He calls himself "Barack O'Drama" more than once on wax, but DJ Drama's got a lot more in common with Mike Huckabee: Vaguely inoffensive, vaguely southern, affable, entrepreneurial; the kind of simple-minded dude who synchronizes everyone-gets-a-seat-at-the-table warmth with jaw-dropping blunders (denying the science behind evolution/befouling the video reunion of UGK).
The political analogy continues. On the inside cover of Gangsta Grillz: The Album, Drama poses unnervingly close to the fish-eye close up, the plane of hands perpendicular to the ground, thumbs up, caught in some unclear gesticulation that could symbolize an awkward approximation of a booty, a square of china white, or just a square. He's supposed to look hard, serious, "so focused." Drama doesn't rap, sing, produce, or mix. So why are so many fizzy pop rappers and A-listeners flocking to him? Because behind all the stunted veneers and posing rests the most important person the modern economy: the middle man. All he does is shout over beats and bring people together.
His series of Gangsta Grillz mixtapes have been both buzz-forming and buzz-maintaining for a few years now, aiding everyone from Little Brother to Lil' Boosie. For many, Lil' Wayne's Dedication 2, a Gangsta Grillz entry, has become the unofficial demarcation of his ascent to rap's top tier. Drama is a fixer. His in-house producers (Don Cannon, most readily) have benefited from the endless series of canvasses too, spring boarding onto 50 Cent and Young Jeezy production credits. Like a good agent, getting in bed with Drama gets you in bed with the right people, or, at the very least, the best people willing to work with you.
Don't misunderstand, DJ Drama has made some fantastic mixtapes. He'll hopefully make more. But about 25% of Drama's overall skill set translates well to major label album-length hip-hop. Sadly, Gangsta Grillz: The Album has to exist for us to learn that. No single narrator or speaker to guide and anchor. No fixed regional style to diverge and return to. Just overstuffed tracks like loosely spooled nylon or hastily booked professional wrestling matches (Jeezy! Twista! Joc! T.I.! Diddy! Nelly!-- on one song). Skits red-line embarrassment; Katt Williams going on for three minutes too long about Kush, Diddy just smiling and shouting shit on that annoying DJ Clue self-echo. The singles are baubles, and Jazze Pha ones at that ("5000 Ones"). Sonically, not a producer on here ever met a Visigoth bell sequence or predictably "explosive" drum roll he didn't like.
Two jewels get lost in the blather. Everyone already knows about Outkast's "Art of Storytellin' Part 4"-- it's great, lovely to hear the pair together, and Andre 3000 is the only MC who can rap about the war (though I'd like to know how he'd capitalize it), and it's Drama's platform at its finest: Giving space to something instant right at this very second. Even though the collaborative "187" is a song very different from "Storytellin'", it's a satisfying enough shuffle of related yet previously uncombined parts. Project Pat gets to play Ford to 8Ball and MJG's collective Nixon. And B.G. should croon hooks more often; he pouts and flicks through this one.
Sadly, and mostly, Gangsta Grillz also forces a lot of crow down the throat. Those who got behind the opaque, effortless Houston aesthetic are going to have to grit their teeth through "Gettin' Money", and it's frightening to hear Clipse sound like monotone MCs who just read a lot of Italian and Japanese Vogue (the album closing "Cheers"). I'd chide Drama for not helping, not standing in front on his product, but when your Rolodex and your open door are the only tools you bring to the job, all there is to do is politic.
