6:00Mos Def - Black on Both Sides
(Social) Consciousness-Expanding
99%
When critics talk about the great hip-hop records, we tend to emphasize their toughness, their cinema vérité approach to street culture and their value as receptacles of 'cautionary tales'. Of course, most critics are crackers (including yours truly, Mr. Ritz) and they often give off a strong sense of pandering or (wedged-)open-mindedness.
“Look, I gave Nwa five stars! Will you please look at how cosmopolitan and socially aware I am?! And I feel really bad about the whole slavery thing too.”
This attitude often comes at the expense of actually looking at these things as pieces of art in the same sense we have accorded, say, Songs in the Key of Life a certification of greatness.
But hey, at least we critics are trying to admire something beyond our own reflections. It’s an attempt to understand a culture that is to a large degree alien to us, regardless of how baggy our pants may be. Unfortunately, this obsession with working to justify the incredible misogyny and violence of rappers like the late Notorious B.I.G. as ‘scared-straight’ therapy for inner city kids tends to make those rappers who actually are socially conscious and working towards the betterment of their communities seem earnest to the point of being trite. Perhaps this reverse-racism prejudice is the reason why Mos Def's Black On Both Sides isn't consistently reckoned as one of the all-time greatest rap albums ever cut. Because goddammit, I can't think of any other reason.
BoBS is the sound of an artist spreading his arms and embracing his world, seeking to change it through empathy, passion and raw humanity. Mos Def has some very clear ideas about how the world needs to be improved, particularly in regards to race relations, but hell, who doesn’t? The Boogie Man’s great gift is that his poetic flare is such that he avoids the pandering attitude that often hobbles his fellow 'conscious' MCs and leaves them looking like schoolmarms. Parables about racism are much easier to swallow when they're delivered with the scathing wit of "Mr. Nigga" (London, Heathrow, me and my people/They think that "illegal" is a synonym for negro), and lectures on the dangers of flossing bling in the ghettos are all the more entertaining when delivered in "Got"'s blithely hilarious deadpan (Their clique starts creepin' like Sandinistan guerrillas/You screamin' playa haters, these niggas is playa killers!).
But as topical as Mos gets on tracks like the numerically nimble "Mathematics", the album is firmly rooted in the spiritual. The lyrically masterful "Love", finds the emcee laying his silky smooth flow over the story of his own development as a writer, while the tectonic plate-moving "Umi Said" is one part private hymn and one part stars-aligned affirmation of the essential value of black culture, positioning Mos as Adam reaching a finger towards the infinite and making real contact. And the warbling, psychedelic abstraction of "Climb", featuring instrumental input by jazz legend Weldon Irvine and the ethereal vocals of Vinia Mojica, is like nothing so much as a dream of flying rendered sonically real.
Black on Both Sides is an equally inspired album from a non-lyrical perspective. Stretching beyond the relatively straightforward old school hip-hop of his breakthrough Black Star collaboration with Talib Kweli, Def establishes his own identity by bringing in diverse influences ranging from calypso to AOR, seamlessly fusing them to his signature blend of soulful hip-hop with stunning results. It's one thing to talk about the importance of reclaiming black music, as he does on the lengthy "Rock N Roll", and another to do so while demonstrating one's mastery over a multiplicity of forms, including frenzied Bad Brains-style hardcore (!). Moreover, Mos' hand-picked collaborators, ranging from superstars like DJ Premier to underground sensations like 88 Keys are simply impeccable. From a production standpoint, the highlight is unquestionably Ayatollah's gorgeous collage-like "Know That", a tapestry of shimmering wonder that puts most of Kanye West's similarly soul sample-grabbing work to shame.
Virtually every one of the seventeen tracks on this album could be cited as a highlight, a rarity in the post-Chronic hip-hop scene. Too many rap artists fill their albums with pointless skits and sub-b-side spoo in some inexplicable urge to fill every CD to the bursting point, but Mos Def has clearly approached this effort in the same way artists like Prince and The Clash approached their own double-album masterworks. There’s not one wasted moment in the album’s marathon 70 minute running time. Moreover, aside from brilliant guest rhymes by Talib Kweli and Busta Rhymes, Mos Def is the sole emcee on the record. For those of us who have slogged through hundreds of guest star-laden bores from this genre, this isn’t merely a refreshing change; it’s virtually unprecedented.
From a critical perspective it’s often easier to dissect an album clearly intended to be a magnum opus, to pull out the bits that don’t work and let the house of cards collapse. In the case of this record, that’s simply not possible. This is not merely the best rap album I’ve ever heard, it’s one of the best pieces of popular music of the 20th century. And so, having run out of superlatives, I’ll simply leave the stage to the man himself. Mother of fuck, this is a great album.
Spendin' time, writin' rhymes
Tryin' to find words that describe the vibe
That's inside the space
When you close your eyes and screw your face
Is this the pain of too much tenderness,
To make me nod my head in reverence?
Should I visit this place in rememberence
To build landmarks here as evidence
Nighttime, spirit shook my temperament
To write rhymes that portray this sentiment
We live the now for the promise of the infinite
We live the now for the promise of the infinite
And we believe in the promise
Of love, love, love
Stand-Outs: “Umi Said”, “Love”, “Mr. Nigga”
(Social) Consciousness-Expanding
99%
When critics talk about the great hip-hop records, we tend to emphasize their toughness, their cinema vérité approach to street culture and their value as receptacles of 'cautionary tales'. Of course, most critics are crackers (including yours truly, Mr. Ritz) and they often give off a strong sense of pandering or (wedged-)open-mindedness.
“Look, I gave Nwa five stars! Will you please look at how cosmopolitan and socially aware I am?! And I feel really bad about the whole slavery thing too.”
This attitude often comes at the expense of actually looking at these things as pieces of art in the same sense we have accorded, say, Songs in the Key of Life a certification of greatness.
But hey, at least we critics are trying to admire something beyond our own reflections. It’s an attempt to understand a culture that is to a large degree alien to us, regardless of how baggy our pants may be. Unfortunately, this obsession with working to justify the incredible misogyny and violence of rappers like the late Notorious B.I.G. as ‘scared-straight’ therapy for inner city kids tends to make those rappers who actually are socially conscious and working towards the betterment of their communities seem earnest to the point of being trite. Perhaps this reverse-racism prejudice is the reason why Mos Def's Black On Both Sides isn't consistently reckoned as one of the all-time greatest rap albums ever cut. Because goddammit, I can't think of any other reason.
BoBS is the sound of an artist spreading his arms and embracing his world, seeking to change it through empathy, passion and raw humanity. Mos Def has some very clear ideas about how the world needs to be improved, particularly in regards to race relations, but hell, who doesn’t? The Boogie Man’s great gift is that his poetic flare is such that he avoids the pandering attitude that often hobbles his fellow 'conscious' MCs and leaves them looking like schoolmarms. Parables about racism are much easier to swallow when they're delivered with the scathing wit of "Mr. Nigga" (London, Heathrow, me and my people/They think that "illegal" is a synonym for negro), and lectures on the dangers of flossing bling in the ghettos are all the more entertaining when delivered in "Got"'s blithely hilarious deadpan (Their clique starts creepin' like Sandinistan guerrillas/You screamin' playa haters, these niggas is playa killers!).
But as topical as Mos gets on tracks like the numerically nimble "Mathematics", the album is firmly rooted in the spiritual. The lyrically masterful "Love", finds the emcee laying his silky smooth flow over the story of his own development as a writer, while the tectonic plate-moving "Umi Said" is one part private hymn and one part stars-aligned affirmation of the essential value of black culture, positioning Mos as Adam reaching a finger towards the infinite and making real contact. And the warbling, psychedelic abstraction of "Climb", featuring instrumental input by jazz legend Weldon Irvine and the ethereal vocals of Vinia Mojica, is like nothing so much as a dream of flying rendered sonically real.
Black on Both Sides is an equally inspired album from a non-lyrical perspective. Stretching beyond the relatively straightforward old school hip-hop of his breakthrough Black Star collaboration with Talib Kweli, Def establishes his own identity by bringing in diverse influences ranging from calypso to AOR, seamlessly fusing them to his signature blend of soulful hip-hop with stunning results. It's one thing to talk about the importance of reclaiming black music, as he does on the lengthy "Rock N Roll", and another to do so while demonstrating one's mastery over a multiplicity of forms, including frenzied Bad Brains-style hardcore (!). Moreover, Mos' hand-picked collaborators, ranging from superstars like DJ Premier to underground sensations like 88 Keys are simply impeccable. From a production standpoint, the highlight is unquestionably Ayatollah's gorgeous collage-like "Know That", a tapestry of shimmering wonder that puts most of Kanye West's similarly soul sample-grabbing work to shame.
Virtually every one of the seventeen tracks on this album could be cited as a highlight, a rarity in the post-Chronic hip-hop scene. Too many rap artists fill their albums with pointless skits and sub-b-side spoo in some inexplicable urge to fill every CD to the bursting point, but Mos Def has clearly approached this effort in the same way artists like Prince and The Clash approached their own double-album masterworks. There’s not one wasted moment in the album’s marathon 70 minute running time. Moreover, aside from brilliant guest rhymes by Talib Kweli and Busta Rhymes, Mos Def is the sole emcee on the record. For those of us who have slogged through hundreds of guest star-laden bores from this genre, this isn’t merely a refreshing change; it’s virtually unprecedented.
From a critical perspective it’s often easier to dissect an album clearly intended to be a magnum opus, to pull out the bits that don’t work and let the house of cards collapse. In the case of this record, that’s simply not possible. This is not merely the best rap album I’ve ever heard, it’s one of the best pieces of popular music of the 20th century. And so, having run out of superlatives, I’ll simply leave the stage to the man himself. Mother of fuck, this is a great album.
Spendin' time, writin' rhymes
Tryin' to find words that describe the vibe
That's inside the space
When you close your eyes and screw your face
Is this the pain of too much tenderness,
To make me nod my head in reverence?
Should I visit this place in rememberence
To build landmarks here as evidence
Nighttime, spirit shook my temperament
To write rhymes that portray this sentiment
We live the now for the promise of the infinite
We live the now for the promise of the infinite
And we believe in the promise
Of love, love, love
Stand-Outs: “Umi Said”, “Love”, “Mr. Nigga”
