Does a rapper need to make a truly great album before he's considered one of the best alive? It's a question with no objective answer. Some rappers are phenomenal with verses and punchlines but have no knack for hooks or song structure. Some can do all of those things but lack personality. Some never get the production budget they deserve; many do and just have the worst ear for beats. Some fail to capitalize on their buzz, and others are completely incapable of making themselves relevant. And yet, none of that explains why Killer Mike has been able to consistently make some of the most visceral and intellectually potent hip-hop of the past decade and a half without having a true classic under his belt.
On the unimpeachable R.A.P. Music, Mike hooks up with 2012 MVP frontrunner El-P and Adult Swim subsidiary Williams Street to create what's described on the title track as "what my people need and the opposite of bullshit." It's the 2012 equivalent to Ice Cube and the Bomb Squad's similarly inspired bicoastal union on AmeriKKKa's Most Wanted. Limiting himself to one producer, legends-only guest spots, and a real sense that he'd better make this one count, Killer Mike rises to the occasion.
But while this record is sure to please longtime fans, it also works as a compelling introduction. As in the past, R.A.P. Music takes a stand politically without going off the grid into conspiracy theorizing or sounding so circumspect that you'd think Mike himself was running for public office. On "Reagan", he calls out the government for spending billions of taxpayer dollars invading foreign land as "a hobby paid for by the oil lobby." To him, the "War on Drugs" is mostly an excuse for crooked cops to illegally search and seize young black men. But if you happen to be a phony rapper that's dumb enough to spit that "fiction sold by conglomerates" in Mike's neighborhood, you can expect to leave without your chain and dignity. None of this is contradictory to anyone with a lick of sense, but there's a tangible thrill in hearing someone tell it like it is with such conviction.
There was enough spleen vented on the Grind mixtapes to last until the next decade; on R.A.P., there's more heart and soul, both musically and spiritually. In a recent interview with Pitchfork.tv, Mike seemed particularly fond of the scene he sets during "Untitled", wherein the women closest to him in life are placed within an epic historical scale: "Will my woman be Corretta take my name and cherish it?/ Or will she Jackie O drop the Kennedy, remarry it/ My sister say it's necessary on some Cleopatra shit/ My grandmamma said 'no, never that, it's sacrilege.'" It's part of a deep respect for family that runs throughout R.A.P. Music, whether it's to his cop father during the "fuck the police" narrative "Don't Die", or his wife amidst astonishing Southernplayalistic pimp shit on "Southern Fried". He dedicates the last verse to her ("I married a Trina/ Pretty as a singer/ Fine as a stripper"), informing all other girls that if you want a piece of Killer Mike, you gotta service his woman too. It's actually kinda heartwarming.
Let's take a moment and talk about the actual rapping on R.A.P. Music. Dear lord, the rapping on this thing. When he first started appearing on dirtier OutKast tracks like "Snappin' & Trappin'", Mike might've been seen as the devil on Big Boi's shoulder opposite André. It's become clear since then he takes a backseat to no one in the Dungeon Family. Transcribing a jaw-dropping bout of dexterity like, "And what's happenin'/ Ménage-a-nage in my garage/ With these two young ladies is the reason I A.D.I.D.A.S./ That's all day I dream about that sex scene/ You textin' hopin' that they call you/ I just barbecue and call 'em up and say, 'hey fall through,'" feels about as effective as trying to explain Led Zeppelin IV with guitar tablature. Mike introduces himself on "Untitled", saying, "You are witnessing elegance/ In the form of a black elephant," and it's a perfect summation of Mike's muscular yet impossibly nimble vocals. There's no reason for him to make a two-minute, no-hook track like "Go!" other than to prove he can destroy anyone in terms of pure technique "even when I ain't sayin' sheeeit." The sheer sonic effect of the volley of words on R.A.P. could thrill a hip-hop fan who doesn't speak a word of English.
Not that you shouldn't be paying attention to what Killer Mike says throughout R.A.P. Music*.* "Reagan" is the one that names names and cites facts to denigrate the presidency as little more than "telling lies on teleprompters" to serve the "country's real masters." But on "Anywhere But Here", the trickle-down effect of corruption is felt on a more local scale. After solemnly acknowledging the police brutality and economic stratification of New York, Mike takes a look at his home city of Atlanta, seemingly a "black male's heaven" as one the most racially progressive in the nation, "Even though it's blacktop from the mayors to the cops/ Black blood still gets spilled." "Don't Die" shows a vivid example of that: Cops break into Mike's house on a hunch and things inevitably get violent. Though the concept of their being there in the first place because "a nigga on this rap shit" might initially sound trite, if you don't believe the suspicion of being a part of that culture is enough to get you harassed and then killed, you might need to start watching the news. That's really why "Don't Die" can take its place alongside anti-authoritarian classics like "Black Steel in the Hour of Chaos": The big picture is timeless; the news fills in the blanks to make it depressing in its timeliness.
There are plenty of hip-hop records with worthy causes but the good intentions don't always make your car stereo knock. That's not an issue here: I don't think we'll hear a better end-to-end production job on a rap record than we do on R.A.P. Music. El-P has managed to make strides in learning to give a rapper like Mike what he needs: on 2009's ATL RMX, he reconfigured Young Jeezy's "I Got This" with a punishing beat that somehow managed to overexert its will on the guy rapping. We get wheezing organs, incessantly ticking hi-hats, guitar skronk, and soul claps tamed to do Mike and El's evil bidding whether it's B-boy boom bap ("Jojo's Chillin'") or chain-swang braggadocio ("Butane (Champion's Anthem)"). I'm tempted to call it "warm," but so is nuclear radiation, and the bass most often sounds like a monstrous, gleefully evil sandworm that could guest star on "Aqua Teen Hunger Force".
On the closing title track, Mike equates R.A.P. Music to something holy, within the lineage of the most legendary black musicians: "That Miles Davis Bitches Brew, that 'beee-yatch' said by playboy Too [$hort]." More appropriate are the multiple lyrical nods to Public Enemy and N.W.A., even if R.A.P. Music doesn't break enough rules or have enough of a platform to reach the levels of Fear of a Black Planet or Straight Outta Compton or Death Certificate. But it does come off as the kind of powerful mid-career album those acts should've been able to make as hip-hop's elder spokesmen-- artists granted an evergreen relevance similar to Bruce Springsteen or Neil Young-- had it not been for their irreparable personnel issues: impervious to trends, passionate about politics and pleasure, something that a college professor could base a lecture on even as his students blast it at house parties later that night.
