In fact, no-name nawlins producers run the boards, their crackly soul sampling and that implied return-to-rap roots a perfect complement to Weezy's raspy, sometimes even Miles Davisian voice. 500 Degreez), less that dorm-room poster of the baby giving the middle finger.
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Free from Fresh, Wayne is less a novelty- less Pinocchio on Pleasure Island (cf. What's different, and crucial: no Mannie Fresh electro-dixie beats. Sometimes he's deliberate like syrup cats ("But this is Southern, face it/ If we too simple then yall don't get the basics") but when he needs to be, he's nimble as that Other Carter: "I ain't talking too fast you just listening too slow." Remy and weed, fast things and women, the corner- these are Wayne's wax since B.G.'ing with B.G., putting piff on the campus before he ever enrolled in college. His squeak is now a croak, his laugh a little more burly, his flow remarkably flexible.
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People who met Wayne on "Go DJ" and thought him a lunchroom hack emcee- who knows what's happened since then, but damn has he learned how to write. And yet, there's "Shooter", or "Receipt", or "Get Over": "Standin' on stage in front of thousands/ Don't amount to me not having my father." Lines like this fall outta nowhere, jaw-droppers aplenty- but "don't forget the baby". "Grown Man") spell him out too bluntly, too vainly. so many goddamn shark jokes), and his skits and "personality raps" (cf. Total energy thing, his verses still lack polish and a good edit (e.g. Toilet/ I'm the shit"), sometimes even elaborately so ("You niggas small bubbles, I burp you/ I'll spit you out and have your girls slurp you").
Firmly keeping a foot in the sandbox, Wayne dabbles scatological throughout ("Dear Mr. Fact is, Wayne's still young, and he loves that he can get away with shit- literally.
Granted, Leno won't make "Shooter" Wayne's "song" (it will be though), and we definitely can't call Tha Carter II his coming-of-age album or something equally corny- people blew that line on the one before. It's my turn and I'm starting right here today." And so on- it's one of those black-and-white-to-technicolor moments after which, if you still don't believe in Wayne, you're just lying to yourself. Wayne breaks: "I'm trying to tell you what I am, baby- listen." And after almost two minutes of no talking he bursts the song open: "So many doubt cos I come from the South, but when I open my mouth the best come out. "They want me with my hands up," sings Thicke, doing that stupid "raise the roof" thing. If Thicke's the crybaby here, Wayne's the stick-up kid. Wayne was holding us at bay, all our presuppositions about his career, his music, his age and color, his responsibility qua artist post-Katrina. This young New Orleans rapper bouncing around on stage with Real Musicians but not much else, good for a laugh or a breakdance or whatever Other-approved televised woop-de-doo- "cute" and "rap's not so bad after all" but also "rapping is easy," "rap=only good as the sample it swiped".
What a tense performance so far music played, but you could probably hear a pin drop.
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