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Album:
A New Style
Artist: Mad Mobster
Released: Out Now
Web: www.madmobster.com
Among all genres of popular music today,
few have gotten as bad of a rap as, well, gangsta rap. True, there have been a
handful of artists who have successfully broken out of its trappings
and gone on to make some compelling and, dare I say, original music,
but for every NWA and Wu Tang Clan there have been countless
copycats with little more than Cadillac-sized inferiority complexes
and a desire to get rich.
With Dr. Dre and Eminem garnering critical praise while selling
millions of albums, it s unlikely that anything can be done
to stop the mob rule that (the state of) hip-hop has slipped into
over the last decade.
Having
bolted the doors, barred the windows and plugged in our
best pair of headphones, we can at least count on Outkast, DJ Shadow
and the Anti-Pop Consortium (well, two out of three isn t
bad) to pull us through the night as another wave of Death Row
Records rejects pound their chests and shout for our attention.
In too many cases, it s not the rappers
music but the attractive images of violence, sex and excess that get
the attention of impressionable listeners. Crafting this image is the
first step in a successful career in gangsta rap, and The Mad
Mobster, AKA Reginald Blanchard, gets right down to it on Lyrical
Murderer 1969. No more
than a second passes into track one before The Mad Mobster begins
spinning his story, and what a sad story it is. Yeah,
it s time for me to get these
muthafuckas back that pissed me off over the years, he rants in
the intro to Intro .
I told your mothafuckin ass, I was gonna get your ass
back, he spouts.
However, he s quickly assuming that he s gotten his revenge, where
in reality he s only confirming his doubters doubts. Backed by a two-dollar baseline
and a drum machine programmed to rap preset #1, he takes aim
at his ex-wife, ex-girlfriend and the DJ who wouldn t play his
song on the radio. Are
these paranoid delusions, or is The Mad Mobster truly a victim? If the latter is true, his
early attempts to earn our sympathy fall flat.
Either way, he doesn t seem to care. A New Style (the most ironic title on the album,
and there s even a song called Another Hit ) begins
another fuck you declaration directed towards his enemies
(which would seem to include anyone who can t dig his
album). "I want to say
a big fuck you to all the motherfuckers who didn't support Mad
Mobster or Mad Mobster Entertainment! We don
t need ya ll
motherfuckers! To
reiterate: "All these motherfuckers that ain't down with me, and
ain't down with Mad Mobster Entertainment, ya'll know you can kiss
my motherfuckin' ass!"
Shouts to his homies follow.
Musically and lyrically, 1969 is the
best (or least annoying) song on the entire album. The clunky backing tracks
are replaced by stuttering drums and nasty keyboards that recall
some of the tightest singles Dr. Dre ever produced, albeit working
with a much lower budget.
Though The Mad Mobster spends most of the album spilling profanities
left and right (which could be less offensive if they were
at least employed creatively), he somehow makes it though
1969 without letting any slip. Apparently that s enough for the track
to get the radio friendly recommendation on the album s
back cover. A
decent single in
itself, but by the time it s over the phrase lyrical
murderer has run itself into the ground. Unfortunately, The Mad
Mobster wears this self-appointed title with pride, and sees fit to
remind listeners of it on nearly ever track of Lyrical Murderer
1969. Oh yeah, there s also a
song called (guess what?) Lyrical Murderer
.
Any hope that the album was taking off after
1969 is quickly abandoned by the disturbing and surprisingly
non-sexy moans that kick off
Freak
Like Me .
The song seems written for one purpose, but who would want to get
it on while listening to details of The Mad Mobster s sexual
conquests, favorite positions or techniques? By the time he gets to his
spoken word monologue
( Picture this baby, me and you, on the beach& ) most
listeners will either be gagging in disgust or lost in
laughter. The entire album
veers close to camp at times, but never so much as on this track,
which could ve been a 2 Live Crew parody if only a few more
body parts were mentioned.
While he doesn t display an outright misogynistic attitude,
The Mad Mobster seems to see women as nothing more than sex objects
to be used and tossed away.
While he tells ladies to keep their eyes on the prize in the song of the same
name, he s not referring to any of their goals or
aspirations. He s just
talking about himself.
There s not much
else to be found here other than lazily grunted choruses (
123 Here We Go , Rap Music 4 Life ) and
further tales of sex and infidelity ( Relationships
).
Victimized , the tribute to the victims of the September 11 terrorist
attacks, comes as quite a surprise near the end of the album,
but it s too little too late, especially considering how hard
The Mad Mobster has worked over the previous hour to set himself up
as a cold-hearted misanthrope.
Ultimately, this is an album that embodies the worst clichés of
90 s gangsta rap, and with so much exciting hip-hop being made
today, any reason to purchase it or even spend 62 minutes listening
to it would be difficult to justify.
Joe
Niemczyk
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