Busta Rhymes: Back on My B.S.

Busta Rhymes manages to surpass Walter Murphy’s “A 5th of Beethoven” as the most terrible use of Beethoven’s 5th Symphony in recorded history with “Wheel of Fortune,” the lead-off song on Back on My B.S. Unfortunately, this is the cultural high-water mark; from there things devolve. The patently tasteless becomes xenophobic and insulting by the seventh track, “Arab Money.” The album on a whole contains predictable, profanity-laced, auto-tuned rap. At a certain point the list of guest stars itself is distracting, and none of the big names on the roster seem all that intent on making the record any good.

Rating: *

Jurassic 5: Feedback

This is the first Jurassic 5 album I’ve listened to—apparently their last before breaking up. On Feedback, they reminded me of De La Soul. Even though they don’t achieve De La Soul’s standard, the comparison is a compliment. I appreciate that they used readily identifiable instruments (when so much hip hop is performed using loops, drum machines, and programmed effects). This made the few songs that I didn’t care for more tolerable. I understand that J5 fans think this album is watered down, tired, and done to death. They think that it lacks an edge. I can see that.

Rating: * * *

Eminem: Relapse

Relapse is an appropriate title for this album. Eminem’s rap has become a problem. He’s binged and we’re left with his most awful recording yet. Mr. Mathers is expectedly lewd and unabashedly, proudly filthy; however, he has so little substance this time around that the 20 tracks are shoddy garbage. He whines about drugs and abuse and violence. His serious stuff is melodramatic and his sense of humor is gone. Like Marilyn Manson before him, Eminem’s schtick has worn thin. He’s become a caricature of himself. With any luck, he’ll go back into retirement and won’t relapse into rap again.

Rating: *

Jeremih: Jeremih

Jeremih is a predictable hip hop Casanova, but with a girlish voice. Many of the tracks on his self-titled album are vehicles for commemorating his loves and passions. The lyrics are filled with saccharine lines that either attempt to woo a woman or to recollect the way in which said woman was wooed. “Imma Star” and “My Ride” indicate that the most effective way to lure the ladies is with one’s fame and material possessions: “I told you, I’m a star. See the ice? See the car?” A few tracks (like “My Sunshine”) are sweet without harboring an ulterior motive.

Rating: * *

J-Kwon: Hood Hop 2.5

J-Kwon shows himself to be the materialistic, cred-obsessed St. Louis crack dealer that every mother hopes her daughter brings home. “I’m from St. Louis, the real St. Louis,” he tells us. Apparently the real St. Louis is not a thriving metropolis with a rich culture and history, the Gateway to the West. Rather, it is crimeville, rife with gun-toting, drug-dealing hoods. So the misogyny, vulgarity, and violence on the album are right at home. J-Kwon doesn’t take any time to reflect on this. Instead Hood Hop 2.5 glorifies street life (but not actual homelessness), jewel-encrusted dental enhancements, and poor grammar.

Rating: *

Black Eyed Peas: The E.N.D.

The Black Eyed Peas don’t shy from sound effects or overwrought electronic beats on The E.N.D., which will probably make this album sound dated sooner than later. But the songs have swagger and soul. Fergie and will.i.am trade singing duties and to good effect. “Ring-a-Ling” reminded me of Chuck Berry’s “My Ding-a-Ling” (for some reason) but with even more poorly obfuscated double entendre. “Rock That Body” was just as stupid and on the same subject. The songs with a social conscience are positive and avoid being obnoxious. They are the real gems worth cherry picking. The others are more forgettable.

Rating: * *

Wu-Tang Clan: Wu-Tang Chamber Music

Apparently I don’t know what goes into the making of a rap album. Somehow it requires a few dozen rappers, seven or eight DJs, a few MCs, and nearly one hundred producers. But who is playing the instruments? A decent amount of the content on Wu-Tang Chamber Music comes courtesy of old movie bits, which leaves even less time for its ample personnel. The Clan sticks more or less with a loose Kung Fu theme throughout, and notably refers to Steven Seagal more than once in the lyrics. It works. Chamber Music owes its success to a cast of thousands.

Rating: * * * *