Hype is a funny thing. It's an intangible concept because nobody can determine why some "events" warrant it but others don't. The basic premise behind it is predicated on the implied future success of an event that nobody has actually witnessed yet. Yet, it garners so much attention but the reason for this is often a complete mystery. In some cases, the hype is so massive that no matter what the actual event turns out to be like, it will fail to live up to expectations set forth for it; in other cases, the hype is so seductive that no matter what the final product actually is, people will convince themselves of it's brilliance. It’s human nature. We either consciously want something to fail or something to massively succeed. We cannot help it.
This contradiction creates an atmosphere where no accurate immediate criticism of an event can be judged. Our biases show through and thus we end up with a skewed perception of what the event actually is. Only the slow crawl of time can provide the necessary foresight to judge the merits of an artistic “event.”
For me, at least, if Lil’ Wayne wanted to be taken seriously as an elite rapper than he would release the one element on his resume that thus far has eluded him: the classic album. For months and months, Tha Carter III has been delayed and delayed and Wayne has been guest featuring on the singles of the entirety of the South and releasing “highly-touted” (by people who inexplicably think Dedication 2 was some visionary work of art) mixtapes furthering the anticipation that his next album would be the masterpiece that was going to propel him merely from being the “hottest” rapper of his generation to the messiah of rap music itself. Well, Tha Carter III is here and it’s just merely good.
Tha Carter III is Weezy’s most ambitious and codeine-soaked album to date. It’s full of Weezy’s trademark non-sequitur style lyricism and head scratching weirdo-moments that have made him the hipster cult hero that the media adores and hardcore rap fans loathe. It’s clear that
The album for the most part is a fairly enjoyable series of Wayne’s cough syrup-infused rants about getting money, getting (wo)men to fuck him, eating rappers alive and his unspoken love for his secret lover, Birdman (I’m kidding about that last part but not really.). The problem with the record is the problem with every Lil’
I can’t help but wonder if