Harlem newcomer Vado is a good rapper-- maybe a very good rapper, definitely not a great one. He's got a big, blustery voice, an arrogant snarl, and a strong ear for battering-ram beats. In New York, where vital new rap voices aren't exactly thick on the ground these days, that combination is enough to make him a minor sensation. Crewed up with a suddenly resurgent Cam'ron and serving as the driving force on the slow-building club banger "Speaking in Tungs", the recently unknown Vado has built serious momentum over the past year. But more than that, he feels like a man from a time when New York still regularly cranked out hard-edged, uncompromising rap songs that work on a dancefloor. New York doesn't do that very often anymore. Nobody really does that very often anymore. And yet here's Vado.
On Slime Flu, his solo debut, Vado shows just how much mileage he can get out of a somewhat limited style. Originally conceived as a mixtape rather than an album, Slime Flu varies in tempo and intensity but never in outlook. There are no attempts at any sort of crossover here, and even club-ready tracks like "Speaking in Tungs" are pretty rare. And unlike his mentor Cam'ron, Vado's not a word-drunk stylist. Instead, he's a straight-ahead barker, with a voice that uncannily recalls Cam's old buddy Jim Jones. But Vado sticks to beats with a pitbull tenacity; even when his punchlines don't land, he makes them work just through the force of his delivery. His ad-libs are great: "Hunh!", "Sliiiiime!". And he's ballsy enough to attempt a debut album with barely any guests; even Cam only shows up twice.
And because Vado has an energy and a confidence that so few of his elders display anymore, Slime Flu instantly stands out by recalling a very specific late-90s moment. Vado, a guy who probably shouldn't be asked to carry a full-length by himself at this point in his career, makes it work anyway by doing the little things right. He doesn't water down his boasts, keeping things specific and local, trusting you to keep up: "Dine in that Peter Luger/ Large platter under the napkin, I keep the Ruger." He attacks blaring synthetic tracks like "Beat Knockin" and "Polo" without the slightest bit of hesitation. He has fun with low-key wealth signifiers without overdoing it: "They like, 'Man, that kid glow'/ In the Pepto Bismol-colored Gran Turismo." He resists the temptation to paint grand Rick Ross-type pictures of his criminal past, sticking instead to truer-to-life stuff about running credit card scams, being a two-bit hustler. On a late-album troika of slow, sinister tracks ("Bullets & Gun Smoke", "Crimesquare", "Snapped), he proves that he can do insinuating atmosphere even better than he can do all-out neck-snap bangers. With everything working in his favor, I almost don't mind that he placed tracks called "Polo" and "Rugby Down" on the same album.
The amazing thing: Many of the best recent Vado tracks, the ones that have been circulating on the Internet for the past few months, didn't make the album for whatever reason (sample clearance, most likely). And still, the album works. It might not rearrange anyone's brain, but sometimes a blast of time-honored regional bravado is exactly what you need in your life. And if there's more where that came from, we could be looking at the beginning of a very serious career.
