![]() ![]() A laser-guided funk missile collides with handclaps and a pulsing bassdrum backbeat, on a spiraling trajectory towards surprisingly inspirational lyrics from the Clipse. The highly anticipated new N.E.R.D track naturally isn't very interesting, lyrically ("We will not be the losers" is this generation's "We Are the Champions"), but is stunning, beatwise. On the other hand, when the Neptunes step out of their accepted hip-hop box, they find their greatest success. ![]() Arguably the worst song on the album, Fam-Lay comes off like Eazy-E on morphine on "Rock N' Roll", claiming he has "so much coke, got coke in jail." Surprising to see a majority of the eighth planet populace's affiliates don't share the same agenda for innovation. Coldchain's collaboration with Pusha T and Boo Bonic, "Hot", falls on its face, based on the incorporation of a lame barebones interpolation of the Beastie Boys' "Paul Revere" and lackluster verses from all involved. Busta Rhymes is laced with a crisp jungle funk backdrop that samples Kraftwerk, but he also fails to live up to the task at hand, settling on saying the word "ass" about a hundred times.Įven the Star Trak artists disappoint. Snoop Dogg, Ludacris and Nelly each sleepwalk through their performances, with beats that complement their lack of interest and lack of concern with diversifying their portfolios. The most established artists realize that with their level of notoriety, they no longer need to impress. Ironically, the biggest names fare the worst. So, as expected, they've drafted the very biggest stars out of their two-way pager address books to develop a venerable who's-who in hip-hop today. They've worked with everyone from Daft Punk to Beenie Man, and this disc is the proverbial victory lap at the peak of their success.
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