Brad Nessler: Welcome to our wrap-up of Game Four between the East Coast and West Coast Hip-Hop Finals. I'm joined as always by the mookiest color commentary in the league, Bill Russell and Tom Tolbert. Guys, what do you think of this classic match-up, especially as it gets played by Aceyalone?
Bill Walton: I got to tell you, when he first entered the league after his phenomenal showing at the Ronald McDonald Project Blowed game, I seriously thought he was the second coming. A powerful vocabulary, a vision encompassing the whole floor, commenting on the daily trials and tribulations-- as well as conscientious of the spiritual matters beyond-- and still funny and funky as well, putting it all together into the complete package for his breakthrough album, All Balls Don't Bounce. Criminally lost in the 1995 season, overwhelmed by the thuggish street ball of the East Coast Conference, it seems he's doubted himself since Capitol deleted the release and made it eBay fodder.
Tom Tolbert: The game is playing Aceyalone these days. That non-materialistic, "it's all good" outlook embraced by the entire Left Coast contingency for years has led to a situation where they're seen as soft throwbacks when compared with the East, dominated on the Bill-boards and outscored on Soundscan points. Just look at the evolution from the peaceful outlook of his first album compared to the slightly tougher angle he takes on his newest, Love & Hate. I just don't believe it. Where was the weed-smoking, Crys-sipping and skin-hitting back then? He didn't need to resort to these tricks back then. I couldn't get behind the thematic, tepid thoughts on Book of Human Languages and Accepted Eclectic, but this season seems to be different for Acey.
Bill Walton: It all starts with his supporting cast, guys. He needed the fatherly guidance and jazzy touch of producer Fat Jack on his first album, and it's nice to see him behind the glass again on "The Sage Continues". His old teammate from back in the day, Abstract Rude comes in for a few assists and timely treys, and it recalls that classic team of '95. He even brings the eternally winded Casual from Hieroglyphics off the bench for "Let Me Hear Sumn", which had the defense confused. His weight problems have always limited his player time, but for a moment, we see Casual and Acey engaged in the type of one-two game that we hoped to have seen when both of their records were glued to the decks eight years ago.
Tom Tolbert: What makes this joint different is the recruitment of free agents from the Definitive Jux team on the East Coast stronghold. The most versatile DJ Big Man in the country, Ohioan RJD2, plays big minutes in the game, rejecting all wack shots and spurring fastbreak flights of fancy from Aceyalone. It's enough to get all the backpackers in the crowd up and nodding on three cuts here. His presence in the middle of tracks like "Lost Your Mind" alters the way the game is played around his booming beats. And "Takeoff" gets even more air, as Acey's vertical game takes over-- he jumps all over the weird digital fugues that RJD2 dribbles with the kick drum. The Play of the Game for sure.
Bill Walton: Even on the seemingly too-R&B;, femme-cooing of "Moonlit Skies", both RJD2 and Aceyalone exhibit soft hands, reviving the lost art of touch-passing, and it makes for an excellent down tempo moment. But the biggest shock of the series comes when the Great White Hope, El-P, enters the game for "City of Shit". All about smash-mouth basketball, Acey takes the challenge magnificently, grinding it down in a back-and-forth match that's nasty and physical, yet never loses its tough sense of humor. The punch line chorus "Now every time that I think about What-the-Fuck, I think about you/ And how he changed and took the pain when he ran into Fuck-You Too" is one of the funniest shots this year. Throw down, Big Man, I say.
Tom Tolbert: The most crucial aspect is staying strong for the entire game, but that just doesn't get done here. Moving from All-Stars to scrubs in the space of a year, bringing Saayid and Priest from the former AntiPop Consortium in for "Lights Out" is pure trash-time, the game lost on all, as neither player can find a worthwhile rhythm much less through the rock in the ocean. And as he tries to return to the ponderous themes of such vague nonsense as love and hate, Acey weighs the pacing of the game considerably. The tedious, song-long metaphor of "Miss AmeriKKKa" (whose tired theme I'll just let the viewers at home guess) has no place here or on any other team. That said, this is a rebuilding year for Acey, and there's lots to look forward to next year.
