Though laughter has always been part of Wiz Khalifa’s image, it doesn’t come naturally to him. His catchphrase is a forced “a-ha-ha-ha”—not an actual laugh but the phonetic pronunciation of one, recited like an actor confusing a script’s cue to chuckle for the word “chuckle.” Like so much about Khalifa’s rapping, it signifies fun without delivering it, or even demonstrating any real understanding of what it’s like to experience fun. He laughs not out of joy but obligation.
Khalifa’s wooden laugh might be less conspicuous coming from a rapper who at least attempted a punchline from time to time, but on his recent studio albums, especially, Khalifa hasn’t been in a joking mood, nor has he felt the slightest obligation to disguise how little he’s enjoying himself. There are worse rappers on the charts, but none who take so little pleasure in their own music: Between his nagging voice, rote rhymes, and the grueling, clock-punching nature of their delivery, he exudes all the enthusiasm of a DMV clerk. Each of his albums, then, has been an elaborate workaround, a cover-up for the vacuum of charisma somehow cast, despite his apparent resentment, as their star attraction, with the industry’s best-paid songwriters, producers, and ringers propping up the lethargic rapper like the corpse from Weekend at Bernie’s, hoping the party disguises its lifeless host.
Given Khalifa’s dismal track record with official albums, the best thing Laugh Now, Fly Later has going for it is that it isn’t one. It’s a label-sanctioned mixtape, a stopgap to tide fans over until his upcoming Rolling Papers 2, so it’s freed from any commercial expectations. That means no cringingly unromantic R&B songs, no shameless Fast and the Furious tie-ins, and no illusions of revealing the “real” Wiz Khalifa (a construct that, to judge from 2016’s Khalifa, is somehow even duller than his one-dimensional stoner persona). Instead, for a relatively lean, stakes-free 10 songs, Khalifa simply riffs on his only meaningful muse, weed, with a level of buy-in that he rarely grants his commercial projects.
He displays flashes of the old, effortless charm that he long ago began to conflate with plain apathy, spitting a pair of showy verses over the bottom-heavy G-funk of “Long Way to Go” and generating actual heat on “City of Steel,” one of several sumptuous 1970s soul homages. On “Letterman” he even holds his own over a trap beat, usually one of the weakest of his many weak spots, revving himself up over some flatteringly cavernous production from 808 Mafia. This is the Wiz Khalifa the world assumed it was signing up for after Kush & OJ, a performer who raps without sounding like he’s struggling to decipher whatever sweat-blurred lyrics he jotted on his palm in a smoky haze the night before.
As much of a relief as it is to hear it again, however, Khalifa’s A-game isn’t elite enough to carry an entire project on its own, and while Laugh Now is relatively misstep-free, its highs are modest. At times the project begs for a little label interference: a few undeniable hooks, or at least a couple of cameos to keep things interesting (Casey Veggies is Laugh Now’s lone guest, and although his leadoff verse on the opener “Royal Highness” sends off the mixtape on a running start, it also sets a bar the rest of the tape rarely lives up to). Wiz Khalifa albums are tradeoffs: We tolerate the low energy and transparent cynicism in exchange for an occasional “Black and Yellow” or “We Dem Boyz.” Laugh Now, doesn’t have one.
Midway through “City of Steel,” Khalifa stops rapping and shares one of those state-of-myself fireside chats rappers often include on mixtapes previewing big albums, trying to drum up excitement for Rolling Papers 2. “Been working on that motherfucker for three years now,” Khalifa says. “It’s finally done, and it’s gonna be worth it, too.” If Khalifa can muster this mixtape’s caliber of rapping on that album’s blockbuster material, maybe it could be. Considering his history of delivering only when it doesn’t count, though, smart money says otherwise.
