Freddie Gibbs' latest mixtape, Cold Day in Hell, leaked during a 48-hour-period in which new hip-hop tapes were dropping every five minutes. More than a few of these artists were capitalizing off the hype that surrounded A$AP Rocky's debut record LiveLoveA$AP, a release the internet noise machine took up as its latest cause. Freddie Gibbs may remember that honeymoon period well; a couple of years back, he was the focus of this ruthless media blitz, an artist who rocketed suddenly from major-label reject to being mentioned in The New Yorker. It was an odd position for a rapper whose persona often felt like a simple amalgamation of 1990s Rap-A-Lot records. One of the unfortunate things about this hype cycle is its obsession with novelty at the expense of quality; Gibbs isn't a new artist any more, but Cold Day in Hell is arguably his most well-rounded, accomplished offering. It isn't that he's improved as a rapper, but as an artist. He has recognized his weaknesses and produced a lush, versatile record that works around them.
Gibbs, as a performer, has always been a skilled technician, but in the backlash that followed his early acclaim, some pointed out that his rapping could be dry and impersonal. In impressing folks caught up in the theatrical onslaught of his driving delivery, it was easy for fans to miss the big picture. At his weakest, he is a technician first and a conversationalist second. For his core fanbase, this is the appeal: gangster rap with brutality and self-control the primary goal. These shortcomings become evident, though, when you compare Gibbs to a rapper like Young Jeezy, whose economy, directness, and charisma burst through the speakers on a track like "Twos and Fews". But what Gibbs has accomplished on Cold Day in Hell is a challenge to the reliable audience that would prefer him in autopilot mode, and it actually gives his music a lot more replay value. As on his strongest releases, he uses a variety of strategies that value musicality above all.
A major contributor to Gibbs' success here is producer Cardo. His beats have an ethereal, Clams Casino-lite quality, although Cardo works in a more mercenary, less brand-conscious context. There are also more than enough R&B hooks here to scare away the one-note Gibbs fan. These tracks actually introduce a tension and excitement into Gibbs' work that is often missed when he's worked with typical boom-bap production. The perfect example is album highlight "B.A.N.ned". Cardo's chopped-up vocal loop infuses the tracks with a haunting melancholy, framing Gibbs' vocals-- always taut with aggression-- with a strong emotional undercurrent. But it's not a one-way transaction; Gibbs' dark story rap on "My Homeboy's Girlfriend" is a disquieting factor that charges Cardo's evocative Sade sample. Gibbs' voice is monotone, but it gains a stark power when the music that surrounds it lunges for an emotional jugular.
The record's diverse sound shows a wider range of influences than previous releases. SMKA's beat for the Juicy J-featuring "Str8 Slammin'" is a sparkling imitation of the kind of moody arpeggios the Hypnotized Minds camp pioneered a decade ago. Cardo's "Menace II Society" is such a pitch-perfect spiritual son of California's gangster rap peak that you'll be pulling out your Celly Cel tapes (or running to RapidShare). One of the album's best moments is "Anything to Survive", which samples Bobbi Humphrey's "Harlem River Drive" and includes verses from Freeway and underrated Chicago rapper Sly Polaroid. What unites these disparate archetypes is Gibbs himself. What once seemed like a limitation-- the straightforward affect of his rapping-- now serves to balance some riskier, prettier experiments. His dimension and focus here should give pause to those who've discounted him.
