One of the nice things about creating a hip-hop classic is that there's no statute of limitations for capitalizing on the goodwill of its title. No matter how badly your critical or commercial fortunes are flagging, you can always name your latest platter-- Stillmatic, Only Built 4 Cuban Linx II, The Carnival II-- in a manner that lets everyone know that this time, you mean it. But unlike Nas, Raekwon, or even Wyclef, Twista isn't conjuring the memory of his most popular album (2004's double-platinum Kamikaze) or the one that's regarded as canon-worthy (I'm not sure if that one exists). In fact, his reputation since 1997's Adrenaline Rush has remained essentially the same: he's the guy who raps at an Olympic speed, and listening to an entire album of that is exactly as numbing as you'd expect it to be.
2005's The Day After tapped out the hitmaking formula of having Twista play the slick-talking straight man to cartoonish horndogs, and now Adrenaline Rush 2007 has the unenviable task of reintroducing his hardcore hustle to listeners who've likely never heard one song he's done entirely by himself. Don't worry if that's where you fit in; left to his own devices, he goes heavy on the thug talk and in true Twista fashion, you find out how boring that is awfully quick. The album is pretty much fucked from the jump-- in between two skits you'll swear you heard elsewhere comes "Charged", an "Oh Boy"-like experiment that uses a far less versatile word to place after every line. "I Ain't That Nigga" sets the tone for the rest of the hour-plus runtime, with Twista mostly fumbling to find more things that rhyme with "desert eagle," "Impala," and "kush." At this point, you really start to wonder when someone else is finally going to show up, but to your dismay, it's Jazze Pha and Cee-Lo at his most Electric Circus-aspiring. In a moment of sheer "remember me?" desperation, Twista promises seduction to all manner of ladies by replacing the quiet storm chestnuts of "Slow Jamz" with the likes of Melle Mel and Sugar Hill, foolishly believing that shit could work.
At the very least, Adrenaline Rush 2007 achieves its goal of recalling Twista's profile of a decade ago. Instead of famous friends, he gets a single detuned voice to spit the hooks on both "Whip Game Proper" and "Rist Stay Rocky" as if they didn't have enough trouble being distinguished from each other. And it doesn't matter if you rocked a shiny suit, khakis, or camouflage back in 1997; longtime collaborator Toxic and a cast of producers who aren't Kanye or Timbaland will help you remember any brand of filler from the era of mandatory 79-minute albums. The Pharrell-helmed "Give It Up" is the only thing here that smells of money, but it's the typical Starboard P malaise from a man who doesn't seem very determined to make hit records anymore.
Perhaps even more rare than the hip-hop classic is the record that allows a throwaway skit to reveal all of its weaknesses. On "What Would Twista Do If He Wasn't Rappin'" (seriously), despite alternately boasting as a dickslinger/top cocaine chef/auto connoisseur/ganja enthusiast throughout the record, his other dream job ends up being motormouthed horse racing announcer. Nonetheless, it retains the goofy charm of his smash singles, which can't be said of anything else, as even the R. Kelly-assisted "Love Rehab" goes limp without the suspension of disbelief required by the surrounding context of Double Up. But it also sadly acknowledges the self-limitations of someone who has backed himself into being a human orchestra hit or cowbell, something that's only advisable using once or twice an album.
