After recording a staggering amount of verses, hooks, and hallucinogenic hiccups for three-plus years, Lil Wayne topped-out with 2008's Tha Carter III, a success on every level imaginable. And then he basically took 2009 off-- relatively speaking, at least. He still grossed about $42 million in worldwide ticket sales, released two stellar mixtapes (Hottest Nigga Under the Sun and No Ceilings), and was the subject of one of the more fascinating music documentaries in recent memory, The Carter. (I'm just going to pretend to ignore his forever-delayed dalliance into mook-rock, Rebirth, for the time being.)
But without new tracks and features hitting the web every week, it did seem like Wayne was M.I.A. He had spoiled us. And that missing feeling tugged harder when he pled guilty to attempted criminal possession of a weapon in October, a blunder that could put him in a New York jail for a year starting next month, when he's due to be sentenced. These dire circumstances loom over We Are Young Money, the first album from Wayne's cobbled-together hip-hop clique-- can his pupils come close to filling the creative vacuum left by their frighteningly prodigious mentor? Crazily enough, a couple of them just might be able to pull it off.
Though Puff Daddy and the Family's pioneering 1997 boomtime opus No Way Out still boasts the greatest number of contributing stars-- Biggie, Mase, Lil' Kim, the L.O.X.-- when it comes to the single-ego-fueled-rap-crew-album genre, most of the time, side players have little chance of becoming anything but. Consider the sorry track record of Eminem's D-12, 50 Cent's G-Unit, Ludacris's Disturbing Tha Peace, or Young Jeezy's U.S.D.A. Even Jay-Z's most overt clique record, 2000's The Dynasty: Roc La Familia couldn't bolster main contributors Beanie Sigel and Memphis Bleek to much past staunch regional kudos. Last decade, Cam'ron was one of the more successful kingpins, with the 2003 album Diplomatic Immunity spawning semi-careers for Juelz Santana and Jim Jones before Dipset forgot why they were great and imploded. And while We Are Young Money undoubtedly marks a career high for most of Wayne's crew, there are two contributors who have an excellent chance of jumping out from behind their teacher's shadow.
Drake is already there. After smashing with lover-not-fighter anthem "Best I Ever Had" and sussing out the logical continuation of Kanye West's 808s and Heartbreak sound with his So Far Gone mixtape last year, the singer/rapper's forthcoming major label debut LP is the uncontested Most Anticipated Hip-Hop Bow of 2010. And for good reason-- more than competitors like Kid Cudi and Wale, Drake has the sensitivity, wit, and commercial wherewithal to create the breakout album hip-hop fans longed for, and didn't get, in 2009. His encroaching stardom probably hurts We Are Young Money as an album-- he seems to be saving his signature Auto-Hooks for the solo LP-- but his four verses act as apt teasers, highlighted by a melodic and horny masterclass on "Every Girl" and an anchor lap on "Pass the Dutch", where he boasts: "I told you catch up, did you make a mil yet?/ I can't predict how many of 'em I can still get." Could be quite a few.
The other current YM bold face is 25-year-old Queens native Nicki Minaj. A vixen with outlandish curves and a flow that pings between valley girl sex goddess and cartoon thug, Minaj could probably carpet-bomb hip-hop mag covers no matter her skills on the mic. Thankfully, she's much more than a pair of boutique high heels and a dirty mouth-- in fact, with her five WAYM verses, Minaj is the most consistent (and consistently amusing) MC on the entire album. She's as outrageously raunchy as vintage Lil' Kim ("flow tighter than a dick in a butt") and as randomly hilarious as, um, Lil Wayne ("Switch my name, now I'm celebratin' Hanukkah/ Lewinsky, bitches, Young Money Monica/ I been hot since Hedgehog-- Sonic, the"). Like Drake, her 2009 mixtape, Beam Me Up Scotty, was a powerful opening salvo, and-- considering recent collaborations with Usher, Robin Thicke, and Mariah Carey-- Minaj has the potential to become the first new out-and-out female rap star in years.
In between appearances from Drake, Minaj, and Wayne-- who offers lukewarm verses and/or deranged-but-palatable Auto-Tune hooks on most tracks-- a slew of numbskulls, weirdos, and little kids sometimes make things interesting. On the bonehead front are Gudda Gudda, Mack Maine, and onetime Dipset pal Jae Millz, who show up a lot but have comically little to say. (Sample Mack Maine brain fizzle: "We on some other shit/ They on the same shit/ I'm Mack Maine/ I'm Mack Maine, bitch!") There's an awful singer (Atlanta-based Shannell), an awkward emo refugee (Tyga, who's the cousin of Gym Class Heroes leader Travis McCoy), and a couple of screechy voiced teens whose contributions are mercifully kept to a minimum. Along with its top tier talents, what keeps WAYM from slogging along is a stylistic diversity and a selection of beats that sometimes borders on phenomenal.
Unlike most rap crews, YM features artists from all across the continent and not just one regional enclave, so even when the lesser lights take over, at least they don't sound exactly like each other. Meanwhile, upstart producers Chase N. Cashe and Kane Beatz keep things moving sonically, whether it's CNC's baroque, Grizzly Bear-esque (!) beat for "New Shit" or Beatz's bright and haughty instrumental for the hit "Bedrock", which wouldn't sound out of place on a Wes Anderson hip-hop movie score (not to say that should ever exist, necessarily). But reliable Southern stalwart David Banner takes best beat honors with his absolutely-evil subwoofer mulcher "Streets Is Watchin'". It's a shining moment from an album that signals hope for Lil Wayne's collective enterprise even during his imminent state-sanctioned breather.
