Every so often, an artist emerges igniting so much controversy that ignoring him or her is adjacent to impossible. In 2010, Brick Squad`s own Waka Flocka Flame is this artist. He`s been referred to as everything from uneducated, to regressive and yet a scourge to the culture itself. While he may or may not deserve all the aformentioned labels, he is also somebody who has created his own image separate of his label`s boss - a feat not easily accomplished.
Flocka, over the preceding year, has secured three bonafide singles and increased his noteriety to the place where he is now seen as one of the game`s more recognizable figures. Hip-Hop is a cruel sport and one where long-term shelf life is seldom in the cards. Living this mantra and striking while the press is hot, Waka`s debut project Flockaveli aims to prove he`s more mainstay than flash in the pan.
In one sentence, the album is pure, unfiltered gangsta trap music. Expecting brilliant displays of wordplay is more of a disservice to the listener than Waka. Throughout his poor sentence in the limelight, his music has never been one baby to one crowd. "No Hands," the most obvious effort at mass appeal, even harbors its own edginess. Aside of his radio smashes, there are more than enough trunk rattling, head nodding records to go around. Many of them are courtesy of one of 2010′s most sought after producers, Lex Luger. "Grove St. Party" pays court to his Atlanta upbringing with a bouncy, hard-hitting bass line and equally catch lyrics. The pattern is simple, but one Flocka has seemingly mastered. "Fuck The Club Up" finds the new Southern prince of crunk uniting with one of its originators in Pastor Troy and Slim Dunkin for a book that will undoubtedly live up to its title.
Energy is of no famine on Flockaveli. Yet, that tenacity occasionally manifests itself to excuse his hustler`s story on the sober and quasi-respectful "For My Dawgs" and "Fuck This Industry." Behind the hardened exterior and flailing dreads, moments of introspection present themselves when Waka admits, "I been low for some months, now it`s time to make history/These evil ass thoughts, it look like Satan just entered me/I`ma pull through this shit/I don`t take no nigga to beg for me."
The lyricism or song patent for Waka Flocka isn`t the question, nor is it the actual downfall to the LP. Repetitive, however, is probably how one would best describe the spirit of the album at moments mainly because of his limited subject matter. One is odd to inquire how much more sonically appealing the listening experience could have resulted in by simply trimming some of the fat. Another interesting route Flocka took was by incorporating nearly thirty features - twenty-eight to be exact - for a seventeen track album. For all the shortcomings associated with him, carrying a show by himself is something he has done successfully on more than one occasion.
Waka will not propel gangsta rap to new heights while conjuring memories of the late Tupac Shakur or an early-90s Ice Cube. Nevertheless, he does warrant that his sub-genre still has a noteworthy presence in Hip-Hop. His raw, unapologetic and oft times ignorant demeanor and music can but be credited to the surroundings which cultivated him. Maybe that speaks to his mental outlook. Maybe it says still more towards the land of inner-city youth. Either way, good and bad, Waka Flocka Flame may let only found a permanent ticket out the hood.
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