Jay-Z – The Black Album Review

By any standard, the career of Shawn (Jay-Z) Carter is a fascinating one. Ten years ago, he was hustling “pharmaceutical enlightenment” on the streets. A decade later, he stands atop the rap game as the undisputed leader in sales, with a fair share of respect from both the suburbs and the hood.

Jigga managed to stay untouched through rap’s “shiny suit” era. He proved that you could take a song from a Broadway musical and use it as the foundation for one of the hottest selling singles of all time. He’s one of the only rappers to ever release a “Volume Two”, after releasing an LP boldly affixed with a “Volume One” subtitle (And I’m betting he’s the only one to come with a “Volume Three”).

Jay-Z shook off his feud with Nas and embraced all the fawning praise that came with his Blueprint release. Never mind that the best verse on the entire album belonged to a white MC from Detroit. Jigga has overseen the careers of his protégés like Memphis Bleek and Freeway. He’s done the requisite hood movies. He’s got a successful clothing line. He’s dating the hottest chick in pop…well, you get the idea.

What better time to walk away?

The Black Album promises to be the last solo album from Jay-Z. If that were true (and it isn’t) one would hope that he could go out with a bang, secure in the knowledge that he left everything he had in the studio and on the mic. What the listener gets is a very odd feeling of déjà vu throughout.

Jay-Z’s ego probably deserves an album of its own and, once again, we get to hear way too many tracks that tell us how great Jigga is. On December 14, this theme is given a unique twist when his mother gets some voice time to tell us how special her son was and how she knew he was destined for big things. Sure. Actually, the only interesting thing here is the revelation that Jay weighed over 10 pounds at birth. I’m guessing eight pounds of that was mouth.

What More Can I Say is more of the same, despite the odd sampling of a Russell Crowe line from Gladiator and a throwaway statement about Busta Rhymes that some have misconstrued to be a diss. Of course, that’s laughable. As is the line about Jigga having any lasting influence on pop culture. Shawn, you were part of one fad…throwback jerseys. Two years later, they’re on the clearance rack at Foot Locker.

When he’s not talking about himself in such glowing terms, he’s pimping one of his various non-music ventures. The flaccid Neptunes produced Change Clothes, aside from being a horrible choice for the first single, still squeezes in a plug for his shoe line. Timbaland ups the production quotient on Dirt Off Your Shoulder, which is actually a fun little cut…even without the brief ad for Jay’s 40/40 restaurant.

Things pick up significantly in the second half of the album…for a while, anyway. Moment of Clarity is produced by Eminem. It’s not Slim’s best work as it’s too reminiscent of his brooding and methodical style from a few years ago, but the brazen candor of Jay-Z is what makes this one. In it, Jay admits to “dumbing down” his lyrics for mass consumption (now, that’s a diss) and proudly proclaims he’s strong enough to carry the legacy of Biggie Smalls on his back. If you’re gonna boast, why not go balls to the wall?

Rick Rubin shows up behind the boards on 99 Problems, a track that tells us how very hard it is to be a millionaire, with a mansion and a yacht. Still, if you can look past the “woe is me” approach, you’ll find a vibe that’s very reminiscent of some of The Beastie Boys’ better cuts. And that was probably the whole point.

DJ Quik manages to meld a familiar sample from Madonna into a joint that works in every way on Justify My Thug. Jay-Z attempts to explain his existence in this crazy world and leaves the braggadocio behind. Unfortunately, the noble sentiments of Allure, which deals with Jigga’s various “addictions” and Lucifer, which confronts negativity and sin, fall flat due to absurd hooks or been-there-done-that approaches.