A lot of rappers show a lot of love for Lil Wayne on his new album. "Thanks for giving us a whole 'nother classic with Tha Carter IV," huffs Busta Rhymes. "It's important that you are more than welcome to Tha Carter IV, and y'all enjoy it," advises André 3000. "Cash Money is the company and Weezy the boss," reiterates Wayne's fellow ex-con Shyne. And it's Drake who provides the record's most impassioned verse about his mentor's 2010 prison stint for criminal gun possession: "Rikers Island on this flow, eight months for that pistol/ But at least they had some bad bitches workin' in that shit hole." The man born Dwayne Carter never needed to be propped up like this before. During his Untouchable Era-- from the December 2005 release of Tha Carter II through 2008's Tha Carter III, with several classic mixtapes in between-- Wayne was The Best Rapper Alive because he said he was, and then rhymed his brain off to prove it. He doesn't claim that world-beating title once on Tha Carter IV. And no one else claims it for him.
We accepted last year's duo of disappointments-- the aggravated rock turn Rebirth and the unfocused stop-gap collection I Am Not a Human Being-- because they were mere anomalies or appetizers. This summer's Sorry 4 the Wait mixtape was passable, but slight compared to previous off-label bounties like Dedication 2, Da Drought 3, or No Ceilings. So while there hasn't been much recorded evidence to support Wayne's hip-hop supremacy over the last three years, Tha Carter IV was always going to be the true test. As such, it's the rapper's most unfulfilling and worrisome move in a long while.
Almost everything about Wayne is relaxed, regurgitated, or regressing here. Most noticeable is his slowed-down flow, perhaps a capitulation to the booming arenas he now plays to regularly, where intelligibility often trumps quick wit. But whereas the only permanent aspect of Wayne's cadence used to be its shiftiness, his delivery has slackened, severely deadening his ferociousness in the process. The falloff is made more apparent by a couple of guest shots from two of rap's most exuberant fast talkers, Busta Rhymes and Kansas City cult hero Tech N9ne. It's as if Wayne dispatched the pair to provide the dexterity he won't (or can't) come up with himself anymore.
On "Interlude", Tech N9ne and an oddly uncredited André 3000 reel off two of the album's best verses, perfectly setting up its star for a clean-up finale. But Wayne never shows on that track, or the star-studded "Outro", as if he'd rather play curator than be the focus of some of the highlights on his own album. His trepidation is understandable considering how Drake and Rick Ross easily overshadow him on recent singles "She Will" and "John", respectively. In fact, one of Wayne's more spirited moments on the album comes when he forgoes a third verse on "She Will" and just hollers and mugs behind Drake's hook instead; he just sounds excited to be in the background.
After an epic run, it seems as though Wayne has finally run out of inventive ways to say he's on drugs, or great at sex, or extremely interested in making money. Because after you've been "so motherfuckin' high, I can eat a star," as he claimed on Da Drought 3, being "so high, I get star-struck" just doesn't pack the same oomph. Elsewhere, he's found a new love for the type of faux-profundity he rarely had time or patience for before. "I'm searching for today, instead I found tomorrow/ And I put that shit right back like, 'I'll see what I find tomorrow,'" he blankly philosophizes on "Nightmares of the Bottom", itself a downgrade of Tha Carter III's brilliantly soulful "Let the Beat Build". Once joyously freewheeling, Tha Carter series has gotten to the point where it comes with its own hip-hop tropes and rules: a combination of East Coast lyricism, West Coast violence, and a distinctly Southern rhythm and flair. That singular formula has served Wayne well in the past, but some of this album's most enjoyable moments do away with it altogether.
The squelching T-Pain duet "How to Hate" is a paradoxically gorgeous kiss-off that finds the pair heart-worn and a bit pissed. "She used to always say, fuck my niggas/ And when I went to jail, she fucked my niggas, well..." laments Wayne in a coaxing purr. As usual, T-Pain plays a permanent resident of the friend zone, while Wayne lashes out in the most charming way possible; the track makes you wish the rumored T-Wayne project would actually get off the ground. Even softer is that song's R&B rejoinder, "How to Love", Wayne's most mature song to date. And while it's a little jarring to hear the guy behind "Lollipop" and so many Gremlins references attempt a legitimate grown-up ballad, the 28 year old's tough love feels earned. Without a fierce beat or screaming guitars backing him, Wayne's sing-rap croak is caught out there on the track, and it results in one of the few Carter IV performances that doesn't sound like a canned retread.
Recently, Lil Wayne spoke out on the topic of retirement. "I want to become a better father and a better man to my woman, and those things take time," he told MTV. "And time takes away from [music]. So the honest answer to that [retirement] question is, I don't know. Maybe so." Even back in his hallowed heyday, on Dedication 2, he had retirement on his mind. "My career is my life, so I could never retire out, even when I stop rapping," he said in an interlude. "Hopefully, I'm known for something different-- not different, but known for something else, also." It's a nice thought. And, after all, this album's uncharacteristic R&B anomalies stand out most. While Tha Carter IV isn't the first indication that Wayne's finest verses are behind him, it is the most glaring. Still, he seems smart enough to know that for every Jay-Z there are scores of rappers-- including several guests on this very album-- trying to relive past glories on a daily basis. Wayne has floated the notion that Tha Carter IV could be his last album. The threat makes sense.
