Lil Wayne
Young Money, Cash Money, Universal Republic
08.29.11
This might not mean much to Young Tune's legion of fans, most of whom like him for the attitude no matter how he expresses it. (Although you can almost hear them, drunk off their douche asses, trying to explain a line like "Real Gs move in silence like lasagna.") They might want go back, though. and listen to the impressive array of guest stars, from Tech N9ne, Rick Ross, Shyne, Nas, Busta Rhymes, and an (uncredited) Andre 3000, all ostensibly brought on board to praise The Best Rapper Alive, and all of whom end up burying him with superior rhymes. When it comes to the intro and some of the interludes, Weezy doesn't even bother to show up. Should you?
..and in this corner of the rap octagon stands Weezy, one of the last survivors in what used to pass as hip-hop, the Cash Money Millionaire no one would ever have picked as the breakout star, much less the biggest seller in the business. Lil' Wayne's secret superpower has always been his unselfconsciousness, his utter inability to be (or see) anything other than what he is. As a geto businessman, he understands that rap became everybody's business about 15 years ago, and so he makes music directly aimed at the frat party and the club and the teenage girl's iPod as well as the hood. For this, he's been vilified by hip-hop fans who miss the point: Mr. Crazy Flow takes not giving a shit to a whole new level, and his other secret weapon -- that amazing flow, bolstered by a tighter grip on his stream of consciousness than any rapper, ever -- means he can be whatever he wants.
As long as he keeps that flow, that is. Like a troubled fourth installment in a winning franchise, Tha Carter IV finds Wayne tired of his own formula, and not sure how to break back out. It's not that he doesn't have the backdrop: the leadoff single, last winter's "6 Foot 7 Foot," positions itself as the official "A Milli" update and does just fine that way. (We now know who Cool and Dre were saving all those beats for when they kept them from Game's comeback.) But when the Dirty South killer Jay-Z himself touted as his lyrical heir gets stranded in a minefield of hashtag raps, marking time until the anthem comes back around, something's wrong. Frankly, he sounded more engaged on his last couple of mixtapes. Maybe the pressure's getting to him.
Or, as he himself suggested in interviews, maybe he's ready to quit the game. The reused metaphors, lame puns, and shallow philosophy on IV seem to bear this out: "All I had to do was put two and two together / But that just makes four, but not 'four-ever'" is the closest he comes to an insight on love, and his big disses are on the order of "You faker than some titties/You get titty-fucked." No less than three times does he remind us that the "F" in "Weezy F" stands for "Fuck you." Tired, tired, tired. (III's "You see I handle mine / I dismantle mine / I told her, tool box, bitch it's hammertime" turns into "Unload nigga / reload nigga / tools on deck / Home Depot nigga.")
Graded using the Third Eye Method:
Impact: 70. The beats are still tight. If they don't pay too much attention at the party, you can make this pass.
Invention: 54. The ballads are mediocre as usual, the pop stuff is reliably shiny, and there are no emo rock moves. But you can get more experimentation (and more payoff) on the free Sorry 4 the Wait mixtape.
Integrity: 58. ...in fact, given that Lil Wayne's mixtapes are looser and more street by definition, you should just retreat there until he reworks Carter V.
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