Wow. Here we are in 2010, buddying it up with whatever hip hop is supposed to be today. It’s nothing new, for you know, all of music history various forms have had to evolve to keep with the times and remain interesting to a new and changing audience. Sorry if I’m boring you. As tired as the album concept may have seemed (and still seem) Nas had a point. Hip hop simply isn’t going to last. It has become every label’s marquee attraction. Drake may be completely useless to begin with, but there’s a hell of a lot more wrong than that. Common sold out, Ghostface put out an R&B album, and Ludacris is on a Justin Bieber song (oh, and look, Drake’s in the video, of course).
B.o.B’s part of this whole new thing. Every few years hip hop seems ready to accept some of the recent kids into a “what’s next” posse, and whichever artists are dropping that year have to feel lucky not to fall in an ignored year. What is this whole new thing? Everything’s been deliciously watered down by the likes of Flo Rida into slimy pop already. These young kids are coming in without flows, without ideas and gaining instant acclaim. What more do you really need to do? If some rock band were to form and want a chance of blowing, and then were shown Nickelback’s latest album and told “play better than this,” would they have much to do? B.o.B. and his ilk are a generation inspired by a period of pointlessness, consumed in the glare of things like 808s & Heartbreak.
Take one look at this album. Everyone from Rivers Cuomo to Hayley Williams (apparently the hot young thing from Paramore) is featured alongside the likes of Lupe and Eminem. It’s actually the perfect clashing of the transfer played out in album form. When he finally shows up, Eminem both embarrasses poor Bobby Ray and seems to have to crush the track to be in place. The whole thing’s 12 tracks long – this is a hip hop debut? Apparently the accepted tradition of overwhelming on your first release has been abandoned too. On “Airplanes Part 2,” Eminem comes on and rules the track for the entire latter half of the song, and it’s the last song on the album. Hence, the whole thing nearly operates as build up for the now old-school rapper (now isn’t that weird?) to come on and claim his importance. That’s how empty this effort is.
“Don’t Let Me Fall,” the album’s catastrophic opening track, will basically give you the idea. B.o.B comes in clumsily singing, and gentle guitar fades in, turning slowly into a soft rock piece. B.o.B.’s flow – once he does get around to rapping – is essentially the same throughout the entire record, except for when he fails at trying to be smooth. Other than that, his words jut out as little boasts and insecurities, failing to go much of anywhere. What’s most absurd is that the track almost works. If B.o.B. hadn’t been trying so damn hard to sound cool on the opening, it could’ve been something that shouldn’t have succeeded but did. Instead, he kills the track himself with his clumsy sing-song contribution. Up next is the big single, “Nothin’ On You,” a truly baffling song. Bruno Mars should be a welcome presence after his Lupe collab (with Lupe up next on the album one must wonder if Bobby is just borrowing playbooks), but the whole thing is just, well, awful. Bobby spits slow, uninspired verses, talking annoyingly during the chorus, repeating the already simple enough refrain. It’s truly baffling that this song is the one that catapults an MC to both fame and respect today. Respect, you ask? No kidding. This guy is T.I.’s right-hand man, and Eminem has spoken highly of him. How are these guys doing it? I might as well have a rap career, let’s get me started.
The album flows clumsily on, “Past My Shades” is a surprisingly unsuccessful collab, Lupe sounds like he’s dumbing himself down for both his company and audience. The first of the “Airplanes” songs is next, on which B.o.B. strangely spits a better verse than those that he saves for his face off with the titan. “Bet I” is another single, bringing around T.I. and Playboy Tre, on which both guests promptly slay the resident and the beat grates annoyingly throughout. Then on “Ghost in the Machine” B.o.B. finally tries to present that image of his, that he’s doing something unique. It’s interesting, really, enjoyable to listen to for its sheer absurdity. It basically comes off as Bobby as Kid Cudi or perhaps what Billy Joel might sound like were he a rapper in 2010.
Going through the rest track-by-track is relatively pointless. “The Kids” is just awful, with a poor Janelle Monae forced in awkwardly. When that Rivers Cuomo track finally rolls around…ouch. “Magic” is essentially Weezer as it would already sound today with B.o.B. on it, well…it’s kind of electronic I guess…just don’t listen to it. The album continues for a few more pointless tracks, already overstaying its welcome. Maybe the 12 track thing was a gift. Then “Airplanes Part 2” rolls around and, like I said, Eminem steals the whole album. His verse isn’t even too lyrically fantastic, but there’s enough actual emotion in it to crush anything Bobby said on his entire record. Hell, this thing’s been out no more than few days, and already my only use for it is to skip halfway through that track. Might as well be reviewing 45 minutes of white noise followed by an Eminem verse.
