There are some losses you simply do not move on from. Losing Prodigy at the age of 42, due to medical negligence and a disease that embodies institutional racism in its damn self is still an unbearably bitter pill to swallow eight years on.
Naturally, P being P – and Mobb Deep being Mobb Deep – his eventual demise is something he’d been putting in our faces since their debut. Jay-Z might’ve tried to weaponize his condition against him, but P never hid from it — that unvarnished honesty remains central to his legacy. So, too, was the love he had for his city and hip hop: the man was putting out music with Conway the Machine in 2016, long before Griselda became “the thing”. He kept an eye on what was next.
Finally, there’s his talent itself: to me, he’s best represented by his duality, that ability to flip between being one of rap’s bluntest instruments into moments of vivid poetry (see his verse on Murda Muzik’s “Streets Raised Me” for some truly bracing thoughts). I mean, this is the man that had Interscope scrambling to censor Mobb’s G-Unit debut because he was threatening to stomp out god for leaving African-Americans in poverty and strife. There’s a reason Common placed him right alongside Biggie on the first single from his elder statesman album alongside Pete Rock.
I digress, but all this is to say: a hell of a lot of weight was looming down on – and weighing on – Mobb Deep’s first (and presumably final) album since his passing.
The fact that Havoc took the years he has since his partner’s death readily displays that it was handled with care, thankfully dodging some rushed, ghoulish cash-in. Instead, Hav took his time to absorb the incalculable loss of his lifelong comrade (releasing a tribute to the deceased along the way alongside Flee Lord), only returning to the well when he was properly ready to sieve through the waters. It was also reassuring, even before release, to see only Hav and The Alchemist behind the boards; it was kept in the family (for those that have swung in on Uncle Al for his more recent collaborations, he’s been appearing on Mobb albums since 1999).
Naturally, these facts in themselves didn’t necessarily spell success, so it’s wistfully thrilling that Infinite works as well as it does. In short, the album is an absolute best case scenario, given the limitations of what an album for which half of the duo is no longer with us can be. Even rapping alongside a ghost, Hav’s chemistry with P hasn’t lost a step and they feel as natural a pair as they ever did. Prodigy’s verses don’t feel awkwardly sandwiched in, instead naturally befitting each track, with each beat carefully curated to match his flow and tone.
The guest verses are tasteful, whether from old allies (Big Noyd, Nas, Raekwon and Ghostface) or more contemporary admirers (Clipse). Indeed, especially given their recent resurgence, a Mobb Deep/Clipse collaboration finally occurring feels right, considering both groups’ statuses as beloved rap duos, and the elder group clearly having deeply impacted the younger’s icy perspective and content.
Of course, there will be the grumpy naysayers complaining that the sound of Infinite isn’t the sound of The Infamous or Hell on Earth, to which I’ll retort: it’s not 1995. More importantly, such a stubborn perspective – when it comes to our elder statesmen in hip hop in general – takes away the very vitality of being a musician, not to mention a human being: the right to change, as we all do. Given that Prodigy was working on a slightly head-scratching trilogy of conspiracy theories and humanistic concerns around his passing, it’s more than clear he had long been doing so.
That said, the verses selected here largely stick to the classic Mobb tone. P’s barbs on “Score Points” is pure ruthlessness and would have felt at home on Albert Einstein. Moreover, and importantly, nothing on Infinite feels like it was scraped from outtakes that were better not released. Nothing feels thrown away or tossed off. In fact, “Mr. Magik” feels like such a readymade Mobb Deep heater that it’s surprising it took this long to arrive; that hook and P snickering, “Abracadabra, I toss a cadaver”? Yes sir. Cards on the table, I’m not sure the album needed two versions of Nas-assisted ballad “Down for You”, but when it’s to make room for Jorja Smith and H.E.R. to both pay respects, it’s hard to complain too much.
Appropriately, given the severity and sadness of the occasion, Infinite also finds time for legacy-staking and grace.“Clear Black Nights” finds the pair alongside Raekwon and Ghostface for a heavenly bout of reflections, veterans effortlessly balancing between nostalgia and sincerity, just the sort of verses one hopes to hear from lions in winter. Even more potently, Prodigy’s last words on album opener “Against the World” being, “See you on the other side, my n***a,” is eerie and bracing, giving the feel of him literally speaking to Hav (and, more broadly, all of us) from the beyond.
Indeed, Havoc has discussed how some of Prodigy’s work here seems to speak of ‘premonitions of the future’, and it’s hard not to hear some of that within the album. His well-earned chest-thumping across “Pour the Henny” feels almost delivered from the grave in its pride: “I lived a full life, don’t cry for me / A real-life king of New York, the top of the heap / I did songs with Mary J. Blige, my n***a / Mariah Carey, Big Pun, and Nas, my n***a / I did tours with Biggie Smalls, my n***a / Eminem, 50 Cent, I did it all, my n***a”.
He’s not wrong. Inevitably, and consciously, Infinite all comes down to its fallen cocreator. Two sides of a coin, equally essential, with Havoc bringing peerless beats that set the tone, Prodigy was nonetheless the voice of Mobb Deep, from his legendary, forceful bars on “Shook Ones, Pt. II”, before, after, and forever. My mind inevitably drifts to catching them perform The Infamous in full in Atlanta: the audience was restless, berating the opener who was forced to extend his set as the group was late, until he finally uttered, “I wanna see Mobb Deep, too, n***a.” When the group finally did arrive, a certain song was notably absent. As the concert went on, the question began to loom: were they really not gonna play that jam? The show was over. The Alchemist, performing DJ duties throughout, was packing up his gear. Then, for a split second, he “accidentally” let the “Shook Ones, Pt. II” beat drop. The crowd went wild. “Sorry, y’all, an accident, they’re done.” A riot was in sight, tempers were flaring. Then, as the lights seemed to completely dim, Prodigy came hurling on stage, a bullet out of the chamber. “DID Y’ALL N***AS THINK I WAS GONNA LEAVE WITHOUT DOING MY SHIT?” It brought the house down.
In true P fashion, eight years after slipping out, he’s charged in to share that stage one more time. He couldn’t have left without it.
