Pulse.ph : MUSIC + CULTURE
May 28th, 2007
May 24th, 2007
This isn’t Silent Alarm part 2. Bloc Party’s sophomore effort is a darker, less instantly likable collection of songs that might get you wondering about second album syndrome during your first listen. Read more…
May 15th, 2007
Hey, check it, J.Lo can sing. Seriously. Here’s an A-list celebrity who’s starred in dramas, thrillers, and some of the funniest romantic comedies ever (and the one inevitable flop), is famous for her visually stimulating music videos and notorious for her erratic civil status. With everyone focused on her dancing and her relationships, her singing would seem like a minor item. Which is why it surprised everyone when Jennifer Lopez came on American Idol to coach the AI hopefuls on Latin night. I know, isn’t it weird to see J.Lo as a coach on a singing contest? But she was actually an asset to that show, giving substantial comments and tips to the contestants that they actually listened to and which actually enhanced their singing. Case in point: Sanjaya’s much improved turn that week, singing “Besame Mucho.” Obviously one who took her own advice beforehand, Lopez sounds dreamy on her latest album, Como Ama Una Mujer. Como Ama Una Mujer is, supposedly, the album Lopez has always wanted to record. Yes, she’s always wanted to record a Spanish-language album, but it’s not just a matter of language, the music is what constitutes the real departure here. The old “Jenny from the block, yo” feel is a thing of the past; instead of dancing along automatically, we are made to sit and listen for a change. This is what happens when you marry the King of Salsa. I don’t understand what she’s singing about, but I do notice that she seems to experience what she’s singing more. There’s a wealth of feeling in this album, more than in all her previous albums put together. It makes sense; she is singing in her original language, after all. (Then again, I could just be imagining all that; romantic foreign languages will sound emotional anyway.) I like her most on the romantic ballads—she actually has two kinds of ballads, first the anguished kind that you might hear in Mexican telenovelas or Robert Rodriguez films, and secondly the tender loving kind that aren’t as intense but which you get to appreciate more. No, I can’t say for sure that tender love is the topic in songs like “Tu” and the title track, but I do feel the sincerity and emotion. I’m guessing old fans might not like this album as much either because they won’t understand it or they can’t really dance to it (although you can bust some moves to “Que Hiciste†and “Te Voy a Quererâ€), or both. That would be such a shame, though. When our idols grow, we ought to grow with them. When they finally find themselves, we ought to celebrate. In whatever language we desire.
April 26th, 2007
Screenwriter Racquel Villavicencio—co-scripter of Batch ’81 and Kisapmata—relates the experience of watching Lav Diaz’s 10-hour opus Ebolusyon at the Toronto film Festival. In keeping with the director’s aesthetic, a particular shot of one of the characters walking had been going on for almost half-an-hour, so she decided to get a snack. After eating and stretching her legs a bit (the film was already pushing its third hour), she went back in. On the screen, the same character was still walking—the same shot, the same take. Strangely enough, this anecdote springs to mind as one listens to the tracks that make up Brownman Revival’s second album, Ayos Din. Not to compare Diaz’s meditation on the Filipino diaspora to an album of pop reggae, but the experience seems similar in eliciting a sense of exasperation. Despite the clicking of track numbers on the counter and the gaps in-between, the songs aren’t that much different from each other, fitting indistinctly into the monolith grind of the album. One is almost tempted to call it a concept album—it’s boring enough, at the very least. However, unlike Diaz’s films, the boredom doesn’t yield any rewards. Much like its predecessor, Brownman’s follow-up to their sleeper hit Steady Lang aspires to nothing more than faux reggae. Most damning and explicit proof of this is that for reggae the prevailing groove on Ayos Din is insipid and safe: it’s almost reggae by rote. Not even the presence of guest musicians such RJ Jacinto and Rico J. Puno becomes noticeable above the torpor of the arrangements and production of the album. If not for the picture at the back, you wouldn’t think the band had a horn section; their parts sound as if they were played on a synthesizer. It’s that soulless. Perhaps the greatest irony would be that for a form of music whose chief aim is to promote good vibes, nothing but contempt is aroused while listening to Brownman Revival. Even more peculiar is that it only reinforces the notion that only white musicians have so far kept reggae interesting since Bob Marley died. In Asia, there’s been interesting groups coming from Japan but this may be due to novelty. It’s too early to tell. For all our affinity for the music and despite the obvious talents of veterans such as Spy and the former Cocojam, it’s arguable that the local scene has yet to produce a definitive recording in the genre. Brownman Revival’s Ayos Din comes nowhere near that goal, and—as the complacency suggested in their album title makes apparent—it didn’t even occur to them to try.
April 18th, 2007
Pop in Joss Stone’s new album Introducing Joss Stone and the familiar voice of Vinnie Jones kicks in, delivering one of his standard monologues in pretty much the same manner as his voice-overs in Guy Ritchie flicks like Snatch and Lock, Stock, and Two Smoking Barrels: “You see, I know change, I see change, I embody change. The truth is, you gotta have balls to change.†The middle-aged villain’s menacing and broken baritone sounds like a good omen of things to come: soul darling Joss Stone, who frankly doesn’t need much changing, is changing nonetheless. A mere sixteen year-old when she released her debut single “Fell in Love with a Boy†(from Soul Sessions) in 2003, Stone’s credibility was initially a gray area. She looked like the pretty Janis Joplin, sun-child type: occasionally barefoot, a blindingly blonde blonde. However, the single in question was a cover of a song by a notorious indie duo (The White Stripes’ “Fell in Love with a Girlâ€). People didn’t hurriedly put her under the “cool†file; after all, she R&B-fied a bare-ass punk song. But wait, if you look closely, she’s being backed by ultra-cool The Roots. Hmm. A very curious affair indeed, and she toppled people like Avril Lavigne in the UK female charts. Her sophomore release, Mind, Body & Soul, fared well, too. In Introducing Joss Stone, her third LP, Joss proves that she—as Vinnie Jones put it—has “the balls to change.†The soul ante is upped further, and we see (and hear about) more love, more affection, and more nasty, spanking sex. After all, Joss is no longer sixteen (she just turned twenty this April), and she now has free reign to seek out all the sweet, sweet lovin’ she can get. Putting on the “wild child†guise this time—with a head of beautiful locks of burning red—the soul songstress is putting screaming quotation marks around “change.†“Tell Me ‘Bout It,†the debut single, has an infectious beat reminiscent of Vegas-era gospel (read: Elvis Presley in something like “A Little Less Conversationâ€). As on the rest of the tracks, Stone splits writing credits, lending her overly specific desires to the otherwise run-of-the-mill R&B tune: “I need a little lovin’ at least two times a day.†She also puts forward the dare of the lifetime: “If the feeling’s real, let’s seal the deal.†(Dream girlfriend? Maybe so.) Other similar libido-infested numbers include “Headturner,†which features a passage or two from soulman Otis Redding’s “Respect,†but with a neo-feminist twist, as Stone urges the faceless man to “feel my heels; I’m walking all over you.†Another is “Tell Me What We’re Gonna Do Now,†featuring Common on rhymes (or, in cruder terms, “requisite guy†role), an updated old-school beat-box number for the new generation, and where, also, the twenty-year-old will perhaps threaten the bejesus out of the likes of the criminally unimaginative Beyoncé Knowles. However, the best numbers off Introducing Joss Stone have to be “Put Your Hands on Me†and “Music†(not to be confused with Madonna’s disgraceful single). The former features beats from honorary Beastie Boy Mix Master Mike; the latter has rhymes from none other than Lauryn Hill, providing great cutting lines like: “Audio scenery, electric love, and rhythmic symmetry; intangible, invisible, but undeniable.†Her buddy Wyclef Jean makes it to the writing and arranging credits, too. In the autobiography department, meanwhile, speculations about Stone’s failed relationship with Beau Dozier will be stoked further. There is no meanness, however, and we see a mature, barely-out-of-her-teens girl who chooses to bury her head in music rather than mope in her room on the phone with a girl-friend. Traces of this are evident in tracks like “Girl They Won’t Believe It,†a Dreamgirls-worthy cut where she declares that she “found some sweet in the bitters of life†and that all she needs is “a kiss from a melody.†Also, in “Music (Outro),†she suggests that “…music’s my Mr. Right, and I know this love will love me right.†Moreover, softness of the non-porno variety (ha ha) is not lacking in Introducing…, as proven by ballads like “Bruised But Not Broken†and “What Were We Thinking?†All in all, Joss Stone’s third outing is not a mere parade of “name†artists and producers. It is an anachronistic collage of soul (often sexed up, but that’s beside the point) that employs Odelay-pattern sampling and Hello, Nasty-type beats. Not very original in general terms, but she really is something special. I don’t listen to this kind of thing at all (I absolutely loathe that awful R&B rat-pack of Knowleses and Aguileras and whoever-else), but I’m gladly making an exception for Stone. She’s a killer.
March 26th, 2007
Finally, after 11 years, A Fire Inside have achieved what every mainstream rock band strives for: a new album of putrid songs, diametrically opposed to their original sound, which has nevertheless gone gold, thanks in large part to the five wonderful letters T, R, E, N and D. Oh, joy for Billboard! We all remember Sepultura going the same way sometime in the late 90s, when Max Cavalera started poncing around, in dreadlocks and a tracksuit, to the palm-muted grooves and guitar squeals Korn had earlier made famous. Ditto AFI, who, in the great tradition of music lemmings, have completely dumped the legacy of five (Sing the Sorrow not counted) unique, staccato-driven hardcore albums for a sound indistinguishable from the rest of the snivelcore Cub Scout troupe. With (floppy-hairstyled) heads held high, they have spurned the lead of contemporaries Goldfinger and Bad Religion, who have evolved rather than soured, to perpetrate the very commendable example of old farts squeezing themselves into a fad that’s past its prime anyhow. And they even have a new logo. Gone are the cartoony versions AFI used when their album covers still evoked Quentin Tarantino or Pinoy Horror Komiks. What they have now is a sleek little acronym that evokes Pinoy TV Shopping. Oh, joy for members of its fan club, Despair Faction! Too bad August is still far off, otherwise we’d all be sobbing under the rain while giving each other hugs. (By the way, in the interests of consistency and euphony, vocalist Davey should now change his surname from Havok to Crybaby. No looking back, boys.) The song “Kill Caustic†has been strategically situated at the start of the track list, to kill whatever open-mindedness you might have reserved for the album. And somehow the record still manages to go downhill from there. “Miss Murder†sounds like AFI stepping into Green Day territory, which is not surprising with Jerry Finn around (he mixed most of Green Day’s output, and was responsible for the aural atrocity that was Blink-182). “Summer Shudder†would’ve been fun, if it didn’t sound like 50 other songs playing at any given time on the iPods of kids wearing Drive-Thru records t-shirts. “The Interview†is a joke. “37mm†makes one nostalgic for the huge patok jeeps plying the Antipolo-Pasig route. And “Kiss and Control†boasts nasal vocals at the evolutionary brink. Okay, okay. There are exceptions. “Love Like Winter†is admirably infused with synths. “Affliction†sounds old, and will appeal most to longstanding fans. And “The Missing Frame†has almost post-punk touches. You get the sense that the band’s former integrity and originality are unintentionally showing, much like underwear waistbands, when listening to these tracks. But that fact makes this project a whole lot worse, doesn’t it? Obviously a concept album about hibernating through the flux of time and relationships, AFI in Decemberunderground have unfortunately missed the best kind of overwinter: quiet and unseen, and with the slight chance of multiple organ failure due to atrophy.
March 15th, 2007
I’m finding Norah Jones’ new album, Not Too Late, very relevant at the moment, especially with reminders of the upcoming elections blaring left and right during commutes to and from work. They’re inescapable, really. While the new Norah Jones CD is an appreciated respite from the toils of daily life, she has a song on the album, “My Dear Country,” that compels you to think of your senatorial choices for a bit. It’s not what you expect from sweet-voiced Norah Jones, but it’s well done and in no way contrived. She seems to be as much in her element singing about the deterioration of the American government as she is compelling you to come away with her. The rest of the album is as equally well written. Norah Jones has definitely grown as a songwriter and her thoughts are as mesmerizing as her famous voice. She tells stories both ominous (In a boat that’s built of sticks and hay/We drifted from the shore/with a captain who’s too proud to say/That he dropped the oar – “Sinking Soon”) and lovely (Oops! I hit my elbow on the doorknob/It’s right there/It’s by the bed, next to my head/But I don’t care… – “Little Room”). She has a way with words, and seems to enjoy injecting the most bittersweet of turnarounds, as in “Thinking About You,” which goes You hold my hand, but do you really need me? Sometimes, the title of the song is ironically completely different from what the song is about, such as “The Sun Doesn’t Like You,” which is actually pretty hopeful, and “Broken,” about homeless people being the sweetest thing I have ever seen… Most of the time, the mood of the music itself reflects what’s in the song, such as “Rosie’s Lullabye,” which does extend comfort and solace, and “Not My Friend,” which somehow sounds menacing without having to growl or play loud chords. A good deal of the songs on the album have that country-ish feel, which shows the influence of Willie Nelson and her work with her side band, the Little Willies. Of course, it’s not entirely country, more a fusion of country and jazz, particularly on “Until the End,” “Wake Me Up” and “Be My Somebody.” And the jazz in the album is still enough to remind us of who Norah Jones is, who she was when we first fell in love with her, and why we love her still. I have to admit, this album grew on me. It was good at first listen, but it gets better over time. For someone who made her name with covers of jazz standards and three original songs she had co-written with other people, she has stepped out of her comfort zone and adequately spread her wings, exposing more brilliance than we ever expected. And we did expect a lot, didn’t we?
March 6th, 2007
Blue Monsoon opens delicately with a gentle drizzle of notes and light drum taps before the title track lets loose a more persistent shower of sound—not at all torrential, but more like a cascading fountain of audible lemonade refreshing your ears. “Blue Monsoon†is a beautiful song that makes you feel like it is a sunny Sunday, even while Sound vocalist Sach Castillo sings about being blue on a rainy day and dreaming “of times of love and sunshine, when everyday was Sunday.†Or rather, it sounds like a welcome cloudburst on a hot, lazy Sunday afternoon. Definitely deserving as the title track, it also serves well as the album’s first song—its best foot put forward, so to speak. I had greatly enjoyed the band’s debut album, bossa Manila, and “Blue Monsoon†kind of greeted me in a familiar way, as if it could still be part of that first release. The album itself does echo bossa Manila in some ways. First of all, both have title tracks which also serve as opening songs, and both title tracks are also reprised as album closers. Both albums also have an instrumental track, and both have a song dedicated to Manila. The perspective of the young urban Pinoy is also a recurring characteristic of this album, much as it is of the first. Which leads me to the difficult part about writing this review: having, inevitably, to weigh the second album against its predecessor. Understand that I only got my copy of bossa Manila last year (the album was released several years ago), and listening to Blue Monsoon now is a bit similar to dating a perfectly charming new guy when I have not yet gotten over that other beautiful, brilliant bastard. Sound still plays their own brand of acid jazz (pogi jazz, some lovingly call it), but there are noticeable differences in the way the songs are written and played. For one thing, there seems to be a bit more directness to Blue Monsoon, from the lyrics to the way the band members confidently attack their respective parts in the songs, to the added diversity in the arrangements. Even the percussions sound louder and more upfront. Also, a greater sense of disenchantment pervades the album; more so than in bossa Manila. Just take last line from the song ‘Bagong Siglo:’ pusong nasawi namulat sa katotohanang mapait at di mapakali nasaan na ang langit? Generally, the songs in Blue Monsoon come from a more mature, more straightforward, however jaded perspective. They sound like the songs of grown men, as opposed to the slightly more hopeful tones of the young urbanites of bossa Manila. However, I think that in the process of maturing, their lyrics shed some of the poetry, and their music, some of its raw charm. Or maybe I just miss starry-eyed songs like “Underwater Dub†and “Space Samba†from the first album. Aside from the title track, my top picks the album are “Bagong Siglo,†“Peligro,†and “Turpentine.†The latter, which is about the suicide of a loved one, really sticks out because of its very slow, very jazzy composition that somehow suits its sad, dark and very personal subject matter. ‘Di Na Natuto’ and ‘Let’s Get It Back’ are likewise favorites—the first, for its worthy re-arrangement of a classic song (APO a la Sound); and the latter, because it really captures the energy of the band as a live act, and while being mostly an instrumental jam, is more like a complete song rather than a filler. On the other hand, I found “The Trouble With Me†and “Idlip†to be a couple of odd pieces that that would have served better as breathers anywhere between the four consecutive Tagalog songs (“Madaling Araw,†“Bagong Siglo,†“Maynila,†and “Peligroâ€) that were a little too much to listen to in that order. The problem with these four songs is not the Tagalog lyrics, but the amount of energy they seem to require for the listener to get through all four. And while they don’t necessarily sound the same, the song “Maynila,†for instance, would have stood out better if not flanked by stronger songs like “Bagong Siglo†and “Peligro.†The four or five other songs, while all good, just did not hit me with strong enough impressions, I guess. In any case, the best songs I have mentioned are all reason enough to spend your P260 on this album, not to mention getting the nicely designed sleeve and really artsy free wallpapers designed by different artists. Call me sentimental, but I would have given bossa Manila a nine—the highest I would safely rate anything. Blue Monsoon, though, comes pretty close to that.
March 2nd, 2007
GINILING FESTIVAL: THE REVENGE OF THE CRASS TEST DUMMIES
Giniling Festival—the well-loved metalhead pranksters who are as much about playing music as they are about merrymaking—has finally put out their debut, the self-titled Giniling Festival, under Terno Recordings. The February 2 launch was hosted by prime prankster Tado and featured musical performances by Johnny Alegre and Affinity, Top Junk, and Puny Earthlings, as well as Terno label-mates Up Dharma Down and Radioactive Sago Project (who also released their much-anticipated follow-up LP, middle of last month). Paramita, another fellow Terno act, was scheduled to play but wasn’t able to, though some of its members still graced the affair. The full-capacity Freedom Bar crowd was also treated to an appearance by long-time Giniling gigging buddies Grasspipe, where present drummer Monpi Lopez came from. Pulse.ph was able to talk to singer-jokester Dyedye Santos and guitarist Anto Garcellano amid throngs of expectant fans, members of the rock press, fellow musicians, and friends. “On the record, dapat, ano pa ‘to, eh, two years ago,” Santos recounted, making a reference to the life-turning moment when they joined Toti Dalmacion’s stable. The singer had no qualms about the delay, though, as he and the rest of the band are more than happy with the present state of affairs. “Hina-handle [ni Toti] nang maayos ‘yung mga banda, with integrity,” he noted, to which his guitarist gamely seconded: “Hindi nila pinapaki-alaman ‘yung, ano, kung ano’ng gusto niyo.” In the past, the band, in their own admission, pretty much leaned on the success of three of their live numbers: the Bioman theme-inspired “Psycho,” the loser anthem “Bano,” as well as the Tenacious D-esque mock-metal number “Ang Hari ng Metal” (“Ang hari ng metal ay hindi nagsusuklay; ang hari ng metal ay hindi gumagamit ng pinggan.”) Well, what do you know, the band’s got an album now. Asked by Pulse.ph about how they’d sell the CD to people who have not heard of the band yet, Dyedye had this to offer: “It’s a motherfucker. It’s Sodom and Gomorrah. That’s how I would like people to describe it.” The scatologically verbose singer further elaborated, “Kasi, we’re pissed off at a lot of stuff, ta’s inipon namin ‘yung ihi namin sa pantog namin for three years—‘yung iba, ‘linabas namin, ta’s tinikman uli namin para malaman namin ‘yung galit namin; inis namin sa mga bagay—ta’s ‘yun, ‘linabas namin nang sabay-sabay ‘yung ihi namin ng three years, kasi we’re pissed off at a lot of stuff.” Anto self-effacingly added, “Bili kayo ng basura!” Now, if you were these guys’ parents, wouldn’t you balk at these devilish wisecracks? Ha-ha. The thing is, crass is the last thing that Giniling Festival aims to be. Yes, the evidence may tell us otherwise, but fans and critics alike have seen a social-realist strain in the band’s off-center lyrics. “Mas satirical ‘yung dating,” Garcellano, who himself penned the vitriolic autobiographical song “Holdap (The Carlos Antonio Garcellano Story),” shared. Other arguably socially-aware cuts include “Dodo” (which states the band’s resolute anti-breast implants stance) and “McJolly” (which parodies the great local fastfood wars). Straight-faced comedy, however, remains the band’s choice weapon. “‘Yung comedy sa ‘kin, parang ano, eh, ano ba mas nakakatawa: ‘yung babaeng nadulas sa [balat ng] saging, o lalake’ng ginagahasa ng pagong?” I’m gonna have to go with the inter-species genetic splicing thing. “‘Di ba? ‘Yung mas morbid,” Dyedye confirmed. Comparisons with comic musical acts are almost inevitable, and, even prior to this momentous night, names like Parokya ni Edgar and Kamikazee have been casually thrown around since day one. The boys, however, are unperturbed. Anto thought out loud, “Hindi siya masamang bagay, kasi magaling din naman sila, eh, so, parang, ‘yun nga, in-a-idol namin sila. So, para ma-compare sa kanila, honor na para sa ‘kin.” The association isn’t always flattering, though. On at least a few instances, they have been jeered at as being gaya-gaya or jologs (the latter, I maintain, is not really a demeaning tag). The difference—trust me—is worth probing and discovering yourself. While Chito Miranda and company may remain being jangly troubadours, and while the hit band behind “Narda” has decided to go the general emo route, Dyedye, Anto, Monpi, guitarist Jebs Mangahas, and bassist Lec Cruz are going decidedly metal (yes, metal). In most songs, vague stabs at System of a Down and Iron Maiden (not as technical, just in principle) could be gleaned. Apart from the aforementioned songs, other gig favorites make their way to the debut, including “Tsong (Boypren Mo Pokpok),” which is kind of a left-field bantering piece about male whores; the infectious spelling-lesson “Siling Giniling,” where Santos repeatedly spells out the title in the choruses; and, perhaps my favorite of all, “Letter to Angelina Jolie,” which throws hypothetical questions typical of basagan drinking sessions: “Payag ka, girlfriend mo si Angelina Jolie, pero ang ulo mo ay munggo? Payag ka, girlfriend mo si Angelina Jolie, pero ang ihi mo ay blade? Payag ka, girlfriend mo si Angelina Jolie, pero ang balat mo ay maong?” “Lahat naman ng ano, may perversion talaga, eh, dahil parte na rin ng kultura, eh,” Anto mused. “Tae nga, pare, bawal sabihin sa TV, eh. Eh, tae lang ‘yun! Tae, ha? Kahit ano’ng palabas sa TV daw, wala pang nagsasabi ng tae!” Dyedye obviously couldn’t believe it. Don’t worry, folks, Giniling Festival is definitely doing something about that. With acknowledgements to Toti Dalmacion, Tiff Cortez, and Dyedye Santos. Visit the Terno Recordings website for more updates and artist listings. Photos taken from the site.
March 1st, 2007
Although the lack of growth in Chingy’s happy-go-lucky party sound does worry me, the young rapper from St. Louis does a very good job of producing club-happy tracks that reflect his carefree, boyish character. On this album, however, it seems that Chingy is doing something different, and is taking on heavier influences in some of his dance tracks. “Bounce That†is trademark Chingy, naughty and tongue-in-cheek; listen up and you’ll notice that the track borrows a lot from hyphy sounds and sneaky crunk polyphonies that smartly stay in the background. Then there’s “Ass In Da Aur,†a catchy, dirty track that takes the playful irreverence of “Bounce That†deeper and dirtier. But there’s something about the song, be it the steady, rapping tempos or the drawled-out piano synthesizer accenting rather than dominating the beat that has the measure that often spins most crunk hits out of control. The only thing that really makes one hesitate to label these tracks crunk or hyphy songs is that they seem to be improved versions of those genres. Before we can label Chingy a “rap genius†though, it must be said that the other tracks on “Hoodstar,†although not entirely horrendous, are mediocre at best. “Brand New Kicks†and “Nike Aurrs and Crispy Tees†are typical, with Chingy falling into the same trap that most rappers today fall into by talking about shoes, T-shirts and looking fresh, as if new Nike “Aurrs†and Crispy White T-shirts are such deep, fascinating subjects meriting three minutes of rambling and flossing. Even more unforgivable is when Chingy begins to “get tough†and “go gangsta.†Although in fairness, the rapper from St Louis does not talk about brandishing guns and shooting up your town, “Hands Up†and “Club Gettin’ Crowded†are more befuddling than brash, with the latter track wanting to sound paranoid and violent but ultimately sounding like an insecure 11 year-old throwing a tantrum over G.I. Joes at a Toy Kingdom. The most introspective Chingy gets is on “Cadillac Door,†which, although it does not carry the poignancy and biting metaphors of a Notorious B.I.G., is touching and apt in retelling the story of a hustler’s life that swings back and forth “like a Cadillac door.†However, it is perhaps wrong to expect all rappers to aspire towards conscious introspection or to become hard, unmovable rocks of violence. Chingy is best when he is cheeky and playful, and when placed with a good producer like Jermaine Dupri (“Dem Jeansâ€) or Mr. Collipark (“U A Freakâ€), actually distinguishes himself from other rappers that only talk about girls, gems and Grey Goose and gin. We can only hope that the young artist from St. Louis does not lose steam and become just another run-of-the-mill horny, angry club rhymer.
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