In the reality era, there are a number of celebrities who are “famous for being famous.” We can now add Nicki Minaj to that list. After being parodied on SNL and performing with Madonna at the Superbowl halftime show, Minaj is hip hop’s latest larger than life personality (ironically the last one we had was Minaj detractor Lil Kim).

To say the game had high hopes for Nicki is an understatement. After showing the world that she could actually rap, anticipation ran high to see what she could do in the main stream. Alongside some of hip hop’s heavyweights, she crushed her verse on Kanye’s “Monster” and had many in the industry buzzing.

Those days are long gone. There were some tracks on her debut, Pink Friday, that made us scratch our heads and wonder how far pop she’d go. The release of Roman Reloaded answered that question. If you listen to this one expecting a hip hop album you will be sorely disappointed. If you listen to this and expect a good album, fall in line with the folks expecting hip hop album.

Roman Reloaded should’ve been titled Fuck It, because that’s the tone that permeates a great deal of the album. Half the time she sounds like she’s phoning in her raps like on the album’s opener, “Roman Holiday.” At other spots, she sounds like she’s pushing the bounds of fan tolerance as heard on “Come On You” in which she croons about putting dicks in rival’s faces. The 2 Chainz assisted “Beez in the Trap” and “Hov Lane” give us glimpses of old Nicki before descending into an alternate universe where old, rapping Nicki and Harajuku Barbie collide into a total mismatch.

For the rapping enthusiasts, there are two relative bright spots on the album. Rick Ross and Cam’ron pop up on “I Am Your Leader,” a brief return to the Nicki many rap fans fell in love with. The album’s undeniable best track is the mellow “Champion” featuring guest spots from Nas, Drake and Young Jeezy. It’s here that we’re reminded that Minaj can spit with some substance when she wants to and its preferred over the cartoon like character that dominates the opening tracks on the album.

“Dear Old Nicki” disappears permanently on the second half of the album and ironically, she sounds much more comfortable in her skin singing. A couple of radio hits are scored with the teen-friendly, Chris Brown featured “Right by my Side,” which revels in the dysfunction of young love and “Starships,” a cut that makes me want to grab a glow stick and pump my fists like this. “Marilyn Monroe” is a track that would’ve launched the career of an upstart pop singer is relegated to filler. The problem with singing Minaj is tracks like “Pound the Alarm,” Automatic” and “Beautiful Sinner” amount to little more than forgetful filler songs.

There’s a level of different is good that is, well, good for hip hop. Andre 3000 and Cee-Lo swerved left and delivered some memorable songs that will stand the test of time. Minaj went left and flew over the rail and crashed into a fiery heap.

The slivers of greatness on this album aren’t nearly enough to save it from the stench of awfulness. Let’s chop this one up to the sophomore jinx.

In every group, there is always a breakout star. Michael Jackson stood out in the Jackson 5. Q-Tip is the most recognizable face of A Tribe Called Quest. You know the story. Group breaks up, one member goes on to super stardom.

In the case of Rapper Big Pooh, he found himself initially on the wrong end of the stardom tree. Largely overshadowed by former Little Brother group members Phonte and 9th Wonder, Pooh scrapped and clawed for the any recognition he got amidst a sea of criticism. Little Brother’s breakup may have been a sad day for fans of dope beats and dope rhymes but it may arguably be the greatest thing that happened to Pooh.

Totally on his own, Dirty Pretty Things is Pooh at his absolute best to date. “Interdependent” finds the North Carolina artist reflecting on his past and present. It’s a fitting precursor for the journey the listener goes on throughout the 18-track opus. Pooh’s new found confidence is evident on tracks like “They Say.” While still spitting hard, gone is the extra dose of anger that filled the rapper who used to have a chip on his shoulder bigger than a boulder. The grit is still there, but the voice tells the tale of a rapper content with his position in life. Elsewhere on the album, Pooh tag teams with Torae on “Are You Ready.” The scratch heavy hook is a throwback to the days of real hip hop and Premier production.

But it’s on “5.13.11” that Pooh really showcases his growth as an artist. The story of love gone right and wrong is a direct throwback to Nasty Nas and is one of the album’s standout tracks. It’s the seamless transition of tracks where Pooh murders the beat to more concept-based songs that make this set a complete album and not a collection of dope songs.

Dirty Pretty Things goes hard from start to finish and shows Rapper Big Pooh can stand on his own two. If this is a sign of things to come, the naysayers can no longer refer to him as “the other guy from Little Brother.”
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There are few emcees that consistently put out good music. In the era of disposable product, artists drop projects that are hot (or not) today and forgotten tomorrow. Immortal Technique is one of the few consistent artists and is hardly an emcee that floods the Internets with disposable nonsense. In fact, it’s been quite the opposite. Technique is an artist who releases just enough quality music to leave the public hungry for more.
The wait is over. While his next full official album, The Middle Passage remains a work in progress, Technique returns with The Martyr, a free album that puts most commercial releases to shame. From the outset, he instructs—because it is more of a directive than a suggestion— listeners to “burn this for every single mutha f***a you know.”

From there listeners are taken on a 15 track opus that finds the Viper Records head at his best. The beauty of listening to an Immortal Technique album is that you’ll either a) learn something new that requires further reading b) hear something of historical significance rarely spoken of in hip-hop or c) a combination of both. Technique is like the super cool high school history or government teacher that teaches out of the approved text book, but tells you which passages are suspect and/or b.s.

Lyrically, Technique is sharp throughout, but the album’s features add an extra punch. Styles P pops up on “Black Viking,” and Slaughterhouse’s Joell Ortiz lends a verse to “Young Lords.” But it’s Brother Ali who comes through the hardest. On “Civil War,” alongside Chuck D and Killer Mike, Ali goes to bat for American Muslims, “Heard you need putting fear inside your heart, make you burn Qu’rans and tell me not to build a mosque. Me, my wife and babies we ain’t never made jihad, we just want to touch our heads to the floor and talk to God, ask him to remove every blemish from my heart..”

The Martyr’s standout tracks find Technique deviating from his usual style. On “Rich Man’s World,” he abandons the role of rhyming in favor of the underdog to assume the role of the corrupt one percent. “New money buys brand new carats, my old money bought your great grandparents…F*** the law cause real jail is for suckas, I go to country club prison you dumb mutha f***as,” he raps on the opening verse. The sinister, bouncy delivery puts this track among his best work. Elsewhere on the album, Technique tackles pop culture and dismantles traditional physical aesthetics on “Natural Beauty.” It’s substantive enough for hard core hip-hop fans with a mellow beat. If you want to introduce your female, radio addicted friends to Immortal Technique, this is the song.

While the album doesn’t break any new ground, it doesn’t have to – Immortal Technique was light years ahead of most of his peers, subject wise, from the beginning. Despite that, The Martyr goes hard from start to finish, giving old listeners a few more tracks to add to a “best of” play list while giving new ones a fitting introduction to a too often slept on artist.

Those words punctuate the introduction of Murs and Terrace Martin’s collaborative effort, Murs and Terrace Martin Are… Melrose. While the Living Legend is certainly capable of getting deep with it, as evidenced by his collaborative efforts with 9th Wonder, this isn’t one of those times. In place of the “chop your head off” rhymes that seem to dominate much of the independent and underground scene, Murs and Martin opt for the laid back and carefree – the very thing that people think of when the words “Southern” and “California” are put together in dialog.

The beauty of Melrose is its simplicity. What you see is what you get. Lead single “Fresh Kicks” isn’t a witty metaphor, it’s an ode to fresh kicks and those who love them. If your love for Queen Latifah inspired, “UNITY” type rhymes trumps all, your love for the album likely ends here as both men toss around “bitch” and its many derivatives like a father and son playing catch on a Sunday afternoon. But this is where the pair are at their best. The topic of love, lust, loss and everything take center stage on the album. “She’s A Prostitute” finds Murs offering a weighty and comical defense of porn stars and other ladies of the night, blasting women who condemn sex workers but give it up for free. Elsewhere, “She’s A Loser” is an ode to less than stellar chicks. Instead of just going in on the shortcomings of its subjects, Terrace and Murs turn the spotlight on themselves, saying they’re just as big of losers as the girls they love (Murs for “licking porn stars pussy” on the Internet and Martin for having three or four mothers for his kids). Not politically correct by any means, but a hilarious ride.

Where the action slows down and tries to get introspective, the jokes do not. The pair play the roles of good boyfriend (Murs) and deadbeat dad (Martin) on “Thank You.” Things take a slightly – but not too serious – turn with the final two tracks “Doin Me” and “Hands In The Sky,” but neither song detracts from the feel good flow present through the rest of the album.

At the end of the day, Melrose is a hit because it doesn’t take itself too seriously. It’ll be a welcome addition to anyone in need of a soundtrack for their spring break or summer.

Gunfire cut the lives of too many talented emcees short. 2Pac, Notorious BIG and Scott LaRock instantly come to mind. Typically lost in the shuffle of the deceased is Big L. At 24, Lamont Coleman’s life was stopped in a barrage of gun fire. Many believe he was on the verge of greatness. With just two solo releases (1995’s Lifestylez ov da Poor & Dangerous and 2000’s The Big Picture) fans are left with a lot of “what ifs?” and outtakes of unreleased songs to keep the legacy alive.

Enter the late 2010 posthumous release Return of the Devil’s Son. Though the bulk of the material are freestyles and verses previously heard, there’s something for everyone, from the biggest Big L fan to those hearing the New York spitter for the first time. The album’s intro, “Return of the Devil’s Son” finds L going hard in a live performance. It serves as a fitting introduction and shows off the genius that was Big L: witty and gritty punch lines delivered in a way that won’t frighten the masses (and spitting a rhyme about dropping a hair dryer in the bathtub and offing your mom will certainly raise an eye brow).

At a robust 21 tracks, “Return” shines in two key areas: the outtakes and the actual songs. Some of the shorter, one verse tracks like “Slaying the Mic” and “Tony’s Touch” standout. The tracks that sound like actual songs give the best glimpse of what L might have become had his life not been cut short. “Power Moves” and the Royal Flush and Kool G Rap assisted “Right to the Top” could occupy a slot on any 2010 or 2011 mix tape or album and hold their own.

It’s hard to get excited about rehashed vocals and tracks we’ve heard before. Return of the Devil’s Son ultimately succeeds due to nostalgia purposes and—after all these years—the rhymes are still damn good. Still, many of the freestyles just whet our appetites for a Big L album we’ll never get to hear.

Some artists make the best music during the most trying periods of their lives. Ready to write the next chapter in the “troubled artists” book of history is one Clifford Harris. After riding a wave to crossover status that included critically acclaimed albums and a number one movie (“Takers”), TI and wife Tameka “Tiny” Cottle were nabbed in LA on drug charges after being pulled over for – of all things – making an illegal U-turn. The charge constituted a parole violation for Mr. Harris and he’s preparing to do yet another bid in CB4 land.

Thus, the latest album, formerly titled King Uncaged was changed and revamped to No Mercy.

“Get Back Up” features a well delivered assist from 2010’s comeback kid, Chris Brown. Over the Neptunes production, TI raps about overcoming mistakes while throwing a few jabs at would be detractors. Elsewhere on the album, Scarface impresses on “How Life Changed” and Kanye West and Kid Cudi shine on the album’s somber introduction “Welcome To The World.”

The album’s gem is the Eminem assisted “That’s All She Wrote.” Slim Shady comes through with a show stealing verse reminiscent of a more up-tempo “Superman”: “She must’ve took me for some high roller/But i won’t buy her a soda/ Unless it’s Rock n’ Roll cola/ Buy u a bag of Fritos I wouldn’t let u eat the fucking chip on my shoulder.”

If you’re seeing a pattern here, that’s because there is one. The bulk of the album (all but three tracks) features a guest. While most of “No Mercy’s” co-stars hold up their end of the ship – and in several cases, outshine the captain – the ones that don’t become a serious drag on the album. Rocko pops up for the underwhelming “I Can’t Help It.” “Amazing,” featuring Pharrell feels so out of place on an album full of redemption songs. Those looking for a disposable club track of the week will get their feel with “Strip.”

Overall, No Mercy plays like a rollercoaster ride through a man’s final days of freedom. The problem is TI doesn’t really shine on this album. When the Grand Hustle head learns to fully marry his introspective and harder styles, we’re going to see another critical and commercial success.

Consistency is often a gift and a curse within hip-hop circles. Spend too much time doing the same thing and the sound gets stale. Go too far out of the box and fans long for the sounds of yesterday. This is the space Chicago emcee Twista occupies today. After rhyming over sonic soundscapes from the likes of The Neptunes and straying too far from the signature sound that made him famous, Carl Mitchell took it back with his eighth studio album, The Perfect Storm.

In many ways, “The Perfect Storm” is a concoction of tracks that resemble songs we’ve heard before. The album kicks off with “Darkness” featuring fellow Chicago spitter DaWreck of Triple Darkness. In true throwback form to “Adrenaline Rush” Twista and DaWreck tear through a mid-tempo, brooding beat courtesy of The Legendary Traxter. DaWreck more than holds his own and the collaboration is similar to the chemistry between Twista and Buk of Psychodrama on previous albums. The album’s lead single, “Make A Movie” features a resurgent Chris Brown. The damn near triple X rated track finds Twista doing what he does best—talking the ladies out of their panties while Brown sounds extremely comfortable in the role of co-pilot telling his partner how the episode is about to go down.

The Perfect Storm finds Twista occupying two distinct roles that have been his lane for more than ten years: lover and fighter. On the slowed down “Up To Speed,” he reminds the rap game that he’s been doing this for years – and reminds fellow fast rapping emcees that he still does it better: “Twista been comin with fast lyrics for year/I’m glad to see niggas catch up to speed/But when I come to doin a intricate pattern/I bet you y’all can never fuck with me.” The album is cohesive in sound thanks to the majority of board duties being handled by longtime collaborator The Legendary Traxter.

If you’re looking for some new songs to add to that iTunes playlist for “company” (yes, THAT kind of company), the album has some gems. In addition to the aforementioned “Make A Movie,” a show stealing performance by Tia London on 2012 makes apocalypse sound super sexy. Elsewhere, Ray-J lends his talents to the catchy “Call The Police.” “Sweating” rounds out the trilogy nicely.

The album’s blatant missteps are few, but with a lean eleven tracks, a couple of bad apples can spoil the whole bunch. “I Do” is eerily similar to Ludacris’ “My Chick Bad,” but the track is not nearly as good as Luda’s and not fitting for a Twista album. Despite a tolerable verse from Waka Flocka, “Hands Up, Lay Down” is quickly a forgettable song next to the other signature Twista tracks. At the end of the day, “The Perfect Storm” breaks no new ground—but it not supposed to. And while there’s a feeling that Twista has another stellar album in him, this one fits nicely into the catalog.

In conjunction with TWV.