Nas Is a Demagogue

A little information is dangerous...

One of the conflicting elements of the new Nas album, Untitled, is that, for pretty much the whole record, he raps as you always hope that he might. And when I write "rap," I mean just that. Beats, content--forget those components of hip-hop music for a moment. Instead, just consider the craft of a rapper, constructing and delivering rhymes that exploit assonance, tempo, the interaction of syllables, the way that consonants and vowels hit your ears, cadence, and so forth to stitch together this stylized recitation of verse. If you assess Untitled with those narrowed parameters, it certainly stands out from the milieu of contemporary hip-hop, and it comes as close to delivering on the promise of Illmatic as only a special few Nas projects have (Lost Tapes comes to mind).

You can hear it right away:

...Niggas is still hating
Talking that Nas done fell off with rhyming
He'd rather floss with diamonds
They pray "please God let him spit that Uzi in the army line 'n
That shorty doo-wop rolling oo-wop in the park reclining"
Take 27 emcee's put them in a line and they're out of alignment
my assignment since he said retirement
hiding behind 8 Mile and The Chronic
Gets rich but dies rhyming
This is hot science
Now add 23 more from Queens to B-more
I've over their heads
Like a bulimic on a seesaw
Now that's 50 porch monkeys ate up at the same time
Nasty Nasdaq
Y'all going to bow holmes, it's Dow Jones
.80 cal chrome
Needed time alone to zone
The mack left his iPhone and his 9 at home...

Nas dances through the rhymes, gracefully gliding from couplets to pauses to purposely similar constructions, speeding up and slowing down to separate ideas, to evoke emotion as his words deem necessary. Not every flow spit on Untitled is as dense as that from "Queens Get the Money," but in total, it's an album of carefully executed rapping. Even when Nas gives his words more room to breathe, as he does on, er, "Breathe," a listener is still witness to a precision work of spitting. And with fewer throwaway bars than we've heard on recent Nas fare; without leaning on crutches like repeating rhymes in succession; without that easy but nonsensical wordplay that can pass for skills, Untitled is a return to form for a guy who so often works so hard to be something else. It's oddly refreshing that his rapping overcomes whatever calculations he may have made to the contrary.

That Nas has recaptured his form as an MC is conflicting, though, because Untitled is, of course, not about rapping. That piece of it is almost obscured, and it's unfortunate that a fine demonstration of his talent takes a backseat. Untitled is about controversy and having a message. At least, that's what Nas would probably tell you. It's supposed to be about those things, and therein lies one of Untitled's primary problems, because really, this album is about Nas and his latest culturally tone deaf, didactic crusade.

Nas is not a hero. He's not a revolutionary, he's not a savior, and he's not a leader. He's a moderately educated rapper who grew up in poverty, picks shitty beats, has a gift with words, and is content to use his gift while adhering to the conventions of the music industry in the name of accruing wealth. That's why he has so transparently experimented with production styles and the focus of his rhymes over his career; the guy wants to be rich and famous, and he is willing to do what he thinks he must. Nas has basically said as much. He may be a poet in the minds of some, but that distinction carries with it nothing noble when assessing a man whose highest calling appears to be nice cars, extravagant nights out, and an occasional spewing of empty rhetoric about social justice.

But I ain't mad at Nas--I think that when he's at his best, few can rap as well, and I don't expect for him to be the next Martin Luther King. If he made ten albums that sounded like Illmatic, I would probably like that. His failures come when he purports to be something that he isn't, and that is a crippling reality on Untitled. Contrary to what he'd like you to think, and what some may have decided upon listening to Untitled, he is not the enlightened vessel who carries with him a cogent message about America's racial climate. Rather, above all else, Nas is a demagogue.

Untitled contains lyrics that catalogue: the oppression experienced by blacks in America throughout history; the undermining habits and values of impoverished black folks; the absence of positive, professional role models in poor African-American communities; American exploitation and cooptation of black culture. Further, Nas ruminates about double standards held for blacks among the police, among the denizens of the capitalist music system, and among his own people, who both resent unfair treatment but are simultaneously hostile to success that too closely resembles acquiescing to mainstream white standards. He smartly hones in on the commonality in destructive values of a nation that used to purposely separate black families and today executes people at a clip that few other nation's can match (as though they'd want to boast about it). It's a loaded album, and I mean that as a compliment.

Nas unapologetically dwells on complicated, resonant subjects. They are thought provoking. I listened to this album in a state of mild confusion the first three times I heard it because I had a hard time keeping track of the many thoughts that were piling up on top of each other. It was an experience for which I was thankful. It was energizing.

But having worked a listener up, Nas then does what Nas seems to always do: he leaves you disappointed. Rather than offering unique insight or adding a distinct, coherent voice of observation--to say nothing of proposing solutions, but again, that's probably not fair or realistic to demand of most people, let alone rapper Nasir Jones--Nas ultimately fails to advance the racial dialogue and never comes close to capitalizing on the righteous indignation that many of his subjects engender. He instead falls back on hackneyed notions of success and his vague ideas about wresting back power for his people. It makes for an almost infuriating experience given the gravitas and deliberation that was intended to inform the subject matter. And I will rue this record should it excuse real consideration of these challenging subjects. There need not be anything nerdy or uncool about a meaningful rap album, and Nas appears to have been too scared to make one or, more likely, just not smart enough.

In some ways, the substance of Untitled lends itself to mockery. Defiantly, Nas conflates equality and progress with the trite trappings of the hip-hop dream: money, cars, clothes, and women. There really seems to be little else that Nas views as an end toward which he or anyone else should be working. He pays lip service to higer notions, like reclaiming the legacy of African scholarship, but the details of those plans are sparse. But getting rich--that's something he can talk about forever.

On "Hero," he plays the role of martyr and champion, yet the chorus boasts of his "chain gleaming" and lane changing in a two-seater (likely an expensive one), while his first verse opens with an acknowledgment of his Maybach and women, his Benz, and his prodigious shopping (blow your nose with some ice!). He goes on to fantasize about exotic destinations and exclusive wine cellars. In the preceding song, "Make the World Go Round," he gives context for this appetite for opulence by fleetingly reminiscing about times when he had little. It's a narrative frame that might explain the shape his desires take. But to make a record whose album cover directly recalls slavery, whose original title was to be the single most racially inflammatory word in our language, whose content is predominantly focused on large-scale social problems, and to then net out at owning nice cars? The ambitions and ideas for achievement come off as those of a simple, small man.

It gets worse. Nas further undermines his credibility as a social commentator by affecting the attitude of an outsider on "Testify." He raps:

...Little rap fans that live way out in safe suburbia
Would you stand with me, a United States murderer
Huh?
Would you testify?
You buy my songs/You buy my songs, but would you ride with me?
You understand my struggle/That's what you claim, right?
Well get your aim right
And get your game tight
Don't buy my songs, y'all don't roll with it
Coming to concerts, saying ho and shit...

In the abstract, that might be admirable. Right? I mean, he calls a spade a spade, noting the record-buying (or downloding, as he goes on to mourn) hip-hop fan base is predominantly not living the lives and experiences, mostly born of poverty and poor education, depicted in song. And he goes on to challenge these loyalists, questioning if their professions of empathy would translate into action. It carries with it the not-so-subtle message that for many suburban (read: white) fans, there is safety in confining contact with black America, especially poor black America, to records. And in perpetuating a system of de facto inequality. That would be a new iteration of an old but not tired theme that this nation has not reconciled. But, of course, you hear the rest of the album and wonder if Nas is sincere in his vituperation or if, really, he just kind of wishes he had skipped QB and started out in a McMansion. Further, this is a man who has profited from the prevailing social and economic system he impugns, so it's not as though this is a true outsider. Nas is instead posturing, something that has long been his way to deflect criticism and maintain a synthetic identity as a gadfly. It's incredibly cynical.

Similarly, there is also the startling contradiction that comes from a record that lionizes Louis Farrakhan but later says that we must end all forms of intolerance. Just as it's depressing to hear Nas say that the time of Martin Luther King, Jr. and other social progressives has passed, leaving Nas and others to carry that mantle all the way...to the Porsche dealer.

An explanation for all of Nas's underwhelming sociopolitical ideology may be found on "Y'All My Niggas," though. It's easily the most confounding song on the record, and it seems to be simultaneously a work of almost incomprehensible genius and a manifestation of Nas's own unresolved, internal conflictedness.

Does the first verse argue that the Civil Rights Movement fell short, and that real progress has been made thanks to hip-hop? Does it tacitly thank black leaders for allowing someone like Nas to succeed upon assuming a leadership role? Does it argue that the word "nigger" and its popularization has made hip-hop culture more popular and, subsequently, given blacks another avenue of economic viability?

What about the second verse? Does Nas appreciate that acting "niggerish" means getting 26-inch rims? Does he resent that to maintain credibility, he must do so? If so, doesn't that contradict some of his values? Does he think it's good or bad that African-Americans use the n-word, as colonists did?

The third verse seems to argue that from the battlefield of struggle, black people took back the n-word as part of a healing process that has persisted today, and that the n-word now captures an ineffable coolness that others have, no doubt ironically, come to envy. It connects to a much larger discussion about the n-word, but Nas, through his chorus, comes down firmly in the camp of those who believe that the n-word's contemporary use carries a power of convalescence:

"Try to erase me from y'all memory/Too late/I'm engraved in history--I'm here, my niggas!/Speak my name and breath life in me/Make sure y'all never forget me--y'all give me life!/'Cuz y'all use my name so reckless/Whether to be accepted or disrespected--and I love it!/And I love it/Especially when I do it in public/And I'm the subject."

Again, it invites a more involved consideration of the n-word, but it's a track on which Nas seems to tie together so many of his own thoughts. It results in something of a jumble, but that is apt for the album, which is, itself, a substantive mess. Apt for an album that readily calls out common tropes from the larger racial discourse but then struggles to make sense or contribute a new idea.

Content aside, another problem common to Untitled and so many other Nas records is that the production is wildly average, with few great songs, too many clunky beats that Nas's rapping has to save, and little sonic cohesion. The best song is "N.I.G.G.E.R. (The Slave and the Master)." Musically, this is less of an album and more like fifteen rap essays, Nas's Compiled Musings on Race. That could have been the title, actually. It would have been less grandiose in some ways, it would have mitigated the disappointment that is inherent upon hearing a ballyhooed work of pedestrian intellect, and it might have best described this flawed, intriguing rapper's rapper.