There are few personas in hip-hop as utterly different as Kanye West and 50 Cent. Thus it was to great hype that West announced he would move the release date of his third album, “Graduation,” up a week, placing it in direct competition with 50’s third disc, “Curtis.” Could the quirky, cocky provocateur outsell the lumbering, mumbling, pusher-turned-P.I.M.P? After a summer of contrived and gimmicky feuding, the albums are here. But are they any good?
When he burst onto the scene with 2004’s “The College Dropout,” Kanye West was something of a hip-hop novelty: a ditzy-deep eccentric, unafraid to appear on television in a pink polo shirt and backpack. Two albums later, the novelty has worn off somewhat: his sped-up soul samples feel staler, his braggadocio more tired, and his moments of self-deprecation obligatory. Nowhere on “Graduation” is he as apt as he was on “All Falls Down,” as passionate as he was “Crack Music,” or as wacky as he was on “The New Workout Plan.”
West is singularly skilled at making new music from old: witness how he transforms Daft Punk’s peppy beeping into a club-ready dance track,“Stronger.” Or notice how he takes a tiny sound from Elton John’s 1975 hit “Someone Saved My Life Tonight” and turns it into the haunting melody of “Good Morning.” Sadly, on “Graduation” his meticulousness may actually harm him; perhaps he tinkers too much. The result is a bevy of distractingly cluttered tracks and an album that sounds, for the most part, sub-par. There’s simply too much going on.
That said, West can still create perfect musical moments, sounds that seem inevitable, evocative, right. This dichotomy is most evident in the song “Good Life.” Most of the track is unpleasantly busy, and yet, somehow, it swims together beautifully around T-Pain’s repeated line, “Now, throw your hands up in the sky.” In addition, West has widened his range a little bit—he dabbles in electronica on “Graduation,” with the best result being “Can’t Tell Me Nothing.” It’s an ominous, menacing standout.
Unfortunately, West’s beats aren’t helped much by his words. West’s voice has never been the most pleasant, clear or emotive, but his delivery has actually worsened over the years; you can often hear his self-consciousness about stretching or manipulating words so that they rhyme or scan. Furthermore, most of the songs on “Graduation” are clichéd, incoherent pastiches: it makes you wonder how much West really cares. And although he drops a few lyrical gems, (i.e. “I’m like the fly Malcolm X/Buy any jeans necessary,” from “Good Morning,” or “Every time I wanted layaway or a deposit/My dad’ll say ‘When you see clothes, close ya eyelids,’” from “Champion,”), he drops an equal number of pointless, indulgent references: “Have you ever popped champagne on a plane?/While gettin’ some brain?/Whipped it out, she said, ‘I never seen snakes on a plane.’” And for every song like “Everything I Am,” a mellow meditation on how West’s flaws, both real and perceived, have ultimately contributed to his success, there is a disaster like the ugly, empty “Barry Bonds,” or “Drunk and Hot Girls,” an unbearable ode to–well, you know–that sounds like the first ever hip-hop sea shanty. Hopefully it will be the last.
Kanye West clearly has a lot of talent, although he doesn’t quite live up to the acclaim he gives himself. He might do best to fuss less over his production and more over his rhymes. Can I honestly say that “Graduation” is a good album? No. But there’s a lot to like and it does deserve a rewind.
“Curtis,” the latest album from 50 Cent, consists of an introduction, seven songs about women (mostly concerned with having sex with them in various configurations), six songs about murder (and other assorted threats), three songs about money, and zero songs worth listening to. The content would be fine if it were presented with any wit or passion, but 50 is almost entirely lifeless; the man never met a monosyllable he couldn’t mutter.
“Curtis” is an endless procession of rote gangsta-isms recited over lifeless, vaguely atmospheric beats. It’s unbearably repetitive and derivative—how can one album have songs called “My Gun Go Off,” “Man Down,” “I’ll Still Kill,” “Fully Loaded Clip,” and “Curtis 187?” I would quote the lyrics, but they’re a waste of your time. Even 50 sounds bored.
Not only is 50 Cent parroting hip-hop clichés that were played out before his first album was released, he’s parroting the same clichés he used to moderately better effect elsewhere. “Fire” is the new “Just A Lil’ Bit,” “Straight to the Bank” is the new “Piggy Bank,” and so on. 50 also adds to his long-standing tradition of building songs around juvenile sex metaphors relating to favorite childhood hangouts, with “Amusement Park” supplanting “Candy Shop.” He even rips off his own “licking the lollipop” lines from “Candy Shop” in it. At this point, he should probably just sue himself.
Surprisingly, the high point of “Curtis” is “AYO Technology,” a collaboration with Justin Timberlake. Timberlake seems to inspire a rare burst of energy in 50, and the song benefits from a frank, funny chorus: “Ayyyyooo, I’m tired of using technology/Why don’t you sit down on top of me?” That, “I Get Money,” which takes its only spark of life from a sample of Audio Two’s “Top Billin,’” and “All of Me,” a softer collaboration with Mary J. Blige, represent the only breaks in the monotony.
When the sales figures came in on Sept. 19, Kanye West outsold 50 Cent by more than two hundred thousand albums. While this victory is deserved, it is less meaningful than it could have been. While “Graduation” makes West look like a disappointment, “Curtis” makes him look like the genius he claims to be.
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