse, it still sounds good.

- The Just Blaze track, "Help Is Coming," bears an odd, passing resemblance to this NFL Primetime song.