I often bounce albums I’m going to review off of my friend Jess, and during a long ride to and from North Carolina last weekend, we both had a great laugh at Ice Cube’s expense while previewing
his newest album. I wanted to like it, I really did. Coming off the heels off of two decent sets, Laugh Now Cry Later and Raw Footage, I thought Ice Cube was ready for a 21st century trifecta, but he’s clearly out of gas on I Am The West, at best a consolidation of strengths.
What problems plague Cube this time around? Well, we can start with the wackass production and work our way in. Everything sounds flat and stale – I’ve been around this block musically before. Gone is the bounce of his early West Coast days, replaced with music by Bangladesh, JIGG and DJ Quik. And someone called T-Mix, I don’t even know who these motherfuckers are. (Sir Jinx returns for a few minutes as producer for “Life In California.” It’s the only track he produces. I think even Sir Jinx knows better.)
Then there are the guest spots; Cube doesn’t get much face time here. And when he does, he sounds like a grumpy old man. It’s difficult to take the writer of “No Vaseline” seriously after his string of family-friendly flicks, but Jess actually gasped in horror at this verse from “Life In California”: “If Jay-Z can rap about the NYC / why can’t I talk about the shit I see / without Alicia Keys / without going R&B / this ain’t Motown / this is R-A-P.”
Okay, let’s dissect this statement. First of all, who the fuck does Ice Cube think he is? Half of his old shit is based on old hip-hop loops that sampled Motown. And what shit is he talking about that he sees? The inside of green rooms in Burbank and 30 Rock? And, oh yeah, what the fuck is he doing picking a fight with Jay-Z? Is he ill? (I mean sick.) This is like an ant – a seasoned, gray-haired ant – picking a fight with an elephant. If Jay-Z condescends to respond to Cube’s statement at all, it will be with all the elegance and grace of picking insect shit off his paws.
But I suppose I should be satisfied with this kind of hater shit; Ice Cube comes off like Kool Keith on some of the other tracks on West, saying “you about to smell my cologne” on “Soul On Ice” (is that a threat? Are we about to have sex or something? Huh?) and repeatedly entreating you to “Google me, bitch” on “Urbanian.” I wish I could say something nice about this piece of crap, but I’d be lying. I wish I could say I listened to the entire record, but I’d still be lying. Go listen to Das Racist instead.
