'98 WAS A QUALITY YEAR AND IT STILL IS!

1998 was the year my parents finally caved in and gifted me n the sis with the only learning device that mattered: Cable TV.  We sat in front of that motherfucker all summer, soaking in the finer points of American culture wit the mad hunger of a lapsed Mormon makin up for lost time.  Hours I would normally have wasted playing outside with my friends were now devoted to religious viewing of the Box Network.  I saw things I can't unsee: Jon B, Cherry Poppin' Daddies, Bing & Bowie's yuletide sexual tension.  Most importantly, I was exposed to the artists of No Limit and Cash Money.  For a simple rube whose idea of rap started with Biggie and ended with Naughty, the music was a culture shock I never got over.

1998 is where my understanding of rap begins.  Aquemini, Capital Punishment, and 400 Degreez are certified classics, but it's the good, great, and spotty releases that tell the whole story.  A year of transition, it was a gloriously confused time when the inconceivable was possible: Young Bleed debuted at #1 on Billboard's Rap/R&B chart, Cappadonna rowed a tiny oar on the cover of a gold album.  The heyday of the Jiggy Era, it was also a banner year for the South.  In addition to quality material from Dungeon Family, Cash Money, and the Three 6 camp, No Limit had one of the more ridiculous runs in rap history.

The South's mainstream inroads signaled the beginning of a cultural overhaul that would change the rap landscape for at least the next 10 years, advancing one of the only compelling arguments for the old industry model.  A label putting its money behind an album was a vote of confidence; the risk of monetary loss enforces a modicum of quality control, questionable judgment notwithstanding.  Even tho they was "controversial" at the time, a release on No Limit and Cash Money rang more bells than slapping a Coke Boyz logo on your mixtape's cover JPEG ever will.  Considering today's saturated yet fragmented market, it's amazing how easy it was for a young bumbler like me to get connected with Fiend, 8Ball, and the RZA.

This is my '88.  I can go back and listen to the ol' chestnuts and end up lovin em, but they belong to history more than they belong to me.  Sometimes I wonder how many whippersnappin' rap writers really know their By All Means Necessary or whatever.  Does it matter?  Must you be versed in BDP and Schoolly D before you can extol the virtues of Chief Keef, or is that like expecting ya average rock scribe to go deep with the Everly Brothers?  Has rap mutated so much that it doesn't matter if you don't know its past?  Does this prove the R-tard argument that rap and hip-hop are different things?

IDK, I just be askin questions n shit.  Rap's a deep-ass well, and I'm still twinklin' my toes doin the backstroke thru '98.  Here are some good songs from that year.  Skews toward the South and East Coast, 'cause that's where my heart resides.  With the exception of DMX, the more ballyhooed artists were avoided to let the second-stringers and unsung get some.  Like Pac at one time, X is becoming weirdly glossed over in the conversation despite being one of the biggest artists of the era.  Fuck what ya heard, "Stop Being Greedy" is a great internal dialogue.

Playa Fly - Funk-N-Bock
Soulja Slim w/ Big Ed & Mr. Serv-On - Head Buster
Parental Advisory - Like We Do
M.O.P. - Blood, Sweat, and Tears
Noreaga - N.O.R.E.
DJ Quik w/ Suga Free, Mausberg, AMG - Down, Down, Down
Witchdoctor w/ Cool Breeze - Georgia Plains (Holy Grounds)
Big Tymers - Big Ballin'
Devin the Dude w/ Odd Squad & KB - Ligole Bips
Cam'ron w/ Noreaga - Glory
Trick Daddy - Back In The Days 
Kool G Rap - Let The Games Begin
Scarface w/ Tela, Too Short, Devin the Dude - Fuck Faces
The Coup - Me And Jesus The Pimp in a '79 Granada Last Night
Mac w/ O'Dell - Slow Ya Roll
RZA w/ Method Man - NYC Everything
Z-Ro w/Al-D - Life Story
Gangsta Blac w/ Playa Fly - Da End
Cappadonna & Ghostface Killah - Oh-Donna
8Ball - Time
Young Bleed - Ghost Rider
Ras Kass - H2O Proof
DMX - Stop Being Geedy

IN WHICH DRAG-ON RAPS ABOUT A HATE CRIME

 

Wan gwan rap music enthusiasts?  RAP MUSIC HYSTERIA comin correct wit da content dat keeps da fiends fiendin!  So yo, back in the day RUFF RYDERS was the clique.  Don't tell me otherwise!  Heads had posters of Flesh Of My Flesh, Blood Of My Blood hanging over their virginal four-poster beds (no homo).  Don't know about y'all, but I stayed bumpin Ruff Ryders Vol. 1 on my Sony Discman, escapin from da oppressive confines of middle school into a thugged-out wonder world of sweaty shirtless men, steroid abuse, and crotch rockets (no homo).  I was so into the Double-R that I was anticipating the YUNG WUN album that never came out; I didn't even skip da song by those wack DRU HILL wannabes, PARLE!  Dat's how thoro I kepts it.

So when DRAG-ON came out, you best believe I was jockin.  Sheeit, "Down Bottom," "Niggaz Die For Me," and "Spit These Bars" was fresh to death on the strength of those tinny early SWIZZ BEATZ beats alone.  When I heard "Niggaz Die For Me" on the radio it was nearly unintelligible (too many N-words). I was hooked.  He and DMX even dressed adorably like firemen for the video (RUFF RYDERS loved gimmicks and costumes almost as much as motorcycles and male camaraderie).

So picture my disappointment when I listened closely to the lyrics on "The Hood."  DRAG-ON asks, and I quote, "You know how many chinks and Jews / Drag's done dragged out / On a cash route?"  Well, none I hope, but I suppose the implied answer is "a lot?"  My rainbow coalition heart was broken.  DRAG-ON revealed himself to be little more than Goebbels in a durag.

I thought RUFF RYDERS were a social movement where men could be men, lift weights without shirts in the presence of other men, ride fast motorcycles with other men, dress up identically to other men, and basically just enjoy the company of other men whilst doing manly things men like to do (token female EVE notwithstanding [no homo]).  But DRAG-ON ruined my utopian dream with his words of hate.  I quickly defected to THE ROC and STATE PROPERTY.  Although they had less of the welcoming YMCA vibe I so dug in RUFF RYDERS, at least they didn't rap about murdering Chinese folks and the Chosen People.

ON THE DIVINITY OF DMX'S "WHAT'S MY NAME"

 

Ominous piano chords pierce the white noise of your complacent existence.  A gravel voiced DMX addresses "half-rappin ass motherfuckers" rhetorically: "You think it's a game? You think it's a fuckin' game?"  We know the answer.  These unnamed amateurs believe that "it" - whatever it is - is a game.

The DMX figure is hardened and amoral, calloused by the tumult and hypocrisy that burdens his lungs like water.  He has no friends.  He sheds blood, has no compunction about making others shed the very same substance.  He is a dog, forced to develop a predatory, survival-by-any-means mentality in the Darwinian world he inhabits; whether this is a matter of reality or distorted perception is unclear, yet the distinction is unimportant.  What reality is there outside of perception?  We can trust the DMX figure.  Though we may not like him or his actions, grizzled and world-weary, he maintains a code-of-ethics in the sneering face of moral anarchy.

He's not a nice person; he admits it, he is honest, and that's far more than can be said for the fraudulence that is unaccountably given a pass in these confused times.  Is he crazy?  Has he lost his mind?  Perhaps he has.  But can we blame him when he occupies a world of dubious value, a world whose standards and moorings are not observed?  What does it really mean to be insane in such a world?

FLOPPY HAIRED DORK SLAMS THE NEW 2 CHAINZ ALBUM

Peace to all the suckas, hoes and skeezers out there.  RAP HYSTERIA! is in the building once again again.  Time to do this shit!

Aight, so as erryone knows, 2 CHAINZ been blowin up this year.  He's aight and whatever, got some hot guest verses here and there, e.g. "Beez In Da Trap" and that dope line "Coupe the color of mayonnaise" on "Mercy," but most of the time I think he sounds like a drunk Bill Cosby croaking in the gutter.  I heard the horrendously titled T.R.U. REALigion mixtape (what's up with his Tru Religion fetish?  Them shits is ugly, dogg), and it had some jams on it but nothing life changing.

That said, some dude named Randall Roberts (LA Times) slammed homeboy's debut album.  I guess it shouldn't matter what he looks like, but it totally does, so check out this effete ol' herb waxin' long-winded below:

 

Bitch you wasn't slangin hard wit 2 CHAINZ in the gym!  It's cool doe, he's entitled to his opinion.  But as if Roberts' floppy indie bangs weren't suspect enough, ol' fuckboy tosses out this credibility shattering line: "But as fellow rap chart lottery winners DMX, Mike Jones and Lil B can attest, it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to make a mark..."

Is you serious, homey?  I'm a LIL B fan, but ok I get it, not for erryone.  But DMX?  You fuckin kiddin me, son?  I know it's askin a lot of a dude with indie bangs to get it, but REAL HIP-HOP HEADS stay pumpin iron to DMX - all shirtless and greased-up and ready to hit the showers (no homo).  He wrote "Ruff Ryders Anthem," dogg..."Ruff Ryders Anthem."

Btw, here is his Pazz & Jop ballot from 2011.  Dis middle-aged goon voted Ariel Pink, Joanna Newsom, and (I think) a McSweeney's comp as his favorites of '11.  Oh yeah, and that BIG BOI record from 2010.  Very current, Mr. Music Expert Man.

Randall Roberts, I will grab your indie bangs, stick yo' head in the toilet and swirlie that shit until you agree never to write on RAP MUSIC again.  Peace!