Lil’ Wayne, Rebirth

Lil’ Wayne, Rebirth [Cash Money, Young Money]

Reviewed by: Christian Hagen

One has to respect Lil’ Wayne’s dedication to trying new things. There’s no denying that someone as prolific as our dear Weezy has dedication to advancing his craft. For that alone, I have nothing but respect for Wayne on a conceptual level.

That said, Lil’ Wayne is not a good songwriter.

Rebirth was hyped as Lil’ Wayne’s attempt to break into the rock genre, prefaced by the idea that he somehow has learned to play the guitar. Sadly, Lil’ Wayne’s definition of “rock music” appears to extend about as far as 3OH!3 and AP Magazine’s douchebag party-emo band of the month. His singing style appears to have two modes: Auto-tuned whine and painfully strained scream.

It’s hard to say whether he even has abilities with the guitar; it tends to get buried in the production, and with all the distortion, a listener can’t even hear the notes he might be playing.

The album starts with a hard edged, self-congratulatory blast on “American Star.” It’s no stretch to say that Lil’ Wayne is conceited. He exists within a section of the hip-hop genre that is half lyrical and musical showiness and half pure self-promotion. But here the chorus is laughable; Wayne’s motif is the centerpiece, and all he has to say is “I’m a dope boy with a guitar.” Well, at least he knows what instrument he’s trying to play. The song also makes several observations about the United States for people who’ve never looked at the news ever. In case you weren’t aware, the president is “B-L-A-C-K.”

But the moment when the album because almost abominably painful is the second track, “Prom Queen.” Running almost exactly the length of the preceding song (but feeling twice as long), “Prom Queen” is basically Lil’ Wayne’s “woe is me” ballad about a girl who turned him down in high school. He’s certainly embracing emo with both arms. But with hip-hop credentials like Wayne’s (he’s literally been called the “best rapper alive,” and not just by himself) one would think that he would be able to muster lyrics better than, “She had it all figured out/But she left me with a broken heart./Fucked around and turned me down/’Cause she didn’t think I could play the part.” I honestly think this song was written by a high school freshman in the throes of a painful acne attack.

In fact, the whole album is so layered with crap rock clichés, one would think Lil’ Wayne was re-dubbing a Papa Roach album. It sounds like a basement producer made a bad mashup of 808s and Heartbreak and Chocolate Starfish and the Hot Dog Flavored Water. It’s hard to decide what the worst moment is definitively. It could be the mildly offensive “Ground Zero,” which I can only assume is some kind of satire, but with a chorus like “Let’s jump out a window/Let’s jump off a building baby,” it’s hard to tell just what the hell Wayne thinks he’s saying, because whatever it is, it isn’t deep and it isn’t clever.

“Get a Life” could be the next big thing in obnoxious ringtones for pothead assholes who like to get into fights at concerts when someone spills beer on their Ed Hardy t-shirt. “On Fire” starts like an ‘80s synth-pop sports song. And if you couldn’t guess from the title, he’s talking about a woman who is “hot” (also, it features another mildly offensive September 11^th reference in which he says that “she” is, in fact, so hot, “Firemen to her rescue like 9/11.” Wow.).

Oh, but the problems don’t end there. About halfway through “Drop The World” (another angry song directed, apparently, at no one), a mysteriously familiar voice creeps in. Is that? Oh yes, it’s Eminem. You know, there were a few nice years there when some people literally forgot Eminem existed. No one had to worry about him suddenly cropping up and reminding you that yes, this is why some people hate rap music. And as his “comeback album” Rehash…excuse me, Relapse proved, he still hasn’t figured out how to reinvent his schtick. Oh look, he’s still subconsciously homophobic: “I came from up from behind/And pretty much snuck up/And butt-fucked this game up.” Well, at least he recognizes that he basically screwed up a whole genre.

Really, the best moment on the whole album doesn’t involve Wayne in any way, but rather the belting voice of Shanell on “Runnin’.” Compared to Wayne’s computerized groaning, it’s a welcome burst of power and energy that has nothing to do with the growling guitars and splashy drums. It would have been nice if Wayne had just left us there, to end our suffering a bit early. Instead, we have to struggle through the boring “One Way Trip” and the flatly repetitive “Knockout,” which, despite (or maybe because of) its up-tempo beat gets old almost immediately. This is to say nothing of “The Price is Wrong,” which one would hope is a joke, because if Wayne thinks that’s good rock and roll, or good music in general, he’s absolutely insane.

What makes Lil’ Wayne’s venture into rock that much more insufferable is that he treats it with the same attitude that he’s treated his hip-hop career, carrying himself as if he really is the greatest rapper alive, acting as though no one has made this transition better than he. It’s a slap in the face to artists who actually have bridged the gap between rap and rock successfully, most notably (in my mind at least) Minneapolis rapper P.O.S., and who have made really great music as a result. Who knows where Lil’ Wayne will go from here (other than to prison), but one hopes that he never touches rock and roll again.

Rating: 26%

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OMD: 15% (↓ 11%)  - Time only makes this album that much more heinous and offensive. Honestly, the main drawback to doing these OMDs is that we have to revisit garbage like this. If Weezer hadn’t released their newest album this year, Rebirth would be a shoe-in for worst album of the year.