In any rap unit, it's likely that one charismatic MC will emerge as the star. A Tribe Called Quest had Q-Tip; The Lox had Jadakiss; The Pharcyde had Fatlip; P. Diddy's Da Band had Chopper. I don't think this happens because weak rappers align themselves with stronger ones or vice versa. Unlike members of rock bands, who each have a specific, unchallenged role to fulfill, each MC in a rap group has the same goals: to set the mic aflame, to move the crowd, and to do these things better than anyone else-- including members of their own group. As such, a level of competition enters the music, and in any competition, pecking orders are created. It's difficult to be the other guy-- what you lack in shine, you've got to make up with consistency and resolve.
But for contrast and balance, a good engine room is a vital component-- someone has to hold the base of the human pyramid steady while someone stands atop its apex. Wu-Tang Clan is the rare group forged from nothing but alpha-dogs but even among Shoalin's finest, one could argue that GZA and Masta Killa, with their cold, uninflected cadences and methodical lyrics, were the musical control group-- the steely, blank flatline by which the amplitudes of the other rappers' stylistic deviations might be gauged. But when the time comes for members of the group to record solo records and the second-tier MCs have to hold their own...well, it gets a little touch and go. You probably know Vordul Mega as the guy from Cannibal Ox who isn't Vast Aire. And while Vordul's The Revolution of Yung Havoks is a reasonably solid solo debut, it's probably not the record that's going to make you think of him any differently.
On the whole, there's nothing wrong with Vordul's album; it competently navigates the stoops, corners, and alleys of the post-Wu-Tang/Mobb Deep, majesty-in-miniature style of NYC hip-hop. But it does nothing to expand the map, staying well within those borders-- the weeded-out, unwaveringly smooth voice flowing over rigid drums, chilly string sections, and bombastic mafia-movie brass riffs; the crisply fractured samples; the aspiration toward gritty silkiness; the greater utility for head-nodding than for clubbing; the same story told and retold with different cribbed or invented slang. Vordul's rhymes are tight and confident, brimming with braggadocio and bolstered by shifting internal rhyming schemes. But without Vast Aire's more baroque, Pharoahe Monchian exhortations to distinguish them, they become a bit tedious before the record runs out-- especially as they doggedly cling to a metronomical mid-tempo meter. And while the stern, icy minimalism of the beats created by relative New York newcomers like Belief, Blockhead, Ruddy Rock, and The Prof would be fine grist for a rapper with more variation in his voice, they don't serve Vordul's utilitarian couplets and rhythmic regularity as well as the glitchy, thunderous IDM that enveloped Can Ox.
The Revolution of Yung Havoks is a hip-hop record for diehard hip-hop heads, but it fails to illuminate and render as viscerally as the 90s NYCentric micro-drama rap it emulates. Not that it's entirely without distinction: The energetic delivery and morphing homonyms of C Rayz Walz's cameo on "Spitamatic" enlivens Vordul's more amorphous turn. Belief's striated, punchy beat on "Blade" pairs with an unusually forceful Vordul verse to good effect. Jean Grae's talents seem wasted on the unexceptional chorus of "Believe", but Can Ox reunion track "Handle That" delivers, boasting a sufficiently haywire beat by Omega One and Vast Aire's harshly enunciated, conversationally toned verses. But for those of us without firsthand experience in holding down corners and running blocks, Vordul's debut lacks the narrative excitement and vivid, idiosyncratic detail necessary for our imaginations to fill in the blanks and render it anything more than a passing pleasure.
