Rap artists bent on party atmospheres are always a tricky proposition. Most end up progressing towards more positive, "enlightened" styles (De La Soul, Jurassic 5) while others fall for the promise of financial success allowed by the party rap platform (Black Eyed Peas). But in the case of Foreign Legion, the listener isn't inclined to care either way. From the outset of their second record, Playtight, we're immediately made aware that this "fun rap" isn't actually rap-intensive, or even fun, for that matter.
Prozack, DJ Design and Marc Stretch encompass Foreign Legion, a group best known for their explosive live show (I've heard tales of Prozack rapping out of Stretch's backpack) and a lackadaisical musical style. To be fair, they do pull off the party vibe pretty well, translating on record like a bunch of drunk fat guys leading the soiree from the balcony. Unfortunately, they also rap just like him. Over the course of the album, you'll hear embarrassing falsetto choruses, various "style changes" (poor homages to their commercial influences) and most frequently, incredibly offbeat rapping.
What's surprising is the locale from which Foreign Legion hails. Considering that California has been a breeding ground for the most amusing, innovative and exciting fun rappers of our generation (Hieroglyphics, Freestyle Fellowship, The Pharcyde, Quannum), you'd expect them to have some semblance of charisma. They can incorporate the whitest faux-soul imaginable, put on silly voices and recite amateurish verses ("My crew comes tighter than masturbating with vice grips!"; "You could be a butler but ain't no way that you're serving me!"; "The whole club looks like a bunch of Pez dispensers!"), but they also lack flow, delivery, and any sense of likability.
Half the problem with the record is the ridiculously bad production. Other than problems like lyrical nonsense and lame rappers, the reason groups that have a similar aesthetic (Cunninlyguists, Ugly Duckling) end up with better results is ultimately down to the beats that frame the music. From the Tom Jones-inspired "It's Working" (cut atop soap opera piano stabs and a corny synth bounce), to the lazy electro throb of "Happy Drunk", to the wanky wah-wah pedal and clavinet of "Voodoo Star", the results are wholly unlistenable . DJ Design lists his equipment in the liner notes before the lyrics to each song, but in this case, it looks like his laundry list of gear is worth a lot more than he is.
So what did I like about the album? The beats for "Bring It" and "Party Crashers" are tolerable. And Marc Stretch rhymes a lot of words in his bars. Oh yeah, and when Prozack said that he "rocks an O.J. Simpson jersey," I giggled. I guess that's about it. All I have left to ask is: What exactly would possess someone to pay money for this? Which is where you come in: If you or someone you know owns this album, I ask you to email me with the exact reason this record came into possession. If this is supposed to be a representation of the future of underground rap, sign me up for my old school revivalism.
