#Finally rich mixtape series#
Even 'Hate Being Sober', a infectious club-ready series of tough beats and scintillating synthwork, only works thanks to its two gifted guests 50 Cent and Wiz Khalifa, both of whom remind of that time Eminem murdered Jigga on 'Renegades'. Easily the album's stinking nadir, 'Laughin' To The Bank' aims for Odd Future and ends up as callow as Insane Clown Posse. '3Hunna', another Young Chop gong-banger familiar to the mixtape set, trades Soulja Boy's original guest verse for a marginally less generic one from aforementioned Maybach Music kingpin Ross.
#Finally rich mixtape software#
The death of that omnipresent vocal enhancement software has been greatly exaggerated, with Future single-handed dashing Jay-Z's dreams and undoubtedly inspiring Keef's dead horse battery of the studio tool on chiptune-reminiscent 'Ballin'' and 'Kay Kay'. Yet his sole beat here for 'No Tomorrow' is as spiritless as Keef's listless Auto-Tuned verse, his tone not dissimilar to dancehall dude Mavado.
Mike WiLL Made It had one hell of a 2012, with massive singles for 2 Chainz and Juicy J.
The pitfalls of pre-release front-loading of Finally Rich's best material becomes evident fairly quickly. However, neither of these tunes are particularly new to anyone within range of a Clear Channel hip hop station's signal. Though the almost absentmindedly spat latter may ultimately be Keef's best known cut, the feral former improves upon the sing-song formula and makes for a more robust mission statement. The most visceral musical moments come courtesy of up-and-comer Young Chop, the barely legal producer behind the two brawniest hits of Keef's career thus far: 'Love Sosa' and the breakthrough behemoth 'I Don't Like'. But no amount of street cred can make up for this mostly middling, only intermittently marvellous record. This, along with a fair amount of publicly available information and hearsay, could provide a useful context for Finally Rich, Keef's major label debut. (Hardly a choirboy himself, Lil JoJo apparently repped a rival gang, and in an alternate reality, he'd have been the one on Interscope.) The September murder of Joseph “Lil JoJo” Coleman, another young rapper who beefed with Keef and Chicago drill scene cohorts like Lil Reese, raised some uncomfortable questions for those who have largely sought fit to imagine the ghetto as a convenient Urban Outfitters adjective instead of a place where people live, struggle, and, yes, die daily. The ecosystem, after all, encompasses both the streets and the beats.īy some accounts - including that of the Chicago Police Department - Chief Keef is the real deal, a teenaged gang-affiliated menace to society with a multimillion dollar record deal, hardly alarming given the scores of artists who've parlayed an arrest record into hip-hop legitimacy. cassette over and over know better than to blame rap music for anything more than the further romanticising of an urban gangster lifestyle that would exist and assuredly thrive even in its absence. Those of us who grew up huddling around our friends' parents' stereos listening to the same N.W.A. Much like the Republican Party's years of cynical Southern strategising led to the terrifying true believer Tea Party movement, an entire generation raised in American poverty on survivalist thug tales and pusher parables was bound to produce some legitimately hard dudes.
This clouding, however, carries unavoidable sociological consequences. One need only look at the improbable ascent of “Officer Ricky” Ross to see that some talent, an unwavering dedication to a narrative, and corporate music business backing can trump an otherwise inopportune smoking gun. The line between reality and fantasy in rap music has blurred so much it might seem like a blessing to some, a tapering-off of an unreasonable double standard that demanded every bar out of a lyricist's mouth to be rooted in truth.
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