January 26th, 2006 by lilbrownboy
Who knew Lil’ Wayne had it in him?
Not only has this pocket-sized MC risen above whatever potential he showed back in his Hot Boyz days, but has just about singledhandedly reset the frame on what a rap record’s supposed to be. Moreso than commerce, Tha Carter Vol. 2 is all about points…of view, of reference and, most importantly, to prove.
Tha Mobb opens this thing up with Wayne flowing for five straight minutes over synth and base with a hoarse voice and what sounds like about twenty-four years of acid and piss that’s got to get out of his belly. If you read this blog or some of the stuff I toss up on MySpace you know how I feel about rap and the South’s place in the artform. It’s bad enough folks in the South still got both feet planted in this country’s scarred roots (and that’s not even counting Wayne being from New Orleans), but the fact folks from the East Coast (ahem, New York) discredit Southern artists out of hand as being unsophisticated and unworthy just pisses me off.
It’s damn obvious Wayne feels the same. For this record, Mannie Fresh has been banished to the outhouse; not a single Fresh beat makes this album. Instead, the majority of the tracks come from New Orleans-bred beatmasters with nary a concern over mainstream carry. Again, the record makes no pretenses about what it is, no 106th and Park identity, no Jazzy Pha betrayal ala Bun-B’s dissappointing Trill. Instead of commercial appeal Wayne gives us hunger, an all-out attempt to show why his is a voice worth listenening to.
And then there’s Shooter.
Though by no means the best track on the record, it’s the most obvious shot at crossover appeal — though the clueless execs chose two singles to release ahead of it, opting to bring it out only now that…just keep reading. This is a remix of sorts on the Robin Thicke (and let’s get this out the way, son of Growing Pains father Alan Thicke, "Robin Thicke") track from his 2003 album A Beautiful World. In keeping with the record’s organically grown approach, even this pitch-perfect for mainstream track had a down-home impetus:
Says Wayne in an interview:
How did that song come to be?
[Robin Thicke] dropped that song on his album in like 2003. That
song was already on his album without me. And before I even met him or
knew him, I had his album because I liked his single. So when I bought
the album, I heard that song, and I used to ride around on it. And in
that song, you know, he’s a real jazzy live-band type of artist, so in
that song he had a lot of parts where he wasn’t even singing; it was
just the band playing. So in my car, when I would ride to it, I would
rap to that part all the time. I told my manager at the time that I
always liked that song, and I even rapped it for her and everything. We
was like, "That’d be hot if we could do it," but of course it was
outside our farthest dreams that we could ever do it. And who knew that
Universal collaborated with Motown, and he was signed to Motown, and I
met his manager and him at the office one day. I told him about that
song and about my idea, and he was like, "Do it, do it, do it." And he
asked me if I could do something for him, and I done it, done it, done
it.
And so they they done it. On January 6th Wayne and Thicke find themselves on Leno. Rachel Weisz is the featured guest, these guys the musical afterthought. The curtain goes up and it’s clear from jump: Lil’ Wayne and Robin Thicke aren’t two cats you envision walking into a bar together. But here on stage, they play it back and forth like nothing’s at all the matter. Robin is doing his white boy soul thing (and in a way that totally feels self-possessed and not all an appropriation) while Wayne bounces around in DBoy attire of hoodie, beater and shades. When Thicke turns from the mic and straight up krumps across the stage–with the tough-guy basis joinin’ him for a hop–you get the sense that these boys have come together over this track on this stage on what can only be decsribed as a musical version of the Bering Strait.
Shooter. In this television friendly version, Wayne’s spin on the term is clearly that of an artist "shooting" his opinions on regional bias and lyrical prowess. On the album cut, however, the tale’s a lot more non-metaphorical violent, owing as much to Thicke’s robbery tale crooning as wayne’s bullet riddled lyrics (should be noted that just about every word Robin sings, as well the melody, is taken verbatim from his 2003 track).
Random violence as a cultural crossroads, anyone?
Download the Leno set here as a 20MB Real Player file that takes five minutes to snatch but is well worth the wait (or by clicking on either pic below). And despite my praise of Rachel Weisz for her humane work in The Constant Gardener, peep how she short arms Lil Wayne on the post performance handshake 
Kele’s standing beside Maya Arulpragasam, aka M.I.A.; at a glance the pair seem a gorgeous dark-skinned couple. I’m thinking to myself, is this progress? Two people of color as icons in a decidedly color-free domain?
Director Kirby Dick (the man behind Derrida and an Oscar nominee for last year’s Twist of Faith)
