Depending on how tapped in of a hip-hop head you are, the following statement is either a fact of life or a revelation: Roc Marciano is one of the most impactful MCs of his generation. Since 2010’s MarcBerg, he’s been a catalyst of a new indie rap scene, dropping albums as braggadocious and flashy as those in the major label orbit, while selling many of them direct-to-consumer from his website.
A horde of the artists highlighted in Rolling Stone’s column No Filler are indebted to him, as are the hip-hop fans benefiting from the glut of spitters dropping seemingly every week. Those listeners grew up in the golden era of hip-hop, where producers like DJ Premier laced classics for Gangstarr, Nas, Jay-Z, and the rest of hip-hop’s who’s who. One would be hard-pressed to find a legendary lyricist that Premier hasn’t made a beat for, which is why it’s only right that these titans eventually connected on The Coldest Profession.
As the album intro explains, the project derived from a chance encounter in the Armani Section of a New York City Macy’s, when Roc asked DJ Premier when they would link up. Premier hit him shortly before last Christmas, and they got to work, recording “Armani Section” to commemorate the occasion. The song was their first single, and an apt introduction to what’s happening on their collaboration: Premier giving Roc a funk-inspired runway to dish his pimp tales.
Like Raekwon, Roc Marciano’s diction, fashion sense, and sonic wheelhouse feel indebted to 1970s New York, where Blaxploitation films offered a new lexicon and style (Roc namechecks urban fiction writer Donald Goines on “Travel Fox”). It’s not over-the-top with Roc, but he’s too slick of a lyricist not to see those connections. The best parts of The Coldest Profession feel like what might play at a Seventies speakeasy, with Roc onstage rhyming, “I'm living large so that shit come with the job/Still reelin' in cod, bendin’ the fishing rod/Hittin' different bitches I want from here to Wichita,” amid clouds of cigarette smoke.
Those bars are from “RocMarkable,” which feels like the most recognizable glimpse of the classic Premier beat, as Roc’s disparately textured chops are perfectly arranged over a headnodding bassline. Premier didn’t have to leave his trademark techniques behind to appropriately score Roc’s pimp chronicles; his signature scratches and vocal clips are all over the project. On “Good to Go,” searing strings play over spooky keys and a methodical bassline; it feels akin to a screaming teapot, a sign that shit is boilin’ hot in the spot when Roc rhymes, “theme music in a haunted crack house/G Pack stashed up in the couch, about a half a ounce.” The star of “GloryHole” is Premier’s use of scintillating hi-hats around a bass riff compelling Roc to get melodic with his delivery, while album closer “Execution Style” is the kind of warm, soulful soundscape that the project could have used one or two more of.
None of the sonics immediately arrest like one of Premier’s seminal beats, but that’s a high bar for anyone to reach, especially 30-plus years into the game. Premier succeeds at giving Roc a funk-driven backdrop for his technical prowess to shine. Roc is at his best skillfully weaving internal and external rhymes together, crafting scenes of his charmed life as an indomitable hustler who can’t be shown up, intimidated, or outrhymed. It all weaves together during the second verse of “Execution Style” where he rhymes, “Silk robe, silver and gold, one long stemmed rose/Sports Illustrated center fold holds pose in expensive overcoat/Show these bitches my boat cuz I’m a showboat/They can’t touch the gold I’m Mayweather doin’ the shoulder roll.”
Most of the project follows those depictions of The Coldest Profession, with Roc’s assonance avalanches and one-liners (“Homeboy talkin’ oil slick, eventually sleep with the coyfish, oysters, and shrimp” on “Travel Fox”) entertaining throughout. Overall, it’s a strong combination of two rap vets finding common ground and creating a work of neo-Blaxpoitation that's worth a revisit.
