N.W.A.

These days Gangsta (sic) Rap is deservedly derided as one of the very worst degenerations of modern music. A genre that is so musically bankrupt that it almost entirely rests upon heavily diluted imagery and ostentatious music videos. Presumably as a result of being formed under the iron fist rule of MTV the artists strive for success through the visual bravado of money, guns and women with more attention being paid to their punning mo-nique-ahs than the actual songs. The irony, of course, is that such monstrous corporatisation of supposed criminals has led to the modern equivalent of a human zoo, a snarl and a switchblade contained safely behind the comfort of film studios and opulent 'cribs', flocked to by a huge mass of people who really ought to know better. Once upon a time, though, for one fleeting moment it actually meant something. For one album, before the terms and cliches had already been coined, gangsta rap was something with real potency. It was something genuinely brutal, violent, and amoral. Whilst Public Enemy were tearing down boundaries with their astonishingly diverse seek and destroy approach to hip hop LA's N.W.A. saw only one dimension. As a result, this album, their second, is a monologue, a one-way tour through the streets of the ghetto where you don't stop at red lights. Musically, this album is far too entrenched and monotholithic to match the true milestones of hip hop. The songs that are not worth hearing are terribly turgid; stodgey, interminable dirges. But when this album makes its point nothing can stand in its way. Nothing sounds as genuinely threatening, as genuinely frightening, as the explosive opening to this album, a veritable hand-grenade of aggression, violence, and destruction. The band consist of four main rappers, three of whom are well respected as the stars of the genre - Dr. Dre, Ice Cube (of 'Anaconda' fame) and Ezy-E, and the unfortunately undistinguished MC Ren, and over the most repetitive of backing tracks they take it in turns to, essentially, brag about themselves. As I said, at times it is a frustratingly tiresome exercise, at other times it is an astonishing tour de force of primal aggression. Secondly, the lyrical prowess of Ice Cube and Ezy is phenomenal. I would not like to be dragged into the wrong sort of argument by comparing them to the rock lyricists that draw on so many sophisticated styles but, in their own way, they are just as impressive. This album contains more famous catchphrases than the resulting genre produced over the following fifteen years including the timeless "do I look like a motherfucking role-model?", the raison d'etre "life ain't nothing but bitches and money" and Ezy-E's classic "You think I give a damn about a bitch? I ain't a sucker". Indeed, much though one can admire Ice Cube's social conscience the sheer hilarity of Ezy-E's egotistical self-indulgence is hard to top. He takes the initially worthy tirade at the racist constabulary "Fuck tha Police" and undermines the entire message by bragging about his blatant criminality. Even so, the first time you hear the chorus spat out with such venomous bile it cannot fail to send a shiver down your spine. Particularly coming straight after the opening "Straight Outta Compton" - an omnipotent statement of intent, a song that didn't just invent and refine the genre of gangsta rap but all-but-closed it at the same time. By contrast, though, after arguably the most powerful opening to any album ever, the prominent highlights are those that divert away from the one-dimensional histrionics of gangsta rap. Despite being a rather too obvious use of sampling (something that would plague the genre for evermore) the vitality of Dr. Dre's "Express Yourself" elevates it above mere rip-off and the astonishing misogyny of Ice Cube's "I Ain't tha 1" ("I spell girl with a 'b'") is deflected by the jaunty humour he invests in it. The funky "Parental Discretion Iz Advised" displays a rare venture into classic hip-hop but, other than "Gangsta Gangsta", everything else degenerates into an indistinguishable sludge. "8 Ball" and "Dopeman" might have been good songs when on their debut, NWA and the Posse, but the stuttering remixes that are inexplicably included on this album disguise any real quality they may have originally had. The inconsistency is frustrating but then this was never a genre that was about perfect artistic statements. It is about power and violence and to that end this album does not so much write the rule book as represent a vicious manifesto of nihilistic brutality. Even for a well-spoken, well-educated white boy like myself, the power is palpable.

From: ddickson@rice.edu

I don't know if you knew this, but Ice Cube wrote nearly all of Eazy's lyrics. That's part of the reason why he sounds so good here. After Cube's departure, Eazy would become an awful joke trying to write his own lyrics.
The first three tracks are classics, and "Parental Discretion", "I Ain't the 1" and "Express Yourself" nearly match that. Unfortunately, the rest of the album can go to hell. May be good by the standards of underground hip-hop in 1989, but Public Enemy has it all over these wannabe legends. Strangely enough, so does Dr. Dre solo.
My rating? On a good day, a 6. On a bad day, toss it out the window and slap in the Outkast.

• Return to the main page
• Go to the Ice Cube page
• Go to the Dr. Dre page

Email me at: jackfeeny@yahoo.co.uk