Hip-hop's era of sport is officially over. East Coast rap battles are irrelevant. Beef is null. Competition is nada. Instead, we are enduring the age of languor, and nowhere is this more apparent than on Rolling Papers, the major label debut of Wiz Khalifa, a long-developing star forged in the Snoop Dogg fire. But whereas Snoop took a decade to mellow into rap's avuncular marketing boss-- 1994's grim, ruthless Murder Is the Case remains an oft-overlooked marker in his career, to say nothing of a stint on No Limit-- for Wiz the journey to calm was never far.
Wiz has managed an unusual trajectory, rising from a modest army brat to a squelched major label deal at Warner Bros. and back to the independent route. He was prolific-- perhaps too prolific, releasing nine mixtapes and two officially sanctioned albums before this major-label lunge. By 2010's Kush & Orange Juice, an exceptionally laidback and tasteful mixtape that made him a star, Wiz solidified his identity: affable smoker, limited rapper, inspirational survivor, melodic genius. And all before the age of 23.
Now signed to Atlantic Records, home to compromised contemporaries Lupe Fiasco and B.o.B, Wiz runs the risk of having his loose, gliding style trampled by this new partner's A&R department. That's not quite the case-- Rolling Papers is a singular document with just a handful of exceptions. The album's lead single, the Super Bowl-adopted anthem "Black and Yellow", is a driving song, but Wiz seems dazed in the delivery. He has never been a complicated writer, but on a song meant to whip up some frenzy, he is shockingly relaxed. "Stay high like how I'm supposed to do/ That crowd underneath them clouds can't get close to you/ And my car look unapproachable/ Super clean but it's super mean."
These are an abysmal few bars from the song, but they (or any of his lyrics, really) do little to explain Wiz's appeal. He does atmosphere, and the team of producers here-- a varied bunch that includes Norwegian mercenaries StarGate, Wiz's in-house crew I.D. Labs, and the Floridian pop-rap savant Jim Jonsin-- has given this album surprising cohesion. It cascades, never rushing into anything. Opener "When I'm Gone" ambles along, a somber piano line playing out softly for nearly a minute before introducing the propulsive guts of the song. Only when Wiz attempts to burst forward, as on disjointed closer "Cameras", is he susceptible to his own limitations. Ambitions low, tone lower.
There's an urge to throw weed metaphors around a Wiz Khalifa review-- it is his love, his leisure, his reason for living. Taking his time is only a product of this blunted life. Which is a boon on "The Race", the best song here, a luxurious, decadent ode to success that couldn't sound more like a vacation. But weed is also his curse. Consider the Sublime-like "Fly Solo", also produced by I.D. Labs, which is pure dorm-room junk. Or "No Sleep", a shameless bid for Benny Blanco-produced house-rap glory. No one could be less suited to this sort of thing than Wiz. Still, if you seek texture and assurance, there are few recent songs as masterfully casual as "Hopes and Dreams" and "Rooftops", the latter of which features his friend and sonic compatriot Curren$y (one of just three guest spots on this album). The rippling opening notes of "Hopes and Dreams"-- a far-off guitar strum, a stuttering drum machine, Wiz's dank voice-- are all vibe, all presence, all persistence. Call it mood music for the mindless.
