Method Man & Redman - Blackout!

Def Jam 2000: 1999

I'm not sure where this album sits in the Grand Rap Pantheon anymore. I recall it was a big deal during the lead-up. Meth and Red had a huge collaborative hit in How High, dropping in that oh-so glorious year of hip-hop fire, 1995. And while Method Man's solo career stalled throughout the '90s, Redman kept a steady clip of respected albums going, so a proper full-length outing from the two would be hotly anticipated. Only, in typical Johnny Blaze fashion, the LP dropped nearly half a decade after How High lit up, causing some to lose interest in this collaboration in the process. Let's call those people 'sour pusses'.

So Blackout! finally dropped, and even though folks were wondering if Method Man had fallen off, or if any Wu project could have the same fire as earlier in the decade, it sold buckets. Clearly they still liked Method Man anytime he held the mic or guested on other verses. Surely his charisma would properly shine with an equally skilled microphone commander at his side, the two trading sharp barbs and chin-checka' raps and such. Or the two had been getting so smoked out in the interim, putting this off for so long, that the final result was an album that was good enough, but not the head-banging classic everyone expected. Again, I'm not sure how Blackout! is regarded these days, but man, did it ever feel like a whiff of THC-thick air bellowing out of a bong mere weeks after this came out. They came, they smoked, they rapped, they partied, then they kinda' forgot what the fuss was about in the first place. Oh well, time to start shopping about that script for their own Cheech & Chong movie.

I sense Meth and Red would be fun live, most of the tracks on here little more than party anthems for them to rappity-rap over. Yeah, there's some witty wordplay and fun puns about, but these two aren't going to get super deep with the heavy political or lyrical miracles. Just two stoners going on about how dope they are, how dope their smoked dope be, and how much they love gettin' down with them ladies and hos. So long as the beats bang, they can rap about any ol' nonsense. And that's where I feel this album stumbles some.

There's quite the assortment of Wu and Def Squad personnel behind the consoles on Blackout!, including RZA, Erick Sermon, Mathematics, and Reggie Noble. Even Rockwilder shows up (on Da Rockwilder), while features have Ghostface, Street Life, LL Cool J, Missy Elliot, and Ja Rule, when he was still credible. Seems all fine, but neither guest rapper or beat producer do much to outshine whatever Method Man and Redman are going on about. Which would be fine, if the duo were dropping relentless fire throughout. Instead, all I hear is the hot flame in a burning bowl of dank bud, soon puffed out into a stoned stupor. Seems appropriate.

Method Man - Tical 2000: Judgement Day

Def Jam Recordings: 1998

A four year gap isn’t that much, all things considered. ‘90s hip-hop though, things were moving fast, stars rising and falling at an unprecedented rate, fueled by an MC arms race to the top of Mount Brag-N-Swagmore. Your label could only achieve immortal greatness if you had the best talent signed to your print. Death Row had 2Pac, Bad Boy had Biggie, No Limit had Snoop Dogg, Loud had Wu-Tang Clan, and so on. Def Jam had many legends to their name too, but most of them had established careers, showing little of the spit and fire needed that propelled the emergent labels of the ‘90s to the top. As a quick signee to Def Jam after the smashing success of Wu-Tang’s debut, Method Man looked to be the breakout star of the group, one that would usher in a new generation of hungry MCs for the storied print that Rick Rubin built.

One problem though: Mr. Clifford Smith wasn’t interested in being a solo star, completely content sharing the spotlight as part of a back-n-forth (Redman, Street Life) or a crew of equally charismatic rappers (Wu-Tang, Monstars, heh). All fine and well if one’s career aspirations stay humble, but when everyone from the fans on the streets to the CEOs in the record label towers demand more, four years turns to an agonizing wait, one the Ticallion Stallion gleefully mocks in Tical 2000 through a series of phone call skits. People ranging from accountants to radio DJs to even the tribble-cultivator Trump himself all chime in wondering what the bloodclot is taking Meth’ so long with this album.

Figuring out a theme would be my guess. Of course the nearing millennium would spark some inspiration, but aside from the opening and closing tracks (Perfect World and Judgement Day), it’s not a subject touched upon. Instead, Johnny Blaze runs the gamut of witty wordplay, sexy wordplay, thug life wordplay, club don’ wordplay, and that’s about it. Hey, it’s not like the subject matter in his lyrics have mattered much of a damn - Method Man could have excelled through sheer charisma alone, his deft skills on the mic’ keeping you hooked once reeled in.

Unfortunately, even that isn’t enough to save Tical 2000 from the sin of filler. Despite folks clamoring for more Method Man, most everyone agrees there’s too much bloat given the limited amount of topics covered. No matter how solid the beats are or how hype the guest spots are (seriously, I’ve never heard Street Life sound this good!), it all turns to repetitive mush in the back-half. It probably doesn’t help that the midpoint offers a hilarious Chris Rock skit, where the comedian goes on a never ending spree of Method Man aliases that cannot be stopped by gunshot, nor rabid dogs, nor rabid dolphins. Hell, he can’t even be killed by fire, and even The Thing could be killed by fire. After a high such as that, there’s only down to go.

Method Man - Tical

Def Jam Recordings: 1994

Over three years since I dropped my first Wu-Tang Clan review, I’m finally doing a solo album from the M.E.T.H.O.D. Man. That’s just silly. Consider: I’ve talked up four Raekwon LPs, four Ghostface LPs, three from Deck, three from GZA, plus efforts from RZA, ODB, Masta Killa, and even U-God! Also consider: one Clifford Smith kicked-off the solo Wu-joint concept, his debut dropping but a year after Enter The Wu-Tang (36 Chambers). While it seemed likely a few of these MCs could sustain a career away from the Clan, there was little doubt Method Man was the breakout of the group, destined for superstar greatness in the world of hip-hop. It, um, didn’t quite turn out that way, explicitly because he never fully capitalized on all that initial momentum and good fortune. His album output has been sporadic and frequently underwhelming, yours truly seldom feeling the need to dig beyond his ‘90s output. And since his first few LPs centered on the concept of “tical”, here’s poor ol’ Cliff, way down in the ‘T’s of my CDs, thus bringing up the rear of Wu-Tang Clan solo joint reviews. Not that he’d give a shit either way.

Way back when though, everything looked peachy-keen for Johnny Blaze, his gruff charisma landing him a quick deal with hip-hop’s premier print, Def Jam Recordings. And why not, the label that gave us LL Cool J, Beastie Boys, Public Enemy, and Slick Rick undoubtedly anxious to get in on that hot Wu-Tang stylee, with nothing less than the group’s star MC as part of their official roster. And for sure, they got themselves some future classics of the hip-hop pantheon with Tical. Bring The Pain oozes street swagger with all the freestylin’ lyricism as found in his classic eponymous track from Enter The Wu-Tang. All I Need is a surprisingly affectionate ‘slum love song’ establishing ol’ Method as a rough ‘n’ tumble ladies man. And Release Yo’ Delf is a fun, rugged anthem for the club. The rest of Tical though… ah, hm.

As was the case on all the early Wu-solo records, RZA handles the bulk of the beats, and as Method Man has a gruff, gravely persona, so too does the music provided. Everything sounds rough, unpolished, dragged through Shaolin grime and muck, covered in a thick fog of hemp smoke. And dear Lord, some of the bass on this is absolutely crushing, the heaviest you’ll hear on nearly any Wu-Tang album. Sub Crazy alone must have broken many a poor, unsuspecting sub-whoofer. Sometimes though, it’s too much, the bass burying Meth’ and any other MC in the mixdown - Biscuits in particular is downright indecipherable. Yet given how clear the lyrics come through in other tracks, I can only assume the muddiness is intentional on RZA’s part, maintaining the Wu’s ghetto-grit mystic even as they began their empire expansion. Personally, I dig it, but Tical is left a difficult album to get into, one capably aided with an eponymous substance.