Rakim
The Master
»
Rakim
The Master
Universal, 1999
RiYL: Mos Def, EPMD, Cappadonna |
Unlike 1997's The 18th Letter, which was more important for bringing Rakim back after his split from DJ Eric B. Rather than surpassing where he left off, his sophomore solo album The Master is like watching Jerry Rice, Patrick Ewing or Tim Hardaway in the twilight of their careers; they still have game, and actually try harder than when they could rely on pure talent alone, but age and changes in the game itself have humanized legends. It's hard to teach an MC new tricks, and perhaps that's Rakim's greatest obstacle, because he helped define the golden age of rap in the late 1980s and is still just 30 years old (same as Macy Gray), but a determined new school knows the difference between paying respect and sharing the spotlight.
The 18th Letter and The Master are comparable records -- each has its share of classic lyrics, head-bobbing beats and mediocre ballads -- but say a man has been in a desert for weeks with no food or water and someone gives him a cracker. Now that cracker (The 18th Letter) is going to taste amazing -- every speck of salt and wheat will burst with flavor -- but after he's back home eating three meals a day with ham, eggs and juice, that same cracker isn't so special anymore. Now The Master isn't some bland Saltine, but after a steady diet of Mos Def, Pharoahe Monch, Ghostface Killah and Common, it's not steak either.
Since Eric B. and Rakim's legendary 1987 debut Paid in Full, he was never about the politics of fellow rap godfathers Chuck D. and KRS-1, but whether his lyrics dealt with street life or his MC skills, they blared from that thick New York accent like a siren. His voice was tough but smooth, making him the rap Michael Corleone while most counterparts were petty, ring-kissing thugs, and even when he talked about women, it was worth sitting through his verbal sexual conquests just to hear his voice. Still, the most lacking aspect of The Master is that while he once reveled in the hardcore ("Don't Let the Rhythm Hit 'Em," "Juice," "Casualties of War"), only the first single, the DJ Premier-produced "When I Be on the Mic," is the same Rakim who told the world "I Ain't No Joke."
Without Eric B. (whose genius seems so underrated now), Rakim now plays up or down to his beats. He tears through the strong tracks such as "Real Shit," the surprisingly nice Latin-coated "Uplift" and Eric B.'s co-written "Waiting for the World to End" and "Strong Island," but only "I'll Be There" has the soulful slow jam flow that made "Stay a While" and "Show Me Love" from The 18th Letter not only palatable but powerful.
To be fair, producer DJ Clark Kent (who's still searching for the phone booth) deserves most of the blame for "Flow Forever" and "Finest Ones," which seem written for Nas, L.L. Cool J or Puffy but given to a miscast Rakim. When "Finest Ones" spends four minutes asking what city has the best women, Rakim reaches his all-time low with, "Deserted (island) style middle of winter with no bed / I'll comfort you like you was Jennifer Lopez."
With an intro stressing his "unquestioned lyrical," it's disturbing that many of his verses are forgotten the second they leave the air, or even worse, become a chorus of, "I know you find it hard to believe that / I am the genie of the mic and / I can do anything you wish but / right now I'm commanding you to dance," from "I Know." He rebounds with "Waiting For The World To End," a poignant ghetto story over another of Premier's spine-tingling, Gangstarr-esque beats, when a hustler tells a prophet-like Rakim, "I'm livin' just to die without any feeling / so I'll wait here for my maker till it's time to go / with this dime I know / with all of her girls and all of my men / waiting for the world to end." Back in the day though, a smart verse such as this was the rule and not the exception.
ROB BERNSTEN |