(t5!) My Year In Lists 2006: Singles! 30 to 26
On top of a beat with snares that sound like guns popping off, The Game delivers rhymes with a degree of hunger and tenacity that’s never been seen from him before. He disses both 50 Cent and Jay-Z, but then apathetically apologizes to both of them a few bars later saying he “ain’t got beef wit 50, no beef wit J.” It’s a bit confusing but it’s intentionally ridiculous, as if there’s a “yeah, right” footnote when he spits the line. Then, he burns new bridges, this time against the southern rap movement and their penchant for “[making] up a dance to try to get radio play.” His arrogance is undeniable, but The Game’s me-against-the-world character is unquestionably the most intriguing in hip-hop.
The beat’s lively, but jittery. That slap bass’s funky, but dread. Thom Yorke’s dancing and flailing his arms and legs, but he’s also shaking from anger. This is the same brand of antithetical electronica that we’ve all come to expect from a Thom Yorke-fronted single. And in this one, Thom Yorke goes CSI-UK on everybody, descending deeper into the conspiracy that surrounds former UN weapons inspector David Kelly. With his trademark whine, he questions both the suicide (“Did I fall or was I pushed? Did I fall or was I pushed?/And where's the blood? Where's the blood?”) and the British government (“Don’t ask me/ask the ministry”). It’s one of the most daring and haunting lyrics Yorke has ever penned.
“You’ll be one of us when the night comes.” I’m From Barcelona (which is a lie because they’re actually from Sweden) is definitely a cult; this single, “We’re From Barcelona,” is their recruitment anthem. And with an anthem this jubilant, who wouldn’t want to convert? All 20 members of this band are holding hands—occasionally letting go for handclaps—and they're swaying joyously around a Barcelona/Sweden beach campfire. Skeletoned by the effervescent rhythm of the drummer and bassist, whoever’s left from the 20 aggregated their horns, glockenspiels, acoustic guitars, electric organs, violins, and na-na-na’s together to play the same sprightly melody. Soon you will be too with whatever instrument you can find.
Nelly Furtado has received a lot of flack from some of you for this, for this desperate pursuit of pop superstardom, for selling out. But have you actually stopped and thought that maybe this is the new her—confident, liberated, loose, promiscuous? Don’t you think that conscious, singer-songwriter Nelly is a little bit boring anyway? And, so what if girl wants to dance, does that make her illiterate? Sure, she’s not saying anything profound here; but, she recites her lines so smoothly that even if she’s quoting anything nonsensical, it would still go unnoticed. As she shakes her ass freely to Timbaland’s enchanting looped flute and shattering synths, it’s obvious that she’s enjoying herself. Why won’t you?
Nevermind that Jill Scott’s performance is spectacular and the song's subdued choruses and leviathan verses goes against the time-tested hip-hop structure; this is given props because of its commentary on the current state of hip-hop. Talking about hip-hop’s materialism, trivialization of violence, and denigration of women is not like pointing out the giant elephant in the room anymore. In fact, the topic has been exhausted by the underground. Lupe’s satirical technique revives the mainstream criticism angle with its creativity by sarcastically identifying all of hip-hop’s shortcomings in one verse while, at the same time, avoiding to be preachy. If hip-hop needs saving, Lupe Fiasco is salvation.
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