A talented rapper emerges, and establishes himself with considerable commercial success. Then he releases an album with the MCs he knocked around with in his pre-fame days – but this collective is comprised of people far less talented than their meal ticket (Eminem’s D12 and Busta Rhymes’ Flipmode Squad are apt examples). Moral of the story: rap collectives are only worth a fig if they establish their initial success as a collective, and great solo rappers only work with their mates as an act of charity.
There are exceptions to the rule, of course, and 50 Cent’s G-Unit collective may be one of them. The reason for this? Perhaps it is because Fiddy is a good, not great MC, and does not have a sufficiently large personality for his chums to feel dwarfed in his presence. Lloyd Banks (a G-Unit member) has emerged from his shadow with tremendous ease, and already has one Billboard-topping record to his name.
Rotten Apple should continue this success. It’s a pretty generic NYC album; full of dark grimy beats, deep piano hooks and stylish, streetwise rhymes – but the familiarity of this fare only adds to the listener’s enjoyment. It’s surprisingly consistent over 17 tracks, and Banks’ relaxed, melodic flow is refreshingly easy on the ear; like Ma$e on uppers. Individual standouts are hard to pick out; good track follows good track, but nothing here quite touches greatness. The stomping dissonance of ‘Playboy 2’, and the title track’s lavish gothic sweep come close.
Some MCs have a personality too big to share mic duties with their schoolyard chums, though, and everyone’s favourite Oprah-hater (Ludacris, natch) is one of them. His voice is possessed of tremendous character, with a wonderful cartoonish quality that lends itself well to his deliciously cheap one-liners and punchlines.
Alas, Luda’s one-track sense of humour wears a little thin throughout Release Therapy; there are quite a few good tracks here, but it would be difficult to listen to more than four or five of them in succession. A quick primer to make things easier for you; ‘Warning (Intro)’ is an engagingly brash statement of intent, while ‘Grew Up a Screw Up’ is a dark, syrup-throated delight. Also, be sure to check out Luda (and Field Mob) riding a wave of cracked digital noise on ‘Ultimate Satisfaction’, and definitely hear him and R Kelly trying to out-sleaze each other on the entertainingly perverted ‘Woozy’ – let’s just say that you would not want these two gents taking your little sister out on the town.
Lloyd Banks - 7/10
Ludacris - 6.5/10