Half a year later, two Hip-Hop artists have dug up the grave, interrupted the funeral and are claiming that Hip-Hop has some life left in it. What makes these two’s claims stand out from the rest of those in disagreement with Nas, is that these are two of the architects that he is referring to, rather than new generation MC’s who are offended at Nas’ disgust with the current rap scene. Another factor that makes these two artists’ unified opinion so interesting, is that two decades ago, these two were on opposite ends of one of the very first Hip-Hop battles, the battle for where Hip-Hop began, KRS-One, from the South Bronx vs. Marley Marl,  (producer for MC Shan), from Queensbridge. Now nearly 20 years later, in a pairing that many would’ve liked to see for years, KRS and Marley have released Hip Hop Lives as a reminder that both are still relevant artists in this genre, and that both can still make damn good music.

    After a brief skit to setup the concept of the album, the music kicks off with the title track, where we find Kris in teacher mode, breaking down why Hip-Hop is eternal over Marley’s slow pianos, bursting strings, and record scratches. It sounds refreshing to hear the two at work again, and as both have proven historically, they come correct with the lyrics and the beats on multiple occasions throughout the album, with the album’s peak being the fantastically chilling, and frighteningly true “Kill a Rapper,” where Kris sounds sickened by the disturbing trend of rappers being murdered and no killer being found. As he runs through the staggering list of open murder cases over Marley’s brooding gem of a track, his disgust turns to sarcasm on a hook that bitingly pleads for justice, while exposing the ugly face of law enforcement. Though nothing can match the power and passion of “Kill a Rapper,” the album plays quite nicely with the highlights being the lo-fi bleeps of “Over 30,” the bombastic smack of  “The Teacha’s Back,” the biographical “Rising to the Top,” the bouncy “This is What it Is,” and the gritty “All Skool.”

      What works for the album is that it makes sense for KRS-One to be the MC reaffirming our faith in the genre. For faithful fans, it seems like he’s been here all along, preaching “Hip-Hop will never die,” from the very beginning. He sounds equally at home pushing uplifting lines about the everlasting nature of Hip-Hop, and flipping scolding disses at those who don’t know where the real Hip-Hop lives. In an equal sense, educated heads know that Marley Marl has continuously proved his resiliency as a producer, crafting classics for essential artists like Big Daddy Kane, and Rakim and breathing life into a stagnant LL Cool J (LL could sure use another Mama Said Knock you Out these days). He is a fabulously gifted beat maker, and he does an excellent job mixing up the production to make tracks that are as interesting and reflective as KRS-One’s lyrics. 

     The downside of the album, isn’t really the fault of the artist’s at all, and it may end up reaffirming Nas’ point in the first place: the timing of the release just doesn’t appear to be right. The demographic that Hip-Hop music has been marketed to over the years has changed drastically. Most of today’s music listeners who say they enjoy Rap and/or Hip-Hop are defining the genre by disposable radio hits like “Party Like a Rock Star” and “This is Why I’m Hot.” These fans probably couldn’t even spell Boogie Down Productions, or even begin to name a member of the Juice Crew, so it is a bit of a stretch to think that they will be checking for an album by KRS and Marley, which is a tragedy in itself, but one that both artists probably knew of before going into this project. 

     Had this album been released three years after the South Bronx/Queensbridge feud, just before Hip-Hop went gangsta, then blinged-out, then both, it could’ve been heralded as a classic and perhaps set a different course for the genre altogether, but alas, as a new album, it serves more as a reminder to the faithful fans of the genre that there will always be at least a part of Hip-Hop that lives on as long as there are artists like KRS-One and Marley Marl who care about the true power of the genre. Maybe it won’t sell records, but it just might be enough to convince the concerned fans that Hip-Hop isn’t lying 6 feet under where Nas buried it.

   The Chopper City Boyz are made up of B.G.’s younger brother Hakizzle, and three rappers named Gar, Sniper and VL Mike, not exactly household names, but Ghostface headlined an album featuring mostly unknowns and had a fresh sounding disc with More Fish in December. Maybe B.G. and the Chopper City Boyz can pull off an effective posse album too?

    The Boyz show some life after a subpar start on the aptly titled “Bounce,” which proves that every member knows how to flow (or at least knows how to plead B.G. to ghostwrite hot verses for them), Gar even sports a very clean double time cadence. The group follows it up with the David Banner produced “Make Em’ Mad,” which jumps like a kangaroo on crack, featuring a flashy, scene-stealing verse by B.G. The track definitely holds it own as a Southern banger, and with two respectable tracks, its not an entirely bad start to the disc at all, especially for a crew album, except…

     That’s just when this album becomes bogged down by repetitive lyrics, second hand themes, and a lack of good beats to talk over, evidenced most effectively by the manufactured realism on “Thorough Stree N***a,” and “Flatliners.” It doesn’t help that the obligatory girl song, “That’s What I Like About Her” has cookie cutter marks all over it, and sounds about as heartfelt and real as a Mark McGwire steroid testimony. As for the beats, everything begins to sound the same after awhile, like on the generic “Never Had,”” which sounds like a song someone would hand in as their first assignment if they were taking ‘How to make a basic Southern Rap Beat 101.’

       The rest of the album is more of the same, with an occasional shining moment or two. Gar is definitely the best of the Chopper City Boyz, with an impressive showing on “Chopper City,” where he flips a bouncy, double time flow over some nasty pianos and machine gun sounds with a fitting screwed and chopped hook. Save for a few other hot verses here and there though, the album is nothing to write home about and none of the Boyz leave the impression that they’ll be lasting figures in Hip-Hop.

       Another problem the disc has is its lack of coherency. The album is clearly more about giving each of these guys a chance at rapping, rather than an album pulled forward by the group dynamic (like on Enter The 36 Chambers, for example). It ends up sounding like of B.G. took all of his homies that wanted a record deal, threw them together under a group moniker, and told them to make a record together as a group. Naturally, they all want their chance to shine and so the disc is broken up into several individual outings. This results in some poor solo efforts like the Hakizzle helmed “Crucial Shit”

      In the end, its easy to get bored quickly with VL Mike, Hakizzle, Gar and Sniper, because they aren’t saying anything that hasn’t been said before. Yes, just like everyone else right now, they’re pushing drugs, poppin’ bottles of expensive liquor, pimpin hoes, ridin’ cars and making really bad songs with instructions in the hook (“Shake Em’ Off”). Listeners and fans of B.G. will be left a little disappointed and a little confused as to what it is exactly that these Boyz “got,” besides a mediocre album that is.

    Coming straight from Mobile Alabama, Maurice Richards, a.k.a. Rich Boy follows this recipe step for step it would appear, with his anthem being “Throw Some D’s,” which still sounds fresh despite it being nearly a year old. The remix in Rich Boy’s case is the amped up and Lil’ Jon backed “Throw Some D’s remix” that features an absolutely incendiary guest spot by… Andre 3000?!? The fact that Rich Boy got Mr. Cupid Valentino himself to spit a guest verse (no disrespect to Andre’s singing, its just refreshing to hear him rip the mic again), is the first indication that Rich Boy, who may seem to fit the generic mold of (insert typical Southern rapper here), is cooking up something different entirely, even if his kitchen and his ingredients look the same.

    Rich Boy got his break from rapper turned producer, Polow Da Don, who serves as the album’s not so secret weapon, and truthfully deserves equal billing in the album title (Only Built 4 Cuban Linx style). Polow is adventurous with his music, and his interest is clearly in the quality of the tracks, so the bulk of the album’s production shines with consistency but at the same time packs some major surprises, a rare combination in today’s Hip-Hop world.

    After a solid Rich Boy produced opener (Rich Boy started as a producer), Polow rips the lid off the can with two hardcore bangers, the first being “Role Models” which has Rich Boy slaughtering his verse, with guests David Banner and Attitude doing the same. The second, “Boy Looka Here,” is arguably the disc’s best track, and can only be described as a stomp down a hot, dusty, Alabama dirt road, with Rich Boy’s unabashed braggadocio leading the way… oh and there’s a Spanish guitarist who got separated from his mariachi band and decided to join the stomp, and somehow he fits in perfectly. All of this excitement before Rich even gets to the anthem: the aforementioned “Throw Some D’s,” which sounds like a smooth, sunny, top-drown cruise in a Cadillac that is hovering off the ground, going 15 miles per hour.  Lil Jon chips in with a whining, minimalist club track in “What It Do,” which doesn’t astound, but serves as more of a chance for listeners to catch their breath before Polow strikes again. A few tracks later, Polow does just that with the incredible “Touch That Ass,” which initially tricks listener’s by sounding like another tired club record over an undercooked beat. But just as you’re reaching to hit the fast forward button… Polow smashes you over the head with a wall of roaring horns that occasionally pop up and explode until they give way to an eerie, bubbling track.

     Lyrically, Rich Boy delivers a cool southern drawl reminiscent of T.I. at his finest, and he definitely shows that he knows how to flow over a beat. Sure, Rich Boy dips into a lot of the monotony of the Southern rap world (cars, cash and women), and he’s not lyrically potent enough to carry 16 tracks and make them all unique, but Polow keeps things interesting throughout, as do all the carefully selected guest spots, which showcase many guests in top form (especially a straight up jaw dropping cameo by Big Boi on “And I Love You”).

     Rich Boy isn’t the next greatest rapper alive, but he certainly is doing something right on his debut, namely, employing the help of Polow Da Don. The two prove to be artists to keep an eye on, because despite their apparent use of the familiar Southern rap recipe for success, the two cook up something much more exciting on Rich Boy. How rare indeed.

     These two are smarter than they want you to give them credit for. They’ve done something right, having been in the game long enough to release five (!!!) albums and still be around: a milestone that a lot of the highest profile MC’s can’t even lay claim to yet (Kanye, The Game, 50 all haven’t reached five). Let’s be honest, nobody does a senseless club song quite like the Ying-Yang Twin’s, and their brand of music definitely has its undeniable place in Hip-Hop. But how long can these guys beat the formula of nasty lyrics, danceable beats and infectious ad-libs into the ground before people start to get bored with their act, or worse yet, the Twins themselves get bored with it?

     The answer seems to be four and a half albums, as the Twins make a conscious effort to be, well… more conscious on their fifth endeavor, Chemically Imbalanced, opting to explore the other side of the Yin-Yang a little more, hoping to attract new fans. The move is a blatant crossover attempt: one that even comes with a warning on the disc’s Intro, as producer Mr. Collipark barks how the album is set up, the opening half being strictly the classic Ying-Yang club feel and the second half being “more musical” with collaborations with Wyclef Jean.

     The Ying-Yang’s open up the first half with what one would expect on a Ying-Yang Twins release, with several tracks that are sure to get heavy rotation in the clubs. The highlights include the lo-fi digital skips and bleeps of “Jigglin,” even if the Ying-Yang’s use a hook that’s stolen from, of all places, the cheesy “Name Game” song (the funniest part is that they use the same “Name Game” rhythm jacking AGAIN on “Collard Greens,” to much less success). “1st Booty on Dooty,” is another Ying-Yang club classic, with an infectious hook over Mr. Collipark’s thumping drums and “Dilla” like sirens.

     The second half begins just as the constant hollering of recycled phrases of, “Hanh, Yup!” “Shake It Like a Saltshaker,” and “Back It on up like a U-Haul Truck” is creeping beyond the level of monotony into the realm of annoyingness. The Twins start off with “Water,” a refreshing track inspired by the ancient sounds of the Eastern hemisphere, with Wyclef assisting on the hook. The Twins lyrics are still club oriented, but show more respect to the ladies, an accomplishment in itself (as pathetic as that may be). Wyclef succeeds in switching up the sound of the album with tracks like the electric guitar tinged “Dangerous,” and the live instrumentation of “Friday.” Lyrically, the Twins  try to match the newfound complexity in their production, an effort they should be applauded for, but one that doesn’t suit the duo very well. This is apparent on the generic lyrical concept of the piano-guided “Family.” The Ying-Yang’s efforts to explore deeper subject matter makes the group sound uncomfortable. Maybe its because of the singular dimension of their earlier work, or listener’s tendency to categorize artist’s into one brand of music, but D-Roc and Kaine will never be taken seriously on a heartfelt song. Whatever the reason, the “deep” songs ain’t no “Dear Mama.” The instant one of the trademark voices kicks in, its impossible to take them seriously, considering their past lyrics and the lyrics on earlier tracks.

    Overall, the Ying Yang Twins seem to realize that the popularity they enjoyed with their breakthrough hit “The Whisper Song,” last year was due to the gimmicky nature and the bold hilarity of the song, and not because of artistic talent. They try to please everyone, and extend their stay in the public eye on Chemically Imbalanced, with mixed results, making a solid first half of material they comfortably know, and an interesting second half that despite its flaws, has a few good songs that will help the group progress forward to different aspects of Hip-Hop. They’re not poets by any means, but Chemically Imbalanced ends up making a point: these two may just know a thing or two about the composition of a yin-yang. Now they just have to work on evening the sides.

    The Ultramagnetic MC’s pick an odd time to reenter the game, with the paradigms having shifted from gold chains and “show and prove” battle rhyme templates over James Brown samples, to a rap world dominated by talk of drugs, guns and money over dark synthesizer lines. So what is the influential group to do? Release a throwback that brings fans back to the glory days of “Ego Trippin?” or tiptoe unknowingly into a rap world that is barely recognizable for the quartet?

    Right away, the MC’s show they favor the latter with the dark, rumbling horns and spacey sound effects of “The Plaques”. Kool Keith, who may be incapable of rhyming about anything that makes sense, stays true to his off color personality, but Ced-Gee and the rest of the group sound much less convincing talking about ultrahard, generic modern rap archetypes and end up coming across as boring and uncreative.

     The reoccurring theme of overly basic production, uninspired lyrics and out of date references plagues the album and really makes for an uneven and difficult listen. It’s tough to sound hard when you open up a track claiming, “This shit is bananas,” when the last artist to use the phrase was Gwen Stefani. And nothing, nothing, nothing excuses possibly the worst hook of the last decade on “Late Night Rumble” Other letdowns include the monotonous whine and bizarre lyrics of  “Underwear Pissy” and the clear attempt at a club record with “Party Started”, with a beat that sounds like a ringtone from one of the old huge Nokia phones. 

  To be fair, The Best Kept Secret, despite all its weak points isn’t entirely awful. Surprisingly, some of the production shines, like on the fresh, airy sounding “Mechanism Nice” or the funky wah-wah guitar and the slow, bouncy horns of “Porno Star Part 2″. Plus, it’s admittedly a little refreshing to hear Keith spit about crazy, colorful, images as if he was reading hieroglyphics. The real problem though, is the disc’s inconsistency to deliver even a single quality song. Every time it seems the MC’s might present something worthwhile, its ruined by either a meaningless verse or one of the album’s many atrocious, mindless hooks.

     Really, the problem that the group is struggling with most is that they are not relevant enough to make an album that truly reflects their proven strengths, not versatile enough to cross over and be a force in today’s rap scene, and not creative enough to find an effective hybrid between their past sound and the present popular sounds in Hip-Hop. The album sounds tired and overplayed even on the first listen, continuously only meriting disappointment. It won’t win the group any new fans and their old fans won’t be able to help feeling let down. While their legacy will eternally be preserved through the importance of Critical Beatdown in Hip-Hop history: The Best Kept Secret is something Kool Keith, Ced Gee, Moe Luv, and TR Love should have kept private: this group has lost all of its magnetism.