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Mixtape Review: Welcome to D-Block Part 4 Guntalk and more guntalk from the Ruffryders camp. D-Block, the Yonkers-oriented collective that consists of The Lox and their mischievous friends, has pissed yet another mixtape into the ocean of street-only releases that has flooded the Hip-Hop landscape since 50 Cent sold twenty zillion records off the strength of boulevard buzz. The Lox, of course, are no newbies to this – they’ve been regulars on the circuit since before their ill-fated Bad Boy adventure with the glittery costumes. Shit, Jadakiss, Styles, Sheek and J-Hood are built for the mixtape arena; they can ejaculate 60 minutes of generic-yet-occasionally witty gun-blather without breaking a sweat. From the jump, the D-Blocksters start talking about the size of their guns. This is no surprise. Mixtape verses are almost always 16 bars of non-topical braggadocio and/or threats -- why should D-Block be asked to spin the world backwards on its axis and change the course of humanity forever? The infatuation with German hardware continues for the duration of the album. It’s only a mixtape, so asking for well-thought out concepts instead of reiterative boasts about handcannons is too hardy of a request. But still, such redundant chatter begs the question – is talking about ‘busting guns’ any different than talking about ‘ripping mics’? One of the criticisms of contemporary underground rap is that the cocksuckers never talk about anything other than “real Hip-Hop” or “wack emcees” or “microphones”. This is a complaint that, I, Douglas Passion, Esquire, bellow loudly from atop a teetering tower of boring promotional CDs submitted by indie artists who swear that rappin’ about rappin’ is akin to having decent content. This concept is a hock-choo spit in the face of every rapper who has ever talked about some real shit on the 2-inch tape. Ice Cube shrieked about sodomizing policemen and burning down Korean groceries. KRS-ONE screeched about the dangers of biting into a bacon double-cheeseburger and inheriting the stress of a Holstein. Chuck D railed against Arizona’s refusal to honor Martin Luther King. Mos Def made a song about how much he really enjoyed drinking New World water, for fucking out loud. So with those thoughts now floating around in your dome, let’s chop up the following claim: backpacker battle shit and excessive gun-talk are exactly the same. Real Hip-Hop, wack emcees and microphones versus Real Thug Shit, haters and Desert Eagles. And none of it means anything. This statement needs to be prefaced -- at the conceptual level, the “reporting the realities of the street/ghetto CNN” rationale has merit. There is no question that frank (or even exaggerated) incorporation of subjects such as violence, poverty, drug dealing, paternal abandonment and police brutality has made Hip-Hop the most important and sociologically-relevant form of current American music. But if Welcome to D-Block is an accurate depiction of life in the ‘hood, then Rambo is an insightful look into the horrors of warfare in Southeast Asia. This mixtape has as many interesting and important things to say as Rambo V. If we roll on twenties along the circuitous route back to my original premise, my argument is that a big enchilada of steaming guns, Columbian coke and brains-giving broads has no more intellectual nourishment than a corn tortilla stuffed with mics, stages and lyrical lyrics. No less either, if that’s any solace to fans of Calicos ‘n’ whale scales of dope. Read more articles in Arts » |
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