They're both New York rap veterans, but beyond that, KRS-One and Buckshot don't have a lot in common. KRS' gun-talk credentials are straight, but he's spent most of the past two decades in uplifting political rant mode; Buck has specialized in snarling, guttural street shit since day one. KRS raps in an overactive, splenetic blurt, like he can't bear to sit down for more than a minute; Buck's one of the best ever at the ominous, low-key simmer. Back in Boogie Down Productions' prime, KRS had a regular habit of bashing old associates, whereas Buck has been with the same crew of rappers, the Boot Camp Clik, for his entire career. KRS is pretty tall; Buck is almost unbelievably short. I could go on. And yet, here they are, with a collaborative album, for some reason. Welcome to rap's inexplicable 2009.
Actually, there's a decent reason for the team-up. KRS recently signed to Boot Camp's home label, Duck Down, presumably because it's one of the only places where purist NY hip hop still gets a push. And for Buck, it's an opportunity to do a record with one of NY rap's great institutions. Honestly, it's not like either of them really had a whole lot else going on. So here we go: an album of obstinate hardhead traditionalism that makes Slaughterhouse sound like Kid Cudi.
KRS has spent the past decade or so kicking frantic absurdities (remember the Nelly feud?), and his music has suffered, so the hope was that Buckshot's tough, direct consistency might help bring him back down to earth. No such luck. In fact, the opposite might be true. KRS is still raring to drop nonsensical science on the masses: "Hip hop is a new urban faculty/ A function of the collective mental anatomy." And instead of sticking with boxcutter talk, Buck has his own dubious moments, like where he calls himself the "dot-com don." Even a normally impeccable guest like Pharoahe Monch can't help but succumb to the awkwardness: "You only get one shot, get it? One shot. Meaning half of both of their names."
A pretty impressive range of guests show up on Survival Skills: Mary J. Blige, Bounty Killer, Slug, Talib Kweli, an Obama-bashing Immortal Technique. But the album is so tied to its goofy concepts that not many of them get a chance to make much of an impression. K'Naan, for example, gets to make his big appearance on the vaguely hectoring wise-old-man song "Think of All the Things", which awkwardly interpolates Harry Chapin's "Cats in the Cradle", of all things. The verses on "Hear No Evil" are based around the respective ideas of seeing and hearing (lots of third-eye stuff), which does not work at all. "We Made It" is a supremely wince-worthy would-be inspirational track, on which KRS congratulates you, over and over, for being alive. And even though they've enlisted a fairly impressive roster of producers like Black Milk and Nottz, it doesn't much matter when KRS basically ignores all his backing tracks.
Survival Skills isn't without its charms. After all, countless of these guys' contemporaries have dropped off the map completely, so in a way it's inspirational to see them soldiering through their own bad ideas and diminished returns. If you're in the right mood, KRS' rabid bark can get adrenaline going no matter what he's saying, and the intentions are noble. (After all, when was the last time you heard an anti-Auto-Tune jam where someone admonished you to "go online, look up Kraftwerk"?) Says KRS: "Critics say you want us to chill; you old now/ But really, that ain't how I feel; I'm more bold now." Well, no, he's not, not really. But if these guys want to keep making diminishing-return records, they've earned it. We just don't necessarily have to hear it. To catch a glimpse of these guys' past glories in 2009, your best option is still to go see them live; this is just a souvenir.
