The Heartbreak Kid Mixtape

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Yung Chri$ feat. DJ Spyda - Swerve

First Playoff Season Mixtape Review

'Playoff Season' Has Punch

Yung Chri$ Invokes Breezy Wordplay

By Dwan Matther Cross

The Supreme Ruler of the Universe

       "A musician knows hit material," the late, great King of Pop Michael Jackson once wrote. "It has to feel right. Everything has to feel in place. It fulfills you and it makes you feel good. You know it when you hear it." To claim that I am not a musician would be an understatement. Songwriting is not my specialty, I can't sing a note, and about the only expertise I have with instruments is the ability to play "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star" on a keyboard. But none of that is meant to suggest that I know nothing of music. Quite the opposite in fact.

        I'm a die hard fan of most of the classic R&B output of the 70s and 80s as well as the free-spirited pop of my adolescent years. The New Jack Swing of the 90s still gets me all heated up. Unlike almost all of my contemporaries, I've also always been into the folk and the soul, the glam rock and also the psychedelic rock from the likes of David Bowie, Iggy Pop, et cetera. I'll devour damn near anything from Great Britain with a spoon ("damn near" mind you), including that particular style of alternative dance and techno. I think much of the ancient/traditional Middle Eastern music that I've heard are some of the most beautiful sounds in the world. I'm also a bit of a jazz fanatic (God bless Herbie Hancock). But one genre that took me awhile to get into was rap/hip-hop. Call me stubborn.

        "I HATE country music," an Italian acquaintance of mine once wrote. "I just don't get it. I can't stand it. It's torture to my ears. I'd rather watch all of 'The Sound of Music' again than listen to even just one country song." I used to feel the same way about rap. Like someone's crabby, dementia-plagued grandfather, I saw that whole phenomenon as nothing more than loud, hate-filled, profanity-driven trash that had no place in civilized society. Of all people, it was Kimberly Denise Jones, better known as Lil Kim, who won me over. "The Notorious K.I.M.," her tribute album to Biggie Smalls, was played on an endlessly wild road trip I once took with an insane sidekick. From "How Many Licks" to "Suck My Dick" to "Revolution" featuring the celestial (and criminally underrated) Grace Jones, I was practically mesmerized and wanted to hear more, a lot more. I liked her storytelling. I liked the fascinating way she played with words. I even liked how utterly vulgar she was, as if being unaccustomed to hearing such outlandish things in itself somehow earned my approval. Ever since then, and to my continual surprise, I often enjoy and even sometimes downright adore rap, old-school and new-school, from the meager to the hardcore, and from a variety of different countries other than my own.

        Which brings me to "Playoff Season," a splendid collection of twenty-two tracks from Yung Chri$, an agile grownup that I knew when he was still in diapers (and I wasn't so far out of diapers myself at the time). "We pushin' quality," he informs the listener in the introduction "Mic Check." "That's just what it's gon' be like." A bluesy barrage of music followed by an invitation to "a special evening" quickly proves that he was sincere. "I'm just tryin' to swerve without hittin' the curb," he repeats on the aptly named second track "Swerve," borrowing the line from Drake to maximum benefit. A nostalgic scratching and mixing effect plus a formidable, ascending bridge make this one a keeper. Two hits in and I was already perfectly at ease, a tribute to the artist's swagger, strong beats, and clever lyrics. 

        Surely one of the reasons that I once had such an aversion to this brand of music was that I could hardly ever understand what these folks were saying, apart from a plethora of "bitches," "hos," "niggas," and so on (I guess that's what a lyric sheet is for). Thus the message, if there was one, was lost to me. No such problem here. "I am above and beyond competition" Chri$ clearly states on "Battin' Practice," a head-bobbing romp which also contains the later confession "this is my heart/probably only rapper that'll give it." I'm left wondering how true that is. On "Faithful," his audacious oath to keep it real, he conjures up witty output like "trying to get it off my chest like chicks with breast reduction" and "I think it's time to do like Usher and just let these motherfuckers burn." Welcome components for this one include sweet backing vocals and a piano fade-out that creates a suitably smokey atmosphere.

        The title track is as respectable as it is revealing ("I ain't a college drop-out/fuck it, I never went") while the satisfying "7th Inning Stretch," chorus be damned, has Chri$ explaining that he's "tryin' to get that championship title." "Mama told me not to trust a woman 'less it's her," begins the momentous "Can't Trust Em,'" probably my favorite tune of the bunch until I heard "Take You There" ("that smooth shit"), easily the crown jewel of the album. Containing both elements of The Jackson's 1980 tour de force "This Place Hotel" and a fairly hilarious bit about sneaking in-between legs, it's an achievement that would certainly burn up the charts. Groovability is essential with music and Chri$ has it.

        There's an early mention of Chris Brown in "Knock Knock" that had me nodding my head furiously in agreement. Later comes the declaration, "To anybody who's in a relationship and it's lasted past three months without any confrontations, I congratulate you." God knows that I know exactly where he's coming from. "Ladies" is a soulful ode to women ("more smooth shit") that's both playful and deep while the epic "Pretty Girls," featuring Fleetwood DeVille (wasn't that the lion's name in "The Wiz"?), is a scorcher, but finishes much too quickly. In the end, that just may be the only flaw of the entire album: too much of a good thing; too many songs, not enough time to let each one play out. Fortunately, Chri$ does take the time he needs to establish himself as a force to be reckoned with.

        "Cuz I Love You" is almost sugary in nature, not that that's a bad thing, and with lines like "she the type that don't go silicone/she ain't fake," a vivid picture is painted of someone who remains a mystery. Both the biting "Waitin' For Me" and the provocative "Misunderstood" make grand use of samples, the first being "Can't Hide From Luv" by Mary J. Blige featuring Jay-Z (which itself contained a sample of "I Wanna Be Where You Are" by the late, great Willie Hutch) and the second being "Please Don't Let Me Be Misunderstood," the Nina Simone version. And of all the tracks, it's "Thank You," the dramatic dedication, that unveils the most info. "Thank you, thank you, thank you, you're far too kind," Chri$ repeats. "Hold your applause/This is your song, not mine." His devotion to his mother already established on earlier songs, he reaffirms his esteem along with numerous other shout-outs. It's sentimental, but not hokey, and none of it feels bogus.    

        One of the most memorable and off the wall nights of my life occurred on Saturday, March 10, 2001. I was dragged to the Austin Music Hall to see Vanilla Ice (yes, Mr. Robert Van Winkle himself). Watching the dude from "Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles II: The Secret of the Ooze" performing live on stage should have been enough of a bizarre experience in itself ("go ninja, go ninja, go!"), but it would turn out to be just one link in an incredibly long chain of crazy events that night. But I digress! I wore the wrong shoes for continuous standing and my feet started to hurt (this was one of those seat-less, open floor gigs). The ice man himself was forgettable, but that's most likely because I didn't recognize anything he sang (at one point, I had to be told that he was doing an updated version of "Ice Ice Baby"). If I was of the same mind today as I was back then, "Playoff Season" probably would have had no effect on me. But I got with the program.

        As eerie as the idea may be, I wonder what William Shakespeare would think of the world today if he could suddenly rise from beneath that stone slab where he lies buried at the Church of the Holy Trinity in Stratford-upon-Avon. I know a lot of people would call me crazy, but I have a funny feeling that he would actually like hip-hop, to a certain point at least. He'd have to get an understanding of modern-day English first, of course, but that would be easy. I think he would come to realize that he has a lot in common with the rappers like Yung Chri$ composing their rhymes. It's all about life, after all.

First Impressions

So this is my first blog, I finally decided to make one. I look at October's Very Own so much I was just like why not. At the moment I'm anticipating Drizzy dropping his single tomorrow night. Over is what's it called. Can't wait for that Thank Me Later to drop. 1st album I will purchase this year and maybe the last. Anyway, I'm gonna try to stay up on my game with this blog stuff, so just peep me when you get a chance and you may see some interesting things. Just to let you know from jump, I'm a musical artist, a lyricist, and I rather you call me that then a rapper. I don't create rap music. I make Hip-Hop, but not rap music. There is a difference. The Heartbreak Kid mixtape coming soon, and I'll talk more about the music in another post. Stay awake, Yungin' out.