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Album Review: Paul Wall's The People's Champ

All candypaint and icy grill, Paul makes it easy to overlook his flaws.

by C. S. | 2005.10.16

Until emcees from New York, Jersey and Philly inevitably recharge their respective batteries and emerge from hibernation cocksure and full of dander, we’re obliged to pay attention to antics of Dirty South denizens. From Ying Yang Twins to Young Jeezy, it’s old news that the region provided most of the since-departed summer’s hottest joints. Attempting to keep the torch lit for this fall is Paul Wall, who, after, stealing the show on the Mike Jones’ anthem “Still Tippin”, dropped his first major release, humbly entitled The People’s Champ. And there’s some populism here: instead of threatening to send hot slugs through you, Paul just wants to cheese through his iced-out grill and go cruising for boppers.

Bisected into two disks, The People’s Champ is half original songs and half “chopped and screwed” remixes of those recordings. Hazily nodding to screw music while crippled off lean may be a celebrated Houston pastime, but to the uninitiated, it’s pretty much slowed down. Thus, without a blood transfusion of codeine and soda, Paul’s second disk is more or less unlistenable, save the spectacularly repugnant occurrence of hearing Freeway’s frantic yelp in slow-motion. Go ahead, share the experience with friends.

Thankfully, the album is substantially better in regular speed. And that includes Free, whose anxiety-ridden delivery offers a welcome departure on an album of slow and melodic songs. In general, Paul wasn’t stingy with the guest appearances; heavyweights such as Lil Wayne, T.I., Bun B and Kanye West add excitement and are utilized to their particular strengths. Weezy and Bun slaughter their sixteens. Kanyeezy pitches in some dope story telling and T.I. brings expected swagger.

But Wall does go for delf. On “Internet Going Nuts”, he explains his modus operandi for meeting special ladies, a courtship ritual that includes cruising chatrooms and message boards seeking victims to dick down. “Sippin’ the Barre” could be kissing cousins to his summertime banger “Sittin Sideways”, but it contains so many Southern colloquialisms and so much H-Town slang that it is all but undecipherable to East Coast ears. The experience is similar to watching a great boxing match on the Spanish-speaking television station Telamundo – despite only catching every third word, the pugilism is memorable. This is not a unique experience on /i>.

Credit his good ol’ boy good nature, but Paul manages to turn flawed songs into keepers pretty frequently. On the sentimental love song “Girl”, Paul sets down his pimp cup and pleads for his woman not to leave him. Imploring her to ignore her filthy friends and their innuendo about his cheating ways, he explains that he’s simply busy hustling to make a better life for them. Equip with a syrupy R&B hook, a song like this would seem cheesy if attempted by those thuggish crooners from G-Unit -- but somehow you overlook the musical sins of Paul Wall. Perhaps he’s granted some brownie points because he doesn’t boast about bucking shots, pedaling crack and generally being hardest mutherfucker alive. When Paul explores his vulnerable side, it doesn’t reek of cheap manipulation – if only because he hasn’t spent the whole album trying to convince you he don’t love these hoes. He does, however, spout a few cringe-worthy punchlines (“Higher than an astronaut”, “more cookies than Snackwells”).

Whether due to his talent or his humility, it’s easy to overlook Paul’s flaws and still enjoy the music. It must be the rational for red states’ adoration of bumbling imbecile George Bush: they just like him. If the People’s Champ was a boxer, he would be Evander Holyfield – while not particularly blessed with tremendous skill, he works hard at his craft. Paul may have to spend more time in the gym refining his skill, but it’s damn hard to root against him.

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