Lil' Wayne's Armpit

An undeniable phenomenon often functions as a rare rendering of pop culture that is frequently, bless it or not, a good way to document a culture at a given time and place. I’m a true blue, all-around creative culture geek, the type who even believes there is more to be learned about society from Lindsay Lohan than just how not to do hard drugs when in the public eye – one who believes that, even when we don’t realize it, most urbane areas of the world stay connected through the art, film, music and literature the media lets through the cracks. Because of my particular station in the often lonely World of Geek, I find comfort in the nerdy estimations of my spitfire comrades, including those of one Zach “Z.B.” Smith, a fellow anti-philistine known to the world for his involvement in three creative arenas: 1) Definitely Gary, a playful pop band for which he plays guitar, swings hair and sings words; 2) Wooden Nickel, a lifeblood record store located on Clinton Street that he manages and makes sound nice; and 3) Noiseland Arcade, a video game column he contributes to whatzup. Bearded Brother of the Arts wrote me recently, perplexed about – you guessed it – an “undeniable phenomenon” of the pop culture ilk, my favorite kind of geeky quandary. Lil’ Wayne – a very public mover in the post-hip-hop world who stands, oh, I don’t know, three feet tall and a football field loud – was his subject of choice. You see, my man Zeeb (not an actual name I call him to his face) hears the word “Weezy” (a nickname for Wayne that’s only slightly more aggravating than “Lil’,” the common nomenclature assigned to many short emcees of the current era) on a daily basis while manning his steal trap, er, register. “You got that Carter III?” customers would ask, referencing Weezy’s long-pending follow-up to his Platinum-selling Tha Carter II. “No, it’s not out yet,” Zeeb replied for about a year, perhaps losing his once good-willing mind in the process. Once Weezy’s much anticipated record, Tha Carter III (C3), finally hit the shelves two weeks ago it was on: Poof! A brand new (fortunately only slightly altered) world.

“I think it was mid-summer of 2007 when it all started,” Zeeb wrote me. “I was perusing the hipster music sites and there he was, Lil’ Wayne. Plastered all over these tastemaker sites were stories about him, reviews of his many mix tapes and, most shockingly of all, an almost unwavering gathering of glowing praise. Really?” My response? “Echo.” I felt Zeeb’s woes, even if my days of firsthand record sale work had long passed. I remember Weezy’s first few records, circa 1999-2005. Terrible. Rip-offs, really, of a similarly stumpy brand of hip-hop music spit out through the late 90s by the folks at No Limit Records (rest in peace, Merchants of Thoughtlessness). These are the records I remember each time I see one of the “glowing” reviews mi hombre Zeeb speaks of: anthems tailor-made for suburban kids with ill-advised ideas about what hip-hop culture really stands for. Supposedly Weezy has improved exponentially since those days – a tittle-tattle I’d not cared to investigate until Zeeb’s prompting.

“The frequency of the coverage and its super-positive nature led me to believe that this was a joke that I was just not yet in on,” continued Zeeb. “None of these sites ever give such high regard to even the best acts without some scrutiny. I was convinced the blogosphere was putting everyone on; perhaps Wayne was being ironically viewed as so-bad-it’s-good, similar to Wesley Willis, who actually had his moments of true genius.” Needless to say, Zeeb, ever the inquisitive culture sponge, bought C3, later sending me his notes on – in true Geek form – every song on the way-too-long album. I bought C3 as well; I wanted to keep my grip on popular thirsts while also secretly hoping the album would turn out to be some sort of oddball nugget. Maybe it’d be a record I could play – with windows down – through the sticky and ironic summer nights. Loud. Stupid. Fun. Ehh, maybe. I figured this far-off concept also crossed Zeeb’s reach – a notion proved exact upon reading his open-hearted responses to each of C3’s 16 offerings.

Before I share our barbs on a few of the better tracks, consider the heart of what fueled our similar reactions to this record: 1) Rolling Stone gave C3 four-and-a-half stars, a rating they only delve out once, maybe twice each year; 2) Pitchfork, known as the loudest squealers of this era’s current fault-finding-based media, gave the record a score of 87/100, one of their 10 most favorable scores of the year; 3) Over one million people bought C3 within a week of its release, making it the first album to reach this first week benchmark in over three years. Zeeb and I, curious as all hell, decided to join in on the Weezy folly.

“I can see why ‘Mr. Carter’ has some appeal,” Zeeb said, “but he goes from a rather classic first verse to rap stereotypes [in no time]. Even Jay-Z’s paycheck verse can’t help.” My opine? Slightly better than junk. Jay-Z sounds fine as ever, and Weezy actually sounds really great for about 20 seconds before reminding me of his cliché-drenched shortcomings. Good production, though. “What kind of financial hole must Kenny “Babyface” Edmonds be in that he has to guest here?” the Zeeb inquired about a tune named “Comfortable.” “Slick Kanye West production makes this song easier to digest than what I’ve heard so far. This track is actually refreshing and surprising – it’s a sex rap, but it’s actually clean!” While I can personally appreciate a good, solid paradox as much as the next man, this synth-soaked track does little for me. Babyface’s always and forever innocent slant only further reminds me why Weezy’s music is, well, embarrassing and irreverent. “Hands down the best track so far. Conceptually brilliant,” were Zeeb’s words about a track called “Dr. Carter.” Fure sure. I get it, this Weezy dude does have the ability to do it right. I dig this. His slight, artful cadence and surprising knack for thoughtful writing sounds surprisingly fresh here. This is, dare I say it, the best over-ground hip-hop song I’ve heard in some time. “It’s really disheartening to hear the potential and ambition this guy has on this track completely wasted elsewhere,” Zeeb concluded. Echo.

Zeeb went on to talk about how many of the cameos “scream ‘requisite Justin Timberlake cameo,’” eventually going on to tease about the album’s many formulaic moments and Weezy’s attempts to incorporate his bungling guitar playing, calling Weezy a wannabe Andre 3000. “This?” Zeeb said concerning the C3’s lead single, “Lollipop.” “This is the song that launched a million sales in one week? This is gallons of awful, people. Even in the worst radio hits I can see the appeal somewhere. But this is a mess.”

Verdict: C3 does matter. I guess. It’s a summer blockbuster that is fleetingly bigger than big – like it or not, these things matter in pop culture’s scope. Weezy’s record is either the genre-changing zenith of idiotic, low-culture hip-hop or just a record full of Scooby Snacks for listeners who need nothing more than a few cheap, hearty frills while, um, “burning” time. Be it the first option, well, we’re screwed. Fingers crossed, there’s someone – be it an artist or stock-checking office clown – lurking in the shadows, waiting for the right moment to steer music’s one-time revolutionary genre back to the dusty tracks of thriving art.

All that said, there is quite a bit of fun sprinkled through this tremendously overrated coaster (for drinks, that is). The shallow lake of eccentricity spread throughout – mixed with the hooky accessibility and sound-of-now product design – is likely why this album is, at least for a few months in 2008, a critical standout. Culture mystery solved.

Written by G. William Locke and Z.B. Smith