Y'all act like you've never seen a white person before. And yet, here we are, a decade removed from The Slim Shady LP and before even selling one record, MC Asher Roth has generated opinions so ingrained one way or the other that for all intents and purposes, his debut album, Asleep in the Bread Aisle, might as well be a blank disc. There are those who celebrate the chance that any new artist becomes able to move units, even if he's being marketed to white, affluent hip-hop buyers seeking to relate to a rapper in a completely non-allegorical sense. And then there are those who've heard "I Love College" and find the use of hip-hop as a vehicle to express leisure class privilege as a bit... troubling, to say the least. Beyond that, "I Love College" is seen as a mutant strain of hipster-rap that completely evolved into frat-rap in the literal sense. And let's face it, you probably haven't heard "frat" used as a word to positively describe a lot of music since Otis Day & the Knights.
I don't know about myself, man. If he wasn't a star-in-the-making and I wasn't some hatin' ass hater, I bet Asher Roth and I would probably get along. We both had Jewish upbringings in the same part of Pennsylvania. Vol. 2: Hard Knock Life was a formative listening experience for each of us. He too likes Butterscotch Krimpets. And I've had an easy go of things, really-- I fucking loved college. Then again, my memories might not be so fond if I was subjected to hearing "I Love College" and the rest of Asleep in the Bread Aisle at every party for the next four years, give or take a semester or three. I'll probably only get to say this once, but frat boys deserve better.
Topicality isn't a sticking point, especially when hip-hop is almost always richer for having pioneers who are willing to shatter preconceptions of what it's "okay" to rap about-- see Eminem and Kanye, the 21st century's biggest stars and two rappers who set the stage for Roth's career in their own way. And surely, someone can be the William Styron of this rap shit, writing vividly about college parties, so ripe for exploration from a keen eye with its pungent sensory overload-- the smell of a beer-sticky basement, the sobering chill of a bleary walk home, the fact that any pizza joint that sells a slice for a buck is probably a drug front. Instead, and maybe this is the point, by trying to embody a universal experience, Roth reps for no one in particular and just becomes that asshole yelling "CHUG, FRESHMAN!" turning in the most laughably out-of-touch account of campus culture since I Am Charlotte Simmons. At least Tom Wolfe had the excuse of being 50 years older than Roth.
I wouldn't harp on "I Love College" if it wasn't so indicative of the hedge-betting callowness that defines the rest of the record. In his haste to blend in and not offend any of the bigwigs he's got in his corner, Roth paradoxically confirms the prejudice that maybe those in his position really don't have anything to say. Most of the time, particularly on "Lark On My Go-Kart", he revels in rapid-fire "Family Guy"-style references that become failed jokes-- in the first verse alone, he's already namedropped Teddy Ruxpin, Little Miss Muffet, blumpkins, Kelly Kapowski, and Lark Voorhies. And for what? More often, even topics that are more germane to the listener lack any detail that could take them past mere talking points-- relationships are a hassle ("Be By Myself", featuring a putrid Cee-Lo hook), the rap game is a struggle ("La Di Da"), the government's probably up to something ("Sour Patch Kids"). Even the most specified tracks fail miserably, yet differently: Not that either event is his fault, but in light of Nick Adenhart's tragic death and Andy Reid's drug-addled son getting busted in a parking lot 20 minutes from where Roth grew up, advocating smoking marijuana while operating a motor vehicle ("Blunt Cruisin'") is tough to swallow even before its slapdash, annoying composition puts the listener in the sober mindset of a designated driver with a long night ahead of him.
Yeah, the beats-- they're pretty good. Not everything's as elephant walk-obvious as "I Love College", but there's a dusty, rock-oriented sound to a lot of these that could draw comparisons to Danger Mouse or Edan's Beauty and the Beat if anyone still listened to it. You're not here for those. Maybe you're here for the record's sole line of defensive, "As I Em", in which Roth raps exactly like Eminem (to the point of mania) and then complains about interviewers having the nerve to ask him about it. Bubba Sparxxx made a similar lament during the last verse of "Nowhere", but his point hit home-- unlike Roth, he was a vet by that point, and he did so at a time when literally finding the next Eminem was something major labels actually did (hold your heads, Haystak and Lil Wyte). That and he also had Timbaland, whereas Roth's brothers in arms are talentless Perez Hilton-heads Chester French, whose whole career is owed to Vampire Weekend and MGMT not having gone to state schools. It's here where this entire internet-bubble beta-male rap game reveals how far up its own ass it is: Roth is defending himself against backlash, second-album "I've seen some shit"-style, before anyone cared enough to start it.
Of course, Roth has an army of bloggers hungry for a piece of that A&R action, and they insinuate any dismissal of Roth is borne out of self-loathing. And yet the only rapper willing to be on the same track with the guy is legendary hermit Busta Rhymes, who shows up on the double-time showcase "Lion's Roar" and still exhibits some phoned-in dominance of his host. Surely these aren't guys who'd cosign on a weak artist in the interest of commerce! Why can't you ride for his cause? But it's not a self-loathing thing, and it's not a race thing-- Asleep feels less like an album of music meant to entertain than an assumption that you can actually bump a marketing plan in your cars and house parties. Whether or not Asher Roth is some sort of sign that hip-hop is dead, there's no doubt that he's proof that the music industry is still very much alive.
