Features | Lists
Top 50 Albums 2009
By The Staff
10 :: Sunset Rubdown
Dragonslayer
(Jagjaguwar)
Lindsay Zoladz
9 :: OOIOO
Armonico Hewa
(Avex/Thrill Jockey)
Conrad Amenta
8 :: Grizzly Bear
Veckatimest
(Warp)
Clayton Purdom
7 :: Tim Hecker
An Imaginary Country
(Kranky)
Dom Sinacola
6 :: Burial + Four Tet
Moth/Wolf Cub Split 12"
(Text)
George Bass
5 :: A Sunny Day in Glasgow
Ashes Grammar
(Mis Ojos Discos)
Colin McGowan
4 :: Animal Collective
Merriweather Post Pavilion
(Domino)
Joel Elliott
3 :: DOOM
Born Like This
(Lex)
Alan Baban
2 :: Phoenix
Wolfgang Amadeus Phoenix
(V2/Loyauté)
David Ritter
1. Raekwon
Only Built 4 Cuban Linx 2
(EMI)
If you had told me a year ago that Raekwon’s Only Built 4 Cuban Linx 2 would be the Glow’s AOTY, I could only have assumed that it would be a record which exceeded all our expectations, that defied the very impossibility of a rap “sequel” being great, that maybe even was almost as good as the original. Well, here we are now, I’m writing this #1 blurb, and none of that is exactly true. Firstly, our expectations haven’t been “exceeded” so much as met, but they’ve been met in a way that is so amicable and deeply satisfying, it’s like Raekwon knows what we truly need from him as opposed to whatever neo-Wu shit we may’ve thought we wanted. And, really, the fact that this record doesn’t disappoint is in itself a vault over grounded expectations. Secondly, history’s got my back on the impossibility of good rap sequels: don’t let the “II” on Bizarre Ride (1992) fool ya; come forget The Gift & the Curse (2002) with me. Raekwon eludes that impasse by virtue of OB4CL2 not being whatever it is a rap sequel is supposed to be. It’s not a continuation of narrative or a trifle cash-in; it’s the same narrative and that’s not expected to make bank. Dramatis personae enter and exeunt, lights change, but the Chef’s word remains constant, resolute, soliloquy trill. So, no, OB4CL2 isn’t better or as good or almost as good as OB4CL. But for all the differences in production and references, the unspeakable beauty of OB4CL2 is that (thirdly, by the way) it speaks in OB4CL tongue to the unspeakable beauty of OB4CL, of Wu-Tang Clan, of 1995, of an origin to music that is all that music needs. It’s about something deep within hip-hop that’s been crystallized, made immutable.
The question begged is “what does it matter?” 2009 screams for us to snap out of it, to realize that this was the year of Lady Gaga, of “Right Round” and “Birthday Sex,” of Jon minus Kate divided by kids, of a thousand other tawdry “indiscretions” and “transgressions” piled to the heavens, steaming rank fumes all over this goodness-starved nation, this land which can (on a populist level, at least) only seem to find solace from recession in the arms of inanity and the publicized miseries of others and “I’ma let you finish” memes. I do it, too, and it might be killing me; Obama’s face already feels like a daydream. Utter shite itself has become our warmth and sustenance. Even esteemed colleague Clay loves that Drake mixtape [http://web.archive.org/web/20100201175602/http://www.cokemachineglow.com/record_review/4974/drake-sofargone-2009] and that Soulja Boy single [http://web.archive.org/web/20100201175602/http://www.cokemachineglow.com/feature/5000/award-beaniesigel] and, the thing is, he is quite correct in doing so. These are the documents of our times; wittingly and unwittingly, they reflect who we are and the state we find ourselves in and the things we do to distract ourselves. How could any of us not respond with some acceptance of such truth, regardless of how sad or ironic or fucking stupid (Soulja: “Took a look in the mirror and said ‘what’s up?’”) it is?
Except that OB4CL2 has a better way. Raekwon, Ghostface, and company don’t compose a document “of our times” but a document that is both outside and within those times, lacing our present into the fabric of a bigger story that started with “catch the blast of a hype verse / my glock bursts, leave in a hearse, I did worse.” It doesn’t separate itself from the shit-pile; no, it surveys it all, savagely roots up the most foundational deposits of festering excrement, hurls some at us (one need look no further than Ghostface’s appalling verse on “Gihad”), and yet through it all it remains untainted. Raekwon’s latest testament to the mettle he and his comrades eat for breakfast bears an uncompromising philosophy, a wit that knows no stymie, and an artistry that coasts on friction-free momentum through realms of the highest order—a hallowed place where zeitgeist and/or good looks aren’t enough to gain entry, not even when they openly display the burdens that come in tow. Sorry, Drake. It feels too natural, the way the same street rap Raekwon has always executed with such casual precision suddenly doubles as the rap that most passionately, sweepingly, and chillingly dissects the pithy desperation of 2009. Vivid jeremiad “Cold Outside” could have been put to tape a decade ago but it makes as much sense now as it ever would have then. And the rub of grit also renders the record’s sound atemporal: the drums on “Penitentiary” would be hard in the Stone Age and they’ll be hard in 3046. OB4CL2 doesn’t even have to draw parallels; it just draws blood from the heart of Wu-Tang.
RZA only produces a few tracks but the fingerprints of his M.O. are conspicuous even as Raekwon stays, triumphantly inert, within his own little wheelhouse; it’s as if the Chef faithfully scrutinized the Prince’s original ink-and-parchment manuscript for the Wu-Tang Manual and then used its pages to, like, roll blunts and chop crack. Which is the same thing he did on OB4CL, really, before the Wu-Tang Manual was even published. In fact, Wu-Tang as viewed through the finder of OB4CL2 is a script with no real beginning, no climax, no denouement. It becomes a plateau of rising action in endless cycle—in one vicious, dirty, idyllic loop that lasts all of eight seconds, no matter how many strings RZA might now choose to put on top. But what keeps OB4CL2 from sub-genre insularity (Wu is a sub-genre, you understand) is how it envelops the rest of a revered breed of hip-hop; everything here reeks of Ol Dirty’s memory but how much more haunting is it that he’s eulogized over a Dilla beat (“Ason Jones”)? Or can Dilla even be dead when tracks like “House of Flying Daggers” and “10 Bricks” resound so vibrantly and indelibly? On this meta-trend, metaphysical, meta-time stage Ghostface and Method Man sound absolutely invigorated while non-Wu others find an opportunity to affirm the old holding patterns we cherish: Slick Rick tells stories; Beanie Sigel raps gorgeous sad shit about prison and getting old; Jadakiss breathes. This is where all that wonderful stuff belongs eternally, like a veritable Nexus [http://web.archive.org/web/20100201175602/http://memory-alpha.org/en/wiki/Nexus] for ’90s rap. Even West Coast grandpappy Dr. Dre and senile elder statesman Busta Rhymes can’t escape the tinge of old/new relevance, acquired in what must feel like the former life of “About Me.” So, God bless you, Chef, for forcing the axiom to ring true while extending that truth’s reach: Wu-Tang is Forever…and as long as Wu-Tang lives, so does raw hip-hop.