“They was just kids playing in the dope”: on Freddie Gibbs & Madlib’s (Cocaine) Piñata, and the gangsta rap resurgence
This wasn’t supposed to be like this. Gangsta rap – quite justifiably – had had its moment in the sun. People died. Real people had been turned into martyrs (unwittingly in the case of some, and quite purposefully in the case of others), tragic legends borne out of the ugliest blemish on hip-hop’s short but storied history. The hip-hop community was tired and angry and had realised that there was little to be gained from the highly public warring that unfortunately but undeniably mirrored the spate of black-on-black crimes that were tearing actual communities apart. We need to stop talking about gangbanging, it thought, and focus on the positives. In the wake of the untimely deaths of Tupac Shakur and Biggie Smalls, hip-hop changed direction, and gangsta rap was no longer the genre’s biggest draw. The g-funk sound as popularised by Dr. Dre fell out of fashion, as did the bleak, nihilistic lyrical topics that came with it. Sure, there were still hardcore acts profiting from their macho, violent lyrics – it’s easy to forget quite how massive the likes of DMX and Juvenile were, for instance – but there was a shift towards something more palatable, more personal, more conscious. Lauryn Hill sold millions and won multiple Grammys with a breakup album that promoted afrocentrism; OutKast continued their shift away from the Southern gangsta style of their debut with their most forward-thinking, spaced-out record yet; stars-to-be Mos Def and Talib Kweli made their respective debuts as Black Star, an album that has since come to be seen as a classic; A Tribe Called Quest even made a comeback, with the perennially underrated The Love Movement, propelled by the sounds of a promising young producer named Jay Dee, soon to take on his legendary J. Dilla moniker; the biggest-selling hip-hop album of year, which may surprise some of you, was Will Smith’s Big Willie Style, a totem of the oft-derided ‘shiny suit era’, featuring a host of ubiquitous hit singles and focused almost entirely on just having a good time. (It’s easy enough to say that there was always a conscious side of hip-hop thriving throughout gangsta rap’s peak year, and there was, but it seemed to be pushed to the forefront – alongside materialistic, ‘jiggy’/‘bling’/whatever rap – as the 1990s came to a close.) As the years rolled by, gangsta rap became even more sidelined, until it seemed almost like a quaint relic from a bygone era. Sure, there were successful hardcore rappers here and there, most notably 50 Cent (and his backing band, The Numerous Bullet Holes), but they were invariably pressured by record labels to curb their more unsavoury elements and deliver some big hit singles. It saw the rise of a new breed of rapper, one who sounded intimidating but not too intimidating, one who could be relied upon to put out songs that would appeal to a broad cross-section of society. Perhaps Ja Rule is the greatest example, or maybe Nelly. This was the new blueprint, as far as record labels were concerned. 2006 and 2007 saw rappers such as T.I. and Rick Ross and Soulja Boy become household names. And it also saw Freddie Gibbs get dropped from his label, Interscope, because “they didn’t feel the project that (he) was putting together”, which roughly translates into English as, “I’m not gonna make a fucking cheap hit single just to appease the money men”. And so our story begins...
After being dropped by Interscope, Gibbs quickly became one of the most consistent rappers on the underground. 2009 saw him put out two mixtapes – one a compilation of older material called The Miseducation of Freddie Gibbs, one a collection of new songs called midwestgangstaboxframecadillacmuzik, both excellent – and 2010 brought the Str8 Killa EP and its stirring lead single, ‘National Anthem (Fuck the World)’ (not to mention this ridiculous collaboration from Reks’ In Between the Lines mixtape). From there he continued to go from strength to strength, imbuing his rhymes with a world-weariness and a self-awareness that saw him evolve from a highly capable technician with a knack for evoking a striking ghetto image into a hood documentarian extraordinaire, capturing the harsh reality of the streets and the gangsta lifestyle without patronising, demonising, or glorifying. His flows became even tighter (comparisons to UGK’s Bun B and Midwest heroes Bone Thugs-N-Harmony were definitely warranted), and his gruff rasp of a voice took on an extra level of confidence and poignancy, less DMX and more Tupac or Scarface in their pomp. 2011’s Cold Day in Hell mixtape was his most powerful yet, but even that hadn’t prepared rap fans for his next move, a collaboration straight out of the leftfield. Less than a month after the release of Cold Day in Hell, and whilst rap fans such as myself were still absorbing the tape, Gibbs dropped a single called ‘Thuggin’’, featuring production from the Beat Konducta himself, Madlib. Perhaps best-known for his work with abstract non-sequitur sprayer MF Doom (as Madvillain), Madlib’s discography was a web of patchwork beat tapes, stoned alter-egos, and Herbie Hancock-inspired modern jazz. It wasn’t out of the question for him to produce for more, erm, down-to-earth rappers – he manned the boards on Percee P’s Perseverance in 2007, and was partially responsible for one of 2010’s best albums, Strong Arm Steady’s In Search of Stoney Jackson – but soundtracking ghetto street knowledge of this particular gangsta variety was certainly not his comfort zone. The song had no right to be any more than an interesting curio, a strange one-off notch on the bedpost for each artist before they went their separate ways and carried on doing what they did best. But, fighting all logic suggesting otherwise, the song was incredible. Madlib’s beat had an intangible late-night feeling, too confident to be stoned paranoia but too sinister to be cocaine-induced King of the World triumphalism, whilst Gibbs’ rhymes walked that exact same tightrope – detailing his extra-curricular activities (“this liquor got me lurkin’ where you livin’ in the night-time, 59Fifty to the left but I’m in my right mind”), railing against those aforementioned record labels who had wronged him (“phonies ain’t gon’ throw me in this minstrel show, these labels see how far up in they mouth my dick can go”), explaining that being a blog darling doesn’t pay the bills (“critically acclaimed, but that shit don’t mean a thing when you’re rockin’ mics and stealin’ microwaves, cooking ‘caine”), and to top it all off, displaying a David Simon-esque knack for sharp social commentary on the absurdity of ‘the war on drugs’ (“why the feds worried ‘bout me clockin’ on this corner when there’s politicians out here getting popped in Arizona?”). I’d honestly go as far as to call ‘Thuggin’’ the greatest hip-hop single since Mobb Deep got you stuck off the realness, and it showed a side of Freddie Gibbs that many didn’t know existed. Somehow, against all the odds, Gibbs and Madlib had proven to be a dream partnership, capable of capturing lightning in a bottle; a mature, grown-man, gangsta rap superteam, with rapper and producer creating perfect alchemy without ever distracting from one another’s talents. MadGibbs was born.
More great music from Gibbs emerged (2012’s Baby Face Killa was probably the album I played most that year, after Kendrick’s good kid, m.A.A.d city), and some of it produced by Madlib. Although impossible to live up to the mercurial ‘Thuggin’’, these singles were still stellar. First there was ‘Shame’ (b/w ‘Terrorist’), whose lilting beat was pure Delfonics magic – suitably, Gibbs devoted his lyric to love, though not the type you may imagine (“wish I could say it was accidental, like I slipped on a banana peel and fell in that pussy” being the standout line). Next there was ‘Deeper’, a slice of sizzling psych-blues whose lyrics about the love of his life leaving him to be with another man (who was “try’n to be a fuckin’ astronaut”) act as a metaphor for hip-hop abandoning Freddie Gibbs’ street stylings in favour of something more abstract, essentially making the song a nuanced gangsta take on Common’s classic ‘I Used to Love H.E.R.’ (even the beats sound like distant cousins). An album was coming soon, and interest in Gibbs was at an all-time high, helped by his remarkably consistent mixtape game and by the sudden attention of a certain type of rap fan that comes with the mere mention of Madlib (as if this point needed proving, check RYM’s page for Piñata, on which numerous users mention that they were previously unfamiliar with Gibbs and basically only listened to the album because of Madlib). Alongside this, gangsta rap as a whole appeared to be making a comeback of sorts. The period also saw critically acclaimed releases from ScHoolboy Q, Roc Marciano, Kevin Gates, and Pusha T, amongst others, all of which were unapologetic in their portrayal of a gangsta lifestyle, albeit all massively different in terms of sound. Whereas in the early ‘90s gangsta rap was indelibly linked to a very specific sound, contemporary gangsta rap seems to be coming from all sorts of places. Roc Marci, for example, keeps it to wintery, minimal, RZA-inspired dirty soul. Gates, from Baton Rouge, favours muscular, melodic trap beats. ScHoolboy Q’s backing is pure TDE, a heady mixture of trap and cloud rap and jazzier elements that also provided the sonic palette for Kendrick and Ab-Soul’s respective 2012 offerings. Pusha T also went the trap route this time around, but he has an ear for big, poppy beats, as informed by his previous work with the Clipse and Pharrell, and by his affiliation with Kanye West. Freddie Gibbs, to his credit, will rap over fucking anything, and he’ll kill it. He sounds equally at home going in over synth-heavy trap music or early ‘90s West Coast chillout beats, a fact alluded to by Madlib in an interview when he stated, “my stuff, it ain't fully quantized... it has more of a human feel, so it might slow down or speed up. So you have to be the type of rapper, like (MF Doom) or Freddie, who can catch that, or else you'll be sounding crazy”. But, despite Gibbs being capable of making pretty much any beat sound good, he never sounded better than over Madlib’s beats, and I can’t recall an album (ever!) about which I was more excited than this one. There was no way it could possibly live up to my own ridiculous expectations. And yet...
And yet nothing. Piñata starts inauspiciously, to say the very least. It opens with a scene-setting quote about “supplying dope to the blacks and the Mexicans”, but it doesn’t really fit in with the themes of the rest of the album. Sure, there are songs here about selling dope, but the blaxploitation-era sample feels like it belongs on a more consciously cinematic album, perhaps something by Raekwon or Roc Marciano, or even Rick Ross – rappers who deal in vivid filmic images, showing you part of the scene and allowing your imagination to fill in the rest. Gibbs is great, but that’s not really his thing. He’s more straight-down-the-line than those guys, and even on my fortieth of fiftieth listen I still find myself a little confused by that opening quote. Then, just for good measure, it’s followed by a slow, pedestrian breakbeat that sort of sounds like a second-rate Massive Attack cover of Salt-n-Pepa’s ‘Let’s Talk About Sex’. For an album that’s so sure of itself, so comfortable in its own skin, it feels like an unnecessarily tacked-on intro that was thought up at the last minute simply because, hey, they figured they needed an intro. (Then again, I don’t even like ‘The Genesis’, so I’m probably not the person to come to for sympathy regarding your shitty hip-hop album intros.) In fact, throughout the record Madlib scatters snippets from movies or whatever, and they’re pretty fucking hit and miss. I know it’s his style, and they don’t necessarily detract anything from the album, but he seems to be attempting to cultivate a vibe that isn’t really ever there. When you’re goofing around with Doom in the studio, sipping ayahuasca and swapping stories about the cartoons you remember from your youth, feel free to stick your goofy fucking samples wherever you want. Gibbs is almost so authentic, so real, that they actually just seem kind of quaint in comparison to his verses. Then, of course, the album has other major flaws. The first actual track on the album, ‘Scarface’, is easily its most forgettable, a brief, generic, “I’m a gangsta” number that offers very little in the way of insight or deeper meaning. There’s 100 seconds of pointless shit-talking at the end of the majestic ‘Robes’, over some Krusty the Clown, Rick Moranis beat, and it threatens to completely derail the flow and pacing of the album. The hook on ‘Shitsville’ is a few too many shades of corny (and whisper it, but the beat sort of sounds like something Eminem might have rapped over in 2002). Ab-Soul delivers one of the worst verses I have ever heard on the otherwise wonderful ‘Lakers’. There’s a song about fried chicken, and I’m only partially convinced that it’s supposed to be a metaphor. And, most depressingly of all, not only does the album end with a verse by somebody who isn’t Gibbs, but it turns out to be Mac fucking Miller, who somehow makes matters even worse by ending with a fucking Billy Madison reference. I’ve had some pretty infuriating moments listening to hip-hop in my lifetime, but hearing the album I’d been more excited about than any other come to an end with that fucking airhead whiteboy shouting, “O’Doyle rules!” – well that has to rank right up there at the fucking top! Piñata has major, unavoidable flaws that probably stop it from ever being considered a great album. And yet...
And yet Piñata is great. Its flaws mirror those of its author, whose hood tales are given to us warts and all, sans apologies. This is man who sees his “future in (his) rear-view”, who kissed him momma and “told her if (he) die that it’s just part of nature”. A man for whom the street life is the life, brought up by a bent policeman (“a life of crime is all we ever shared from then to now, ’cause I’m a crook and you crooked, that’s all we got in common”) in Gary, Indiana, one of America’s roughest cities and its murder capital as recently as 2005 (“another day in Gary, another couple niggas in the morgue”), selling dope from a young age (““where’d you get the money for Nikes?”, my momma asked me; I got it selling nickel bags”), robbing to get by (“a student of the thug nigga, drug dealer college, majored in robbing and graduated with honours”), who – like Tupac before him – uses his lyrical ability and thug credentials to transcend his surroundings. As he says during ‘Uno’, in a line that mirrors Pac’s own pre-emptive martyr status, and with a gruff growl that sounds eerily similar to Shakur’s, he’ll be “a legend out this motherfucker, breathing or dead”. (I genuinely feared the worst last year as news filtered through that he’d been shot at after a gig in New York, but there would have been something rather poignant about this generation’s premier gangsta rapper going out the same way his most celebrated forebears did.) Gibbs brings a sense of much-needed perspective to his gangsta tales, coming on like an old dude at a bar whose stories aren’t just interesting, but vital. I know this is starting to feel less like a critical appraisal or a love letter and more like an exhausting list of out-of-context lyrics, but the best way to explain Gibbs is simply to let the man explain himself – ‘Broken’, an album highlight whose heavy, melancholy sample is lifted almost untreated from Isaac Hayes’ late career highlight ‘Wherever You Are’ (on which Isaacs himself fittingly laments, “I thought that I wanted to be free, that the street life was the thing for me, but I was wrong”), basically represents Gibbs’ whole ethos, finding him asking for forgiveness for his desperate, dirty deeds one moment before offering a staunch defence of his actions the next, plainly stating, “fuck the government, I got my own deficit”. ‘Fuck the government’ is not a new or inventive idea in any context, particularly a rebellious youth culture one, but his reasoning is indicative of the man – he looks after himself first. It may seem selfish, but this in itself is fraught with deeper meaning, coming from a community (both geographically and racially) who have been utterly let down by the system and are intrinsically wired to put themselves and those around them first, knowing help isn’t gonna be at hand. It’s an idea that Kendrick Lamar puts across excellently over the course of 80 minutes on his latest album, but it takes Gibbs and his pathos-filled croak just a few words to explain it as well as anybody (Kendrick included) could. Then, as if that wasn’t enough to take in, Gibbs contradicts himself again within seconds, ruminating that “money rules the world, but when you’re dead that shit’s irrelevant”. He accepts the futility of what he’s doing, but is helplessly tied to it regardless, that great lost voice in gangsta rap who is finally being heard above the noise, realising that there is little to celebrate in carrying out actions that ultimately mean nothing. Yet there isn’t regret or sorrow in his voice, just acceptance of the situation he finds himself in. It’s fitting that Scarface should show up to lend a verse, and this feels almost like a torch-passing moment – ’Face has played the wise old owl of gangsta rap for so long now that it seems bizarre to think that he’s still only 44, and when he opines that “out here there’s no fear, fuck feelings”, it’s genuinely heartbreaking, thinking of how many have grown accustomed to a lifestyle that is as destructive as it is unnecessary. And still, there are no apologies.
Elsewhere, Gibbs is in the form of his career. ‘Knicks’ comes laced with another beat that feels positively Delfonics-esque (although the sample is actually from a song by The Ovations), and finds Freddie relating tragic moments in his life to basketball games (“Pippen on the assist, I’m watching Jordan drop a double-nickel on the Knicks, that was ’95, a couple of us ain’t live to ’96”; “watching LeBron put up 56 on the Knicks in 2005, police killed my nigga in 2006”), a chilled-yet-chilling remind that life in the hood is cyclical as fuck. Elsewhere, he explains life beyond the hood, the relief and love he has for his career, be it his promise to never sell out during the second verse of ‘Uno’, the pleasure he derives from his new home in Los Angeles on ‘Lakers’, the advantages of the touring life on ‘Robes’ (“making foreign bread, get some morning head on the autobahn”), or even just being able to smoke a lot of weed and fuck a lot of groupies (I was initially thinking about the Freda Payne-sampling ‘High’ when I wrote that sentence, but the sentiment actually applies to a lot of the album). In fact, it’s that dichotomy between the struggles of hustling (/thuggin’) and the perks of being a famous rapper that basically carries the entire genre of gangsta rap, and yet nobody has ever really landed quite as comfortably between the two since that ever-present figure of this review (and general shadow over all gangsta rap), Tupac Shakur. It’s funny that 2015’s biggest hip-hop release, Kendrick’s To Pimp a Butterfly, is an ode to the man himself, when his most natural heir released a far more humble record last year that will almost inevitably be seen as the closest Gibbs ever got to a creating a masterpiece. Like Tupac’s best records, it’s majorly flawed. Like Tupac’s best records, it flits effortlessly between the solemn and the celebratory, careful never to extol the virtues of the thug life too much whilst definitely and defiantly refusing to disown it either. But, unlike Tupac’s best records, it finds its voice over a selection of stunning instrumentals, provided by a one-off genius producer who could seemingly craft a slice of immediately timeless psychedelic soul with just an old DeBarge cassette tape, a pair of scissors, and a shoestring. Many reviewers at the time commented on the oddness of this collaboration, but those of us who have loved Gibbs for a long time got over that particular shock back in 2011. So yeah, the best songs on the album had been available years prior to the record’s release (Hi, ‘Thuggin’’ and ‘Deeper’!), but their inclusion here gave them a new lease of life, a proper context in which they finally became visible to the sorts of people who don’t read hip-hop blogs. And what a fucking context it is, flaws and all. Maybe it’s indicative of a return to gangsta rap’s golden age – perhaps the time is right, economically, for the genre’s issues to be aired once again, perhaps by people who have been around the block and can comment accurately on the damage, both direct and collateral. Maybe it’s a retro-fetishist throwback to a time when the gangsta reigned supreme, not actually indicative of anything other than the prevailing power of an old soul loop and a gruff voice. Maybe it’s just a dope rap album. And, when you hear that exotic guitar loop ride off into the sunset on the album’s final track, you’ll realise that maybe, just maybe, O’Doyle really does fucking rule*.
* Only joking. Seriously, who the fuck let Mac Miller spit the last verse on this thing?!?
(This aged like milk, but the points still stand.) _________________ 2021 in full effect. Come drop me some recs. Y'all know what I like.
Maybe this will make more people appreciate Pinata... it ranks too low in 2014.
8th out of ~5000 isn't too shabby, especially with some decent records above it. I just wish Lost In The Dream wasn't the #1. The fact that record is anywhere near out top 100 is ridiculous.
Maybe this will make more people appreciate Pinata... it ranks too low in 2014.
8th out of ~5000 isn't too shabby, especially with some decent records above it. I just wish Lost In The Dream wasn't the #1. The fact that record is anywhere near out top 100 is ridiculous.
Lost in the Dream is the injustice that most springs to mind. How that outranks Pinata, I'll never know. _________________ Finnegan was super bad-ass.
Oh my beautiful Grimes, donno why aiding the passing on the genes of Rocket Boy and naming the kid after what seems like an Algebra in-house ever felt like a good idea, but that doesn't do anything to diminish the captivating power of Oblivion, congrats to her and Repos captainship! Also mad props to Gibbs and Skinny, who also had a great tournament run and giving Pinata even more exposure it de f deserves. And 25 Seersha smooches to everybody who nominated and voted in this tournament!
And again im passing on the reins to whoever wants to run the next half of r the decade tournament. If no ones willing may just be put it in hold for now
Congrats Repo, great nom. Oblivion looked like a certain winner to me ever since it knocked out Kendrick's Sing About Me. And it's definitely deserving even if I prefered a few other songs. A near-perfect pop tune.
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