I tweet about it sometimes, I blog about it even less regularly, and I discuss it with few people because most of my friends don't like rap music: I am a big G-Side fan. The dudes rap with this heartfelt honesty, their production collaborators are creative and daring. That's a good combination. G-Side also defies easy labels. Their voices sound southern, and their first album had a southern aesthetic, but they really don't resemble regional brethren in more ways than they do. G-Side is not my favorite rap group, and their songs may not be "the best" by objective measurements (if they exists), but they might be the most interesting. I listen to G-Side all the time.
I also don't got a day without some Gangsta Gibbs. Like everyone else, I am totally in the tank for Freddie. His rapping is precise, forceful, and entrancing. He also is proving to be an artistic entrepreneur, finding different beats and opportunities that steadily cultivate his mystique while also expanding his range. That growth is something one might project backwards as his early music finds an audience, and that's the case with "It's All Cognac." Gibbs on a soul beat isn't groundbreaking, yet "Cognac" sounds mature all the same because Gibbs is just that good.
And so it is that despite my love of Hunstville's finest MCs, I must concede that Gangsta Gibbs did more with this shared beat, in part because he used it less. G-Side's "This Is Life" is a representative G-Side track, sweeping strings and full sound accommodating rhymes about aspiration and reality. (The video's unrefined production quality is also characteristic G-Side, and that's both a little hokey and a lot endearing.) It holds nothing back; the group earns my admiration for its passion. "Cognac," meanwhile, more judiciously puts those strings to work, opting to structure a majority of the song as an ever ascending loop and leaving a few flourishes as the mountaintop of which we only receive a glimpse. It suits Freddie, whose persona is a ruthless and less feeling one than G-Side's disarming, earnest pouring forth.
My god! That--that's Brady Hoke's music! Hokeamania!
Someone stop the damn match! Aw, come on! That's not right!
Note: please consider reading my Top 50 songs of 2010. It took a long time to compile the list, and I would like hearing from folks who either have good Drake jokes or want to explain why Young Money is teh omg awesome. OK, now, let's do this...
Yesterday, my sister called to catch up with me and I couldn't do it. I answered the phone, vacantly said "Hello," and then all but drooled. My sister asked what was wrong, and I rattled off a list of trifling complications (jury duty, flat tire, snow), but I led with and returned to one thing: Brady Hoke. He had paralyzed me. I couldn't summon a coherent thought as my conversation with my sister, with whom I am in constant communication, stalled out. She hung up and I stared at a blank white wall in my apartment.
The Buckets had caught me at a bad moment. TheWolverine.com had posted an initial list of Brady Hoke's prospective assistant coaches, and a day of denial and forced optimism came crashing down, hurting inside.
I found out that Michigan had hired Brady Hoke while sitting in a jury box. Later, I rifled off a few skeptical and disappointed texts during lunch as I caught up on the internets invective being hurled at Michigan Athletic Director David Brandon. I didn't particularly want Brady Hoke as Michigan's next football coach, but I didn't think he was destined for the absolute failure others were predicting. I knew that he lacked Jim Harbaugh's magnetism and Les Miles's resume, but I didn't think Hoke was an intrinsically bad coach. Maybe it would be OK; Tressel worked out well for Ohio State, right? Hoke did frighten me, though, because of his coaching lineage. Brady Hoke really wasn't the problem; it was what he stood for.
As many have noted, a 47-50 coach from mid-tier programs would not normally have viable aspirations of succeeding Bo, Mo, Lloyd, and Rodriguez. Not with luxury boxes to sell, a competitive conference to survive, Alabama on the horizon, and a three-year depression to cure. Not when he had never served as a coordinator at any level of football, not when he was relatively anonymous, and not when fan perception was already hovering between disdain and skepticism. That's not the profile of a Michigan football coach. And yet, that's Brady Hoke, and here we are.
How we got here is troubling. The coaching search proved two things about David Brandon: he is incredibly arrogant, and he is incredibly unprepared. Since September, Brandon said that his evaluation process would run its own course, immune from outside pressure, industry conventions, and internal sabotage. He would go on to explain that people not named David Brandon operated with only five percent of the information he was calculating, and that his plan was unfolding precisely as he intended it. (And wizards are never late.) The implication was always on the tip of his tongue: he is smarter than you, with the role of "you" played by everyone else, including even other athletic directors. Brandon would not budge.
And he didn't. Not when it was clear that Rich Rodriguez's 2011 recruiting class would be relatively awful due to his ongoing job insecurity; not when Michigan lost to Penn State and made clear that this year's team had failed to make any material improvement; not when Michigan was embarrassed by Wisconsin and Ohio State to end another ugly, unacceptable season.
He then held firm through December and early January, as Jim Harbaugh--whom, by all accounts, had secretly committed to Michigan only to later recant and go pro--slipped away, as Rich Rodriguez suffered another embarrassing beatdown, and even as Brandon first met with Rodriguez to fire him. Don't let the two-day firing odyssey become an obscure historical footnote: David Brandon's sacrosanct process was so smart that he did in two days what most people could have done in an hour. Don't suggest, either, that it would have behooved Michigan to fire Rodriguez in November, to seek a commitment from Harbaugh within the week (while no one else but Stanford could realistically compete), or else pursue other attractive candidates when they were available in the heart of coaching carousel season. Don't say those things because you only betray your ignorance. The process said otherwise, and David Brandon devised it.
He also devised the awesome Les Miles subterfuge, during which he condescended toward fans by making a show of interviewing their presumptive preferred candidate only so that he could allow the deal to fall through. Flying to Baton Rouge, lying about the meeting date--it all gave Brandon cover. He could tell the idiot fans and their five percent that he tried to hire Miles, but all the while he never actually had to deviate from what now seems like his true post-Harbaugh intention. He could sign Hoke, deny having offered the job to anyone else, and tout his process as a brilliant success, the kind that only someone as smart as David Brandon could plan and then execute. You hire a Brady Hoke on January 11 even if you could have done so a full month earlier, no matter what the recruiting costs. Don't let athletic directors like Jeremy Foley, DeLoss Dodd, or anyone else quibble with this paradigm of athletics administration. They're just not as smart as Brandon. I am sure he will confirm this.
(Some other takes on this mess, in general, are here, here, here.)
A Bud Light Domino's Real Man of Genius. You probably wouldn't get it.
Why we got here is equally troubling. Brady Hoke doesn't have the resume to be the head coach at Michigan. The same could be said about national champion Gene Chizik and Auburn, but Chizik had been a celebrated defensive coordinator before working as a head coach at a BCS-conference school. That's not Hokeamania. Brady Hoke only had this troubling trump card: he coached at Michigan under Lloyd Carr. That's why I was incapacitated on the phone.
Brady Hoke has this job because the Michigan athletics administration appears to value cronyism as much as it values maize and blue. After a failed departure from the Schembechler Era left the program bruised and its constituencies warring with each other, Michigan panicked and overreacted. Mary Sue Coleman, David Brandon, and whomever they trust misinterpreted Rodriguez's incompetence as validation of Carr's approach. While the rest of the football world understands that Carr's Michigan was a program in steady decline for a number of years, the Michigan brain trust has idealized it as a halcyon brand of football meriting revival. As a bonus, embracing Carr's legacy by hiring one of his assistants would assuage the loud former players who railed against Rodriguez from jump street. Shamefully, it's a classic Michigan football attitude. No one else gets it because we're just that special, and we need one of our own to bring it back. However, the "it" might as well be any one of timidity, arrogance, or myopia. Not coincidentally, those were hallmarks under Carr.
So an acolyte from the Carr coaching tree has been summoned to Ann Arbor and assigned the task of reviving Michigan football in the style of its old, faltering self. Instead of again seeking elusive new heights, the program is seemingly settling for the old, lower ones. Instead of conducting a truly national search, Brandon scoured a small network, loudly championing "Michigan men" and quietly idealizing a Carr crony. Instead of making it his mission to find the man who could properly lead Michigan forward--perhaps a promising coordinator, perhaps an established head coach with at least a winning record--Brandon sought out someone who would proudly look backward as Braylon Edwards and Dhani Jones cheered him on. Hoke arrives underneath a shower of rhetoric about Michigan values and returning to Michigan football, but all I can hear is celebration of 9-3. I'm unimpressed.
To be fair, this isn't Hoke's fault. He didn't design David Brandon's process (who else could?), he isn't the obstinate former coach who has long agitated to select a successor, he didn't make Jim Harbaugh lie to Michigan, he didn't encourage the Detroit Free Press and Desmond Howard to hound Rodriguez into exile. For that matter, he isn't guilty of Rodriguez's many sins. He just wants to coach at a school he loves. Further, he may be a wonderful coach whose time building up Ball State and San Diego State as college football evolved imparted lessons that will make Michigan better. I really hope this is the case, because I will always root for my alma mater, and I will always give its coach a chance.
But I ran into deep dismay and a broken spirit when I saw the prospective assistant names. There were no ascendant coordinators, unassailable experts, and acknowledged recruiting champions. Instead, there were some of Hoke's seemingly unremarkable incumbents, a few names with fading stars (such as Al Borges), pedestrian bit players from Illinois, and a bevy of Carr-era retreads, including the wildly overrated Fred Jackson and people like Scot Loeffler, who helped Michigan reliably underachieve the first time around. Just a week ago, David Brandon assured that the days of underpaying assistants were over, and yet nothing from the first wave of rumored assistants suggests that Michigan will spend enough to truly be a leader or best.
What an inauspicious plunge into the future, then. The trip may get better. TheWolverine.com gets plenty wrong, after all. Help from the best sources might be on the way. Still, the feeling of a sustained doom is hard to shake, and not just because it has become a fixture in Ann Arbor. A Carr guy has returned to reconvene the band in some form and play the same old songs. The Harbaugh opportunity was missed. And now, the athletic department is asking fans to get excited about Brady Hoke primarily because he used to help Michigan leave us wanting more.
I see this, and all I think is "fat, sweaty Lou Ferrigno." Bad start.
It's been a minute or so since I wrote about music. Law school, along with work, travel, and everything else really impedes the everyday, regular blogging of yesteryear. My apologies. What I miss most about a more active writing schedule is that music criticism almost relies on context, continuity, and relativism. (For sports, there's Twitter.) Distilling what makes the best rap music is difficult as a platonic exercise. There is no higher form against which everything can be benchmarked. (Horn samples tend to help, if we're searching for absolute rules.) Very often, Song A is described in terms of Songs B and C because the second two help to illustrate the better and worse elements of the first. To wit, the drums on Kanye's "All of the Lights" could perhaps be best dissected when set against, say, a bombastic Black Milk Track or two.
Further, if we accept as axiomatic that much of today's rap music is inferior, that sense owes to the collective notion--fair or not--that hip-hop was once almost categorically better. This need for context is especially urgent when measuring new music against itself. No one needs to be told that Nicki Minaj is an embarrassment relative to actual rappers who don't need gimmicks or the soft bigotry of low expectations. However, no one seems to care that even Fabolous, regardless of intrinsic merit, remains a better rapper than her, and he demonstrates that on Hot 97 with regularity. If only I could write more often!
A more consistent stream of music writing would make these opinions, ideas, and biases clearer. In turn, work product like a year-end list of my fifty favorite songs would have more meaning and invite more conversation. Devoid of context, what follows seems random, and the evaluations are hard to calibrate. What does it mean, for instance, when a Sheek Louch record that was never on an official album, couldn't be heard outside of New York (and the internets), and didn't get radio airplay during mainstream hours checks in at 10? Long-time Straight Bangin' readers will have a good sense of the list, but for the uninitiated, let me apologize upfront for this explosion without warning. Consider it resolved that I'll do better in 2k11. Or I won't and we'll meet back here again next year.
One final note, then, about what doesn't follow: Last year, I said that after a little while, Drake's routine can get old. It's been far longer than a little while, and over that time, Drake has proven to be a mediocre rapper who thinks he is smarter than he actually is. Worse than his ubiquity, though, is that so many smart-dumb cats got taken in by him. Rap music would be better without Drake, and the fact that he was so quickly validated by so many of the writers who have helped to ruin rap music in the last half decade is perversely apt. He is not going to be a prominent part of my year-end analysis, and not just because he only made about two songs I ever want to hear more than twice.
50) Ron Artest, "Champions" I think I am cheating since the man made this song in 2009 while contemplating a forthcoming Lakers championship. However, that, alone, merits inclusion on this list, and the song officially dropped in June. The best part of the track is when Ron explains that he loves the ninth inning immediately after professing his preference for the fourth quarter. (I dare Phoenix and Boston to say otherwise.) It wasn't enough that such a well-known basketball player would write a song about playing basketball and invoke a staple of his sport's proving ground. He switched it up and channeled the day's mathematics to show his versatility. Ron would bat .076 in the World Series and then make the championship-winning catch up against the wall. To celebrate? Vodka shots from the Stanley Cup.
49) Young Chris ft. Freeway, "Street Secrets" Music that sounds well suited for a movie scene with sparks, shadows, chain-link fences, and concrete doesn't usually do it for me. This beat may have actually appeared in some straight-to-video Pamela Anderson movie from the late 90s. This weakness is also the song's strength, because Freeway and Chris usually sound like they're making a movie that no one else sees. Pause on that one.
48) De La Soul, "The Return of DST" Old men rapping about rapping gets tedious, but not when its De La Soul. If you're the most consistent rap group ever, and among the handful of acts that can claim to be the best group ever assembled, you can do whatever you want. Lucky for us, these dudes keep making interesting music carried by clarion voices, impeccable cadences, and the kind of microphone facility to which all rappers should always aspire.
47) The Game, "400 Bars (Skeemix)" There should be a word, perhaps just a nonce creation, for Game that is the musical equivalent of onomatopoeia. Just as certain words suggest how they sound, so does the Skeemix of "400 Bars" suggest everything you need to know about how to talk Game. Yes, he makes the same songs over and over, but this really is the most Game-ish song in a while. I won't chronicle all of the twenty minutes, but suffice it to say that it delivers everything you'd expect, and then goes much further. For example, consider the zeitgeist beat drops and the fourteen NBA references (Kobe twice, Laker game, Houston Rockets, NBA Playoffs, Pau Gasol, Charles Oakley, Chris Paul, Michael Jordan, Scottie Pippen, LeBron James, Mo Williams, Steve Kerr, Hakeem Olajuwon).
46) Consequence ft. Spree Wilson, "Don't Mean 2 Hurt You" Consequence is one of two rappers who suffers from the most strenuous institutional misgivings among his audience. (The other is U-God.) No matter what he does, 'Quence is the butt of jokes, the object of ridicule. Meanwhile, he makes decent music that is almost like hip-hop easy listening. "Hurt You" was a good example, because whenever I had a down moment with my iPod or one of those concentration breaks set to music, this track was usually playing. I like the dude.
45) S.A.S. ft. Cam'ron, Timali, and Fler, "Foreign Exchange" (O.G. Version) One day, someone will step forward from the shadows and admit that S.A.S. was, indeed, an elaborate practical joke. Then, these songs will become even funnier, and they're already winning the comedy game.
Have you ever seen the movie Snatch? Every S.A.S. song sounds like these dudes should owe money to Boris the Blade.
44) Cali Swag District, "Teach Me How to Dougie" When a song inspires an earnest email inquiry from my father, addressed to both of his children, inquiring about what the Dougie is and how it's done, it warrants inclusion in any year-end retrospective. When it also inspires so much wonderful dancing, it stands on its own merits. I still prefer Jeff Adrien's reluctant, understated Dougie, for the record.
43) The Kid Daytona, "Long Way to Go" TSS hit the nail on the head. Also, you can't front on the Pete Rock allusion.
42) BYOB Entertainment, "#ShawtBusShawty"
So many rappers and their fans sonned by something so simple and knowing.
41) Reservoir Dogs, "4 Shades" The casual bravado, arresting energy, and humble intelligence which characterize Chaundon's best music are always refreshing, if not also tragic for not translating to larger successes. Chaundon is the most pleasant of the permanent enigmas. Now if only he'd drop Joe Scudda, who always shows up wearing dad's suit and looking like the microphone child that he will be forever.
40) J. Cole ft. Wale, "You Got It" If internets rap were a draft, there would be three consensus lottery picks within my organization's brain trust: Freddie Gibbs, Jay Electronica, and J. Cole. To be fair, Cole's music can be repetitive. Song structures are fairly simple and his flow doesn't change very often. But Tyreke Evans doesn't use his left hand and it didn't stop him from winning Rookie of the Year. Sometimes, it behooves a talent to go with what got him there. Cole, luckily, is very good at the things he does. His range will come; he can learn to shoot, so to speak. Natural talent shows itself all the way, though, and he has it. I particularly like when he raps about women because he finds a way to sound real and even vulnerable, if only for fleeting moments.
39) Co$$ ft. Freddie Gibbs, "Gone" Even if that looped-string melody didn't momentarily drop out as he came on the track (), Freddie's arrival would be memorable. After starting the year as an ascendant darling, he went out as something of a reliable entity. By the time "Gone" dropped, Gangsta Gibbs had shown out, so we were free to just savor his work, rather than extrapolating what it could mean. His verse here is tidy, tight, and fun.
38) Jay Electronica ft. Jay-Z and the Dream, "Shiny Suit Theory" Speaking of extrapolation...Jay Electronica. Discuss. And also, appreciate, for his opaque references, for his bullshit mysticism, for his judicious vocal inflection, for his bizarre honesty. Now, too, for his coming collaborations with Jay.
37) Rick Ross ft. Kanye West, "Live Fast, Die Young" I stand by everything I wrote this summer. Moreover, I am not embarrassed to admit that Rozay has become one of the most interesting things about rap music. His brand of hip-hop is just so patently absurd and detached from even caviar lifestyles that he's fashioned his own sport of ever escalating opulence. I like watching it. He's like the Oregon offense when it doesn't have to play against SEC teams. Kanye killed this beat, too. That helps. (It shares a lineage with the beat he made for Common's "The People," replete with the vocal echoes and the winding, nasally melody.)
36) Madvillain, "Papermill" The best argument for taking drugs is likely Madlib's production. And if not, it's probably Madlib's beats paired with MF Doom's scattered, sideways rapping.
35) Curren$y, "Breakfast" A perfect does of Curren$y, whose voice, though largely beyond his control, precludes any sort of prolonged enjoyment. He just sounds terrible, no matter how well he rhymes. And this jazzy, sauntering beat is cozy and soft.
34) Martin Usher and James Davis, "Head of the State"
Just so catchy, so well executed, so great. And I love the fake Michelle Obama, particularly when she's mean mugging in the limo. I want to marry this woman. No joke.
33) Kanye West ft. Pete Rock, Jay-Z, Charlie Wilson, and KiD CuDi, "The Joy" Back when loose quotations and internets speculation depicted the coming Kanye album as some penitent homage to boom-bap hip-hop, this was going to be the whole album. Just track after track of soul samples, bass you can't ignore, and straight-forward rapping that must stand alone, unadorned by gimmicks and not cloaked in atmospherics. Which is not to say that Fantasy wound up as a bad record, only that it didn't deliver on what was promised. Quel dommage.
32) KiD CuDi, "Mojo So Dope" The definition of haunting music. It was always in my head. If more CuDi music sounded like this, and if he weren't such a rambling, emotional mess, I might be able to embrace him.
31) Method Man and Ghostface Killah, "It's That Wu Shit" Ghostface emits pliable energy. On tracks that push back, he cooperates, often melding his intensity and explosive persona with music that deigns to hold its own. On those relatively mellower soul tracks of his, he seizes upon such commodious backing to project himself as an even larger presence. On this relatively sparse joint, he gets to yell without being worked up, and as usual, it finds its way.
30) BK-One ft. Brother Ali and Fashawn, "Breakin' Dawn Boys" On some days, I get lost in true-school sentimentality, break beats, and percussive rhyming.
29) Slum Village ft. Babu, "Bare Witness" I once knew a girl who was so exciting that every time I saw her, I couldn't help but grin widely. Every time. Normally, I felt overcome by anticipation of the special chemistry she and I enjoyed. I would pull myself together and act right, but even if only for a second, there was always this moment of defenselessness, when I was just happy. That's how I feel every time I put on a new Slum Village album, no matter what happens next.
28) The Diplomats, "Salute" Sorry, but just hearing these dudes together on something so blaring and loud was, as Mr. Jones might say, quite splashy.
27) Arcade Fire, "Sprawl II (Mountains Beyond Mountains)" Your boy Hussain likes to make fun of my year-end music lists. He says that annually, in some foolish attempt to demonstrate even a scintilla of range, I reflexively shout out some non-rap music fancied by the cool kids. Most years it's Pearl Jam, even if I am a devout fan. I find his characterization of my motivations less than generous, but I won't deny that I spend far less time listening to non-rap music. Coupled with my interest in knowing about popular and famous music (reading Wikipedia entries about bands like Duran Duran on the reg; yachts on the reg; etc.) so that I can talk to my non-hip-hop friends and attend Lollapalooza, this leaves me at the mercy of the elite masses. I investigate what enough of the hippest rock fans deem to be their favorites. (And what HRO dictates.) This year, that meant The Suburbs. Since I authentically love 80s pop music, and since I like the generally anthemic Arcade Fire oeuvre, a song which sounds like "Heart of Glass" was sure to stand out. So there you go.
(*checks off box*)
26) Murs, "3:16, Pt. 2" I like it when Murs rhymes like he has a spring in his step. Plus, he controls a beat so well. Through some combination of ad libs, cadence, and a seemingly preternatural sense of how others perceive him, the dude always sounds like he's in the room rapping at you.
25) The Roots ft. John Legend, "Doin' It Again" "This unsung Underrated Under-appreciated The one them underachievers had underestimated Finally graduated I'm one of the most hated Something that's so sacred Nobody gon' take it Face it, I keep doin' it well Doin' it sans assistance, It's do it yourself Doin' it below the radar We doin' it stealth Doin' it again for Illadelph Yo who else? We gon' do it again!"
Black Thought, on point as always.
24) Freeway, "My Time" Kudos to Jake One for re-purposing this Tribe beat, and to Freeway for doing his thing in such characteristic fashion. This was a great driving song, especially when I was in a bad mood.
23) Yinka Diz ft. Young God and Kwis, "Another Day" Among my newcomers of the year is the dude Yinka Diz, who lives in Los Angeles, raps about real life, and doesn't apologize for being direct. No bells and whistles to his music, just beats and rhymes. Also, let's be real: this joint features Straight Bangin' friend Kwis, who purports to murder Yinka on his own shit. I don't think he succeeds, but he certainly does his thing.
22) Elzhi, "Undefeated Freestyle" 75 seconds of ill-ass () Madlib production and Elzhi ripping the track. Such brevity is both tantalizing and cruel.
21) Jay Rock ft. Rick Ross, "Finest Hour" Just another lush, gorgeous J.U.S.T.I.C.E. League beat.
20) Big Boi, "Daddy Fat Sax" Earlier this year, when his album dropped, I waxed on about my fondness for Big Boi's solo work. The strength of Chico Dusty was its collective imagination and cohesion, traits that aren't captured by any one track. "Fat Sax" features Big Boi in his element, though, and that kept it in my rotation. Dressing up precise rhyming in playful boasting, and working over a loud, funky, synthed-up beat, Big Boi sounds great.
19) Bun B, "Press Play" Oh man. I hate Bun B. UGK is way overrated, the man is far too available to any old rapper at any old time, and he enjoys some ill-earned status as a rap elder statesman. Worse, he whines about not being respected, and that act hasn't stopped even as he's steadily won the hearts and minds of most rap fans who have modems. Beginning in 2006, let's say, Bun B became a compulsory member of best-rapper lists while also emerging as a perceptive and distinguished veteran who has earned everyone's reverence. Everyone's! Try insulting him online. Even worse, try insulting Pimp C. The UGK fans will find your IP address and cyber hate crime you.
*sigh*
Having said that, the intensity of my enmity arises out of social and cultural factors. I don't love his music, but I recognize his abilities. He puts them to use on "Press Play," whose soft, smooth production enhances the effect of Bun's baritone. No matter how annoying he gets, that vocal register stays awesome. And so, too, does his pacing, which is almost always perfect. Bun rides a beat as well as damn near anyone.
18) Naledge ft. Murs, "ChampionNess (Remix)" Alright, back to rappers I want to root for. I have such great esteem for the Murs verse on this track that I wrote an entire blog post about it. Honestly, this is probably my verse of the year, not for the lyrics but for the craft behind it. Murs is a virtuoso on this joint.
17) Rihanna, "What's My Name" Drake's part on this joint is irrelevant, boring, and useless, so let's pretend he isn't there. The rest is a pop indulgence like few others. I don't hail from the camp that adores Rihanna. I don't think she's as gorgeous as others do, I don't think her music is terribly catchy, and I find that her vocals are annoying as often as they are an asset. "What's My Name" is the best Rihanna, though. The background music is active and clear, capturing one's attention. The tempo is sexy and infectious. The singing, in turn, is not the focal point, but instead first among equal components. Rihanna isn't absorbed into the track, but she also doesn't stand apart. It's almost as if she were embossed onto the music. Save for the bridge, when she is featured, but that works in the larger context. I have an endless appetite for this song, and I pressure-tested that assertion by spending time in New York over the holidays. The radio likes this song more than I do.
16) Freddie Gibbs, "National Anthem"* Tearing and languor prevail, with the string narrative that carries the track allowing the bubbling drums and the building layers to only explode during the chorus. Even then, the track feels pained and desperate. The mood is perfect for a song about the struggle, and for a rapper whose entire persona evokes the staple images of indigence.
15) Jimi Hendrix, "Valleys of Neptune" Cue another round of unfair HuRa cynicism. Shaking off the dust, "Valleys of Neptune" comes alive from underneath a blanket in some garage. It is rich and smooth rock and roll.
14) Ruste Juxx ft. Sean Price, "Fuckin' wit' a Gangster" A damn near perfect rap song. There wasn't enough Sean Price in 2010. Hip-hop needs to get its mind right in 2011.
13) Young Jeezy, "Greatest Trapper Alive" From here: I used to hate Young Jeezy. I thought his rapping was simple, silly, and self-defeating. Jeezy didn't only traffic in hip-hop's most trite images, but he did so brashly, demonstrating pride which I always found socially corrosive. He embraced the lowest common denominator. His overrated trap rapping only exacerbated my frustration because his ascendancy seemed to be fueled by diminished standards, critical group-think, and the continued elevation of style over substance. Don't forget, Jeezy was the Snowman endlessly hailed for his ad libs and his "swagger" back when people were racing to wear out that word as quickly as possible. Young Jeezy wasn't a rapper when he first dropped; he was the embodiment of an idea.
Since then, the man has changed a little, and so has taste, mine and the mainstream's. Jeezy has grown into his prematurely world-weary voice--those gimmicky improvisations are now less pronounced and less weighted because there is more to the total Jeezy package. His sound has evolved, too; it was almost a necessity for the better. The public's appetite for generic southern production, with its blaring synthesizers and frenetic but empty drums, has taken on nuance to match the heartier, fuller southern sounds that have exploded in the last few years. "My Hood" sounds and feels very different than "Who Dat," for example. This shift has aided Jeezy, who has maintained the same assured intrusiveness, but who no longer leaves the lingering impression of a vainglorious fool. He sounds more mature, whether it's a mirage, judicious moderation, or authentic growth.
Jeezy is now capable of a truly resonant song that not only amuses, but also moves. Maybe not in the way that a Public Enemy track connected with righteous indignation, but certainly in a fashion that can rile us up. It's fun hearing a Jeezy track at times, something "Greatest Trapper Alive" exemplifies. This is the apotheosis of the mood that Jeezy has cultivated across his career. Set to a 70s soul beat that conjures fur coats, wide American cars, and the contrived images of a hustler, we hear the modern incarnation, an updated form packaged for the radio and mixtape circuit. Big guns, loose women, easy money, and street sensibilities all seductively peddled by a man who easily dances across the music, spitting bars with an elegance that recalls Kobe when he's doing his best work. The scratchy gravitas of Jeezy's voice enriches the sound and confers upon him a power and dominion over the music by implication. You couldn't sound the way he does over this track unless it was meant to be yours.
12) Kanye West ft. Raekwon and KiD CuDi, "Gorgeous"* "Gorgeous" is subtle. On the surface, it’s a simple melody underneath assertive rhyming. But the track is textured so expertly that it finds new life upon close inspection. The primary sound is driven by a hazy guitar riff, one that evokes the sense of an aspiring garage band. That looped progression is set atop a somber, grave synthesizer that steadily pushes along until Raekwon comes in. When the Chef arrives, the synthesizer gives way to clarion piano notes, the guitar loop is replaced by a stronger solo, and the clutter leaves the air as a crisp and clean sound takes over. Most impressive might be the scratchy character of the vocals throughout. Both Kanye and Rae sound as though they’re flowing through a computer, only “Gorgeous” has enough restraint to resist amplifying that vocal effect so that it grows beyond ambient. Raekwon’s voice always sounds like he’s been smoking, and the track benefits from both MCs sounding more coarse than one might have expected. It’s a small enhancement, but it multiplies the track’s unique character. The beat and the vocals are as symbiotic as you’ll ever hear.
11) The Gregory Brothers ft. Antoine Dodson, "Bed Intruder Song" (O.G. Version) Scoff if you will, but this is the best R&B track of the year. The "Bed Intruder Song" was catchy, melodic, and well structured. It was an inspired creative endeavor. Was it also exploitative? Yes. But it got Antoine Dodson out of those projects, so maybe the anchor dragging down the collective good time is significantly less weighty.
And to be clear, I am talking about this version, with the ill intro and without the tricked-out filler created for iTunes:
10) Sheek Louch ft. Styles P and Jadakiss, "Donnie G"/Jadakiss, "You Will Remember Me" How this didn't make Sheek's Donnie G album will join the Kennedy assassination as one of our culture's enduring mysteries. Even if the album had been named "Sheek Makes Bad Music," this joint should have been included as a foil, the street music against which all else should be measured. The term "heatrock" was invented for something like this. It is booming, proudly hood, and sufficiently grandiose and crazy enough to embarrass Rozay. No song was more fun to blast in my car. It might merit higher placement, really. We need 2,000 Icy on Purpose words about this song yesterday.
We also would do a disservice were we to neglect "You Will Remember Me," the mixtape source material for Al-Qaeda Jada's contribution to the song. Never forget!
9) J. Cole, "The Autograph" If Roc Nation's TI's are smart, they will use this song as the template for J. Cole's forthcoming label debut. He owns elegiac soul music, and when you don't rush him, he strings together wonderful assonance and rhymes. Cole also is able to write engaging verses, the sort that simultaneously draw on common images and ideas but play with the concepts smartly enough to invite follow-up listens. He displays similar moderation when making references, never falling too in love with any particular imagery system. A good example is that Cole appears no less a sports fan than Wale, a dude whose sports references are as plentiful as the day is long, and the latter embarrasses himself when juxtaposed against J. Cole.
8) Rick Ross ft. Jay-Z and John Legend, "Free Mason" Jay's verse won't earn a spot among his all-time greatest, and that invites the question of whether he stays falling off, or if he played down to the competition. Regardless, Rozay benefits by sounding like Jay-Z's equal, and that's a sentiment I didn't expect to ever write. More noteworthy, though, is Rozay's easy way around this beat, the music's soaring ambition, and John Legend's voice. All three are captivating and kept this track in heavy rotation.
7) Aloe Blacc, "I Need a Dollar" How to Make It in America was surprisingly watchable--despite Bryan Greenberg's annoying, calculatedly timid cutesy routine--and I think it benefited from a theme song that was universally adored. Remember what I wrote about the "Bed Intruder Song"? That was a mistake. This was the best R&B track of 2010.
6) Beanie Sigel and Freeway ft. Young Chris, "The Last Two" Cut out the openings for your fingers in your gloves, throw on a hoodie, find something to drink out of a paper bag, kick a hobo, and come meet me by the trashcan fire. I'll be there alongside the gulliest song of the year.
5) Ski Beatz ft. Jean Grae, Mos Def, Joell Ortiz, and Jay Electronica, "Prowler 2" Pretty simple appeal: expert rapping, delivered with precision. An oddly precious commodity.
4) The Roots ft. Dice Raw and Phonte, "Now or Never"* Let those of us now in the throes of our youth’s twilight take a moment to thank the Roots. A song about the turmoil of change, the ambivalence of growth, the onward march of time did not have to be so generously paced, so dulcetly scored. Ahmir et al. might have opted for a song that was severe and lurching, self-aware and self-indulgent as it sought to lecture and mean something. But the Roots, as usual, were smarter than that. Serious but still fun, and walking swiftly rather than sauntering or sprinting toward the abyss, “Now or Never” is the quintessential grown-folks rap song. Stripped of its poignant rhymes, the track would likely succeed as this kind of champion all the same. The drums are insistent but sparse in a fashion that calls a listener to attention but doesn’t crowd him. We must own up to who we are, but we aren’t going to be judged. These percussive demands echo across a commodious keyboard landscape that is soft enough to be accommodating. The track creates a canvas. Thompson, Grenhart, and Jenkins then fill it with brisk cymbals and an ever waning hint of guitar. Collectively, the elements are a wonderful mixture that captures the pivot for which the song is intended. Luckily, it’s not such a sudden change, nor such a severe referendum.
3) Ghostface Killah ft. Raekwon, Method Man, and Redman, "Troublemakers"* In my dreams, this is what hip-hop sounds like: a stiff drum, a horned-up sample that is looped just so that your head nods, and a simplicity that is neither boring nor distracting. That the song serves Wu-Tang masters is all too perfect, because a blazing “W” looms above my own, personal hip-hop utopia.
2) Black Milk ft. Elzhi and Royce da 5'9", "Deadly Medley"* The twang in the melody sounds as though someone made a mistake while playing. Only, this is a rap track produced by a masterful sampler. The music is not original, nor was it re-created in studio. Within those re-calibrated parameters, then, that notable fissure in the music’s purity instead might suggest that the plastic of a tape got stretched out ever so slightly, and this contaminated the sound as it was transferred from a tape deck to a computer. A tape would make sense; “Deadly Medley” is dusty. It sounds like you’d need a pencil to fix. Only, that wouldn’t be right, either, because the original Blackrock joint from whence this music comes is just as screwy. Once you learn that, the track’s brilliance finally comes into focus. Stretched across booming drums in a fashion that makes the melody seem like a hide set out for tanning, those distorted notes absorb punishment and emerge well worn. Accommodating intense rapping from Detroit’s finest, “Deadly Medley” sounds old but new, and passive but powerful, almost like the city, itself. “Medley” also stands as a microcosm for Black Milk’s singular talent: no one is as adept at imbuing creaky soul with modern vitality.
1) Freddie Gibbs, "The Ghetto" "The Ghetto" is the first Freddie Gibbs song to which I paid attention, and it remains a warning shot that much more was in store. As the year unfolded, the Str8 Killa tide swelled, crested, subsided, and left a grip of the best rapping along hip-hop's shoreline. When he brings it, and the moments he doesn't are rare, Freddie Gibbs is among the best rappers alive. Above this burgeoning and exciting body of work hangs "The Ghetto," a figurative platinum plaque. Perfectly grim and cutting, it stands as the definitive Gangsta Gibbs song, and it proves inescapable as time wears on.
* I contributed these write-ups to the excellent Metal Lungies beatdrop synopsis for 2010.
My latest contribution to the Norman Einsteins has been posted. I wanted to write a story about why, exactly, Michigan football matters so much. After years of posts on this website about all the ways I was disappointed by Lloyd Carr and Rich Rodriguez, I realized that I had never spent adequate time explaining why I cared enough to get so mad. I started to do that with this latest piece, I hope. I could have written much more about the wins and losses, but 3,000 words about the Michigan experience represented by that football program seemed like enough for now. I hope it is a worthwhile read. If nothing else, the joint is timely, as Rich Rodriguez was officially fired this morning and David Brandon just spoke with the media.
The following is a letter I sent to University of Michigan president Mary Sue Coleman today.
Dear President Coleman,
My name is Joey, and I graduated from the University of Michigan in 2003 with a B.A. in political science. I am currently in law school and hope to clerk for a federal judge next year. My Michigan experience remains the foundation for who I am today, and I could not be prouder of the school, nor more thankful for the opportunities it provided. Among other things, I am deeply passionate about Michigan football.
I was dismayed earlier today when I read that Jim Harbaugh likely will not be the next head football coach in Ann Arbor. That news is disappointing, but I find it most unsettling that a second straight athletic director appears to have been out-maneuvered as he bungled what should have been an easy hiring decision.
As was the case with Les Miles three years ago, Jim Harbaugh was an obvious candidate with known interest in Michigan. Had Michigan moved swiftly and boldly--by terminating Rich Rodriguez after the Ohio State game, immediately seeking permission to speak with Jim Harbaugh, and signing him while allowing him to coach the Orange Bowl--Michigan today would be preparing to welcome home the hottest coach in America. Further, Stanford's Orange Bowl win and Harbaugh's coronation would have doubled as free advertising for Michigan's coming revitalization, something that our failing football program desperately needs. This is how Florida hired Urban Meyer, and that worked out quite well. It should have been the model of contemporary college athletics which Michigan followed.
Instead, David Brandon insisted on pursuing his own timeline and perpetuating the charade that he only could conduct an evaluation of Rich Rodriguez after the Gator Bowl. By wasting so much time, Brandon left Rodriguez in limbo, destroyed the pending recruiting class, and worst all, managed to let Harbaugh slip away. The additional month of waiting forfeited Michigan's time advantage and allowed NFL teams to actively enter the fray once the NFL regular season ended. Brandon's awkward and unnecessary process seems either disrespectful toward his industry's landscape, or worse, completely ignorant of it. Barring an unexpected triumph, such as hiring Bill Bellichick or Nick Saban, this episode will confirm the fear that Mr. Brandon's corporate background left him unprepared for the realities of sports administration, territory previously unfamiliar to him. Michigan fans can only look on with envy at the decisive actions taken by schools like Florida and even, Lord help me, Ohio State, where people with experience in athletics run the industry's best departments.
I am well aware that you and Mr. Brandon have more knowledge of Michigan football's inner workings and the school's efforts to hire Jim Harbaugh than I do. I hope you will share them with me, with other alumni, and with the public, because the void is easily filled by the reasonable assumptions contained in this email. For example, did Jim Harbaugh commit to Michigan earlier but insist on the cloak of "process" in which Mr. Brandon's has wrapped himself for the last month? Did Harbaugh go back on his word? Did you and Mr. Brandon ever even want to hire Harbaugh? Without more information, Michigan's failure to sign Harbaugh will emerge as the latest embarrassment for a football program that has done nothing but struggle since the last time Michigan timidly and inartfully pursued a football coach under an uninitiated businessman's leadership.
Sincerely,
Joey LSA '03
What I didn't mention because it has not yet come to pass--sadly, there's a "yet" in that clause--is that Brady Hoke is not the solution to Michigan's problems. No coaching hire is a sure thing, but Harbaugh appears to present all of the qualities Michigan should want. He is aggressive and daring, he recruits with zeal, and his teams execute game plans well, demonstrating the right fundamentals in the process. Harbaugh has the force of personality that can revitalize a program, and he has the confidence to believe in himself while tweaking his system and hiring great assistants. That's an ideal candidate.
Brady Hoke may possess some of those same qualities. He's reputed to be energetic, a good recruiter, passionate, and well liked by players and colleagues. However, he is not the media star or looming presence Michigan needs. Hoke does not bring with him instant credibility or the magnetism that would surely jump start recruiting. Harbaugh should have been Michigan's Urban Meyer or Nick Saban. Hoke is nothing close, not in the minds of fans, alumni, recruits, or media. Even more worrisome, perhaps, is that Hoke traces his coaching lineage to Lloyd Carr. The whispers about his return to Ann Arbor already have been bundled with projections about which of the old band he might seek to get back together. That is terrible news for Michigan, because while Rich Rodriguez wasn't the right coach, neither was Lloyd Carr by the end of his tenure. Carr and the Michigan faction of his ilk believe in an antiquated kind of football that is timid and staid. There is no energy, excitement, or daring in that brand of football. It allows for a small margin of error, and it relies on execution and fundamentals that the coaches could not reliably impart to their players. As a result, Michigan lost to the best teams time and again during the second half of Carr's tenure.
Brady Hoke is not Carr, and perhaps he can fuse the traditional strengths of the Michigan brand with the assets offered by industry-leading coaches now ascendant. However, the specter of filling out a coaching staff with people who are still loyal to the Carr style is a menacing one. It portends a return to 9-3, but nothing more, and Michigan owes itself something far better than that. Particularly in the wake of the failed Rodriguez experiment. Just because something new didn't work as planned doesn't mean that the old, broken system wasn't really broken.
Go Blue! Always.
5:25 PM UPDATE: My letter still stands. David Brandon seems like a bumbling ingenue. BUT...TheWolverine.com is reporting that no decision will be made about Rodriguez until tomorrow. This makes me believe that either:
a) Rodriguez has talked Brandon out of breaking up with him, and they are charting the course forward;
b) Jim Harbaugh, no matter how unlikely, remains in play for Michigan, and the school needs more time to make any firm decisions;
c) The school doesn't have another coach lined up yet and wants to announce one on the same day that it terminates Rodriguez.
I am going to throw up. I can't take all the suspense.
11:21 UPDATE: The New York Times will be printing a withering story about the decline of Michigan football tomorrow. Pete Thamel kills the school, but he also gets nothing wrong. Read it here. Michigan is run by people who don't seem to understand how to play big-time college football, and the on-field results and tarnished brand stand as unfortunate proof.
2) Jim Harbaugh never really wanted to coach at Michigan. Were he committed to the Wolverines, his theoretical dream job, he would be recruiting for Michigan right now. Doesn't make him a bad guy, nor does it invalidate his connection to the school. But it does forever negate assertions that he wanted to be in Ann Arbor more than anywhere else.
3) Please, David Brandon, do not rush to hire Brady Hoke. He is not going to excite recruits, he will not make happy the fans who you need to buy tickets and make donations so that you can pay for your stadium renovations, and he is not an especially attractive candidate. He has three winning seasons in eight years as a head coach. Not exactly a Tressel-like run auguring for bigger returns on the bigger stage. He was available at any time during your much-ballyhooed process, and he will remain available to Michigan until time ends. He has said so.
Rather than hurriedly hiring this underwhelming, Lloyd Carr-retread, C-minus candidate, why not validate your time line by firing Rodriguez and then finding the best possible option still available. Surely there is some assistant somewhere who might be worth the calculated risk. Gus Malzahn, for example. Do I really want Gus Malzahn as my coach? No, but the man clearly understands the spread offense and seems more likely to do something good with the talent he'll inherit than Hoke would. More to the point, though, find the right person, not the right person who fits whatever misguided narrative has guided this debacle of a process. Would Michigan even care about Brady Hoke if he hadn't coached at Michigan ten years ago? Probably not.
4) And that's the other key point: a "Michigan Man," whatever that even means, does not need to coach Michigan football. The right man does. Show some leadership and some vision, scour the country for the best man you can find, put him through the kind of interview process that Al Golden successfully navigated to win the Miami job (dude wrote a book with his vision for the program!), and get this right.
5) TheWolverine.com reported tonight that Harbaugh and David Brandon had never spoken face-to-face as of January 3rd because both "Michigan Men" wouldn't want to interfere with a coach during an ongoing season. On January 4th, Brandon was in Ann Arbor while Harbaugh was in Miami and then Palo Alto. So that means that at no time has Brandon spoken to Harbaugh. Surely, Brandon or his people have spoken with Harbaugh's agent, but still, the two principals have never spoken face to face about the Michigan job.
That is a joke.
Yes, mutual interest could have been expressed, and as noted above, had Harbaugh wanted to be at Michigan, he could have found a way to make this work. But Brandon should have set aside the foolish, meaningless theatrics of "right way" business politics to meet with Harbaugh directly unless Harbaugh said "no." This is Michigan's arrogance, not principles, at its worst. Above-the-fray morality is great if it will be a guiding principle for all of the Michigan athletics department, but it isn't. For example, there isn't anything especially savory or dignified about stringing Rodriguez along. Michigan is hardly some unassailable martyr that always lays down in the name of justice. Rather than foolishly erecting a six-week process that effectively neutered Michigan football just to hire Jim Harbaugh, Brandon should have been in Palo Alto the day after Michigan lost to Ohio State. Absent Harbaugh's insistence to the contrary, Brandon should have been meeting with Harbaugh in person. This insincere noblesse oblige about not speaking directly is just a cheap PR tactic that is far more galling then redeeming.
