Ice Cube’s Death
Certificate isn’t just Hip-Hop’s greatest concept album, but an artistic
revelation whose earth shattering impact can only be understood within the
proper historical context. The musical,
social, and political landscape of America was quite different in the early
1990’s. People actually went out to
stores and purchased music on physical media.
CD’s were still a relatively new format.
Street corner drug dealing was still a viable means of clocking tax free
loot.
The months leading up to the L.A. riots seemed to suggest
that something big and terrible was on the horizon for the city of angels. The crack epidemic had already peaked and was
in its waning years, yet a wholly different social virus took hold in its wake. The gang wars that had ravaged L.A. for
decades were gradually becoming a nationwide problem. Bloods and Crips were popping up in
Midwestern and southeastern cities with regularity, their violent exploits
serving as fodder for alarmist broadcasts on local news stations. Their spread was spurred on by the crack
epidemic. As the L.A. market became
saturated, G’s from various sets sought to plant roots elsewhere.
Even without the added insult of Los Angeles style gang
warfare being added to the mix, various cities across the U.S. had already
buckled under the relentless onslaught of the crack attack. In 1990, New York City’s murder reached an
all-time high. Chicago’s rich gangster
tradition predated that of Los Angeles, and had been evolving along a similar pattern. Crack cocaine had, in effect, lowered the
countries collective immune system. The
virus that is the L.A. gang mentality took route, and slowly spread to every
extremity of its host.
Warning signs were plentiful. Aside from the alarmist, fear mongering
elements in American news media, Rap music had made a point of documenting the
massive urban blight while offering appropriate commentary. West Coast rappers had a unique insight,
seeing as how Los Angeles was ground zero for the crack epidemic. West
coast gangsta rappers adopted the perspective of participants. They related tales of dope dealing and gang
banging from a first person perspective, presenting that particular mindset in
its rawest form. They offered little in
the way of cautionary tales. There
wasn’t any easy moralizing or self-righteous detachment.
East Coast rappers had a somewhat different approach. The early work of Schooly D, Just-Ice, Boogie
Down Productions, and Kool G Rap offered an unfiltered look at urban decay. As the late 80’s set in, a different
sensibility began to take hold. Easterners
rappers began adopting a “politically/socially conscious” stance, positioning
themselves against all that ailed their communities. The teachings of the five percent nation were
presented as a mystical spiritual armor of sorts. They mistakenly purported themselves as being
the polar opposites of their West Coast gangster counterparts. Unexpectedly, a jheri-curled wunderkind would
enter the fray, forever altering the Big Apple’s idea of what West Coast
rappers where capable.
Raised in a middle class Los Angeles household, O’Shea
Jackson had a keen awareness of what went on in the rougher parts of his city,
although he wasn’t a participant. He possessed
the gifts of absorption and mimicry in addition to a keen sense of storytelling. He started out writing raps in High School. By the
mid 1980’s, he and partner Sir Jinx formed the group CIA. Their first and only release was a Dr. Dre
produced single called “My Posse,” which appeared on the 1987 Macola records compilation
album N.W.A and the Posse. Also appearing on the very same album was
Eazy-E’s breakthrough single “Boyz-n-the-Hood,” which was also penned by Ice
Cube. He then became one of the Ruthless
Posse’s in house writers, in addition to being a member of N.W.A. In 1988, the group released what is now seen
as the prototypical west coast gangsta rap album, Straight Outta Compton. The album
changed Hip-Hop seemingly overnight, selling multiplatinum in less than two
years, with no substantial radio or video play.
However, all was not well in the gangsta’s paradise. Cube had grown weary of the influence that
manager Jerry Heller was exerting over label owner and N.W.A front man Eazy-E. He felt that he was not being adequately compensated
for his substantial contributions to Straight
Outta Compton and Eazy Duz It. He decided to part ways with Ruthless,
setting his sights eastward to Strong Island, New York. There resided Hank Shocklee and the Bomb
Squad, the rugged beat smiths who apocalyptic back drops for Public Enemy’s galvanizing
musical war cries.
This landmark collaboration between west and east yielded
Cubes classic solo debut, Amerikkka’s
Most Wanted. Not quite as irreverent
as Straight Outta Compton (yet every
bit as potent), Amerikkkas Most Wanted
showed amazing cohesiveness in both theme and concept. It was more focused than perhaps anything
Hip-Hop had seen before. The album was a
commercial success, achieving gold status fairly quickly. Cube became the first west coast gangsta
rapper to gain widespread acceptance in New York (Due in no small part to his
affiliation with Public Enemy). It is
fitting then, that Cube would be the one that would meld the stoic Black Nationalism
of PE with the raw gangsterism of the left coast.
For his second album, Cube did not employ the services of Hank
Shocklee and company. This time out, Sir
Jinx and the Boogie Men took up residence behind the mixing boards. They stayed true to the aesthetic of the Bomb
Squad while maintaining a decidedly west coast musical sensibility. The resulting sound collages would serve as
masterpieces in and of themselves (as they did with the Bomb Squad), but as a
grand stage for the narrator of a bloody epic.
Somewhere between the release of his first and second
albums, Cube had become quite taken with the teachings of the Nation of Islam. Rumors began to spread that he had become a
Black Muslim. This was considered quite
shocking at the time, seeing as mostly east coast rappers espoused Islamic
teachings via their music. It also
seemed to add credence to rumors that Cube had abandoned his West Coast
roots. Little did his detractors know,
that he hadn’t abandoned anything. He simply
evolved, having developed a larger understanding.
Death Certificate,
as Cubes 2nd opus was called, continues the episodic and cinematic
layout of its predecessor. Its central
concept revolves around life and death, or, more accurately, living death and spiritual
rebirth. The cassette tape (for those
who are old enough to know what that is) split the album into two movements: The
Life Side and The Death Side. The first
representing the then current state of the Black community, which, as Cube
stated, was one of emergency. The second
side is the road to recovery, revealing his newfound social consciousness.
Coming on the heels of his successful acting debut in Boyz n the Hood, Death Certificate reveals Cube’s flare for the dramatic. Though episodic, the songs play out into an
overarching narrative. The concept
evolves throughout, with the skits acting as connective tissue between each
song. They set both the mood and the
scenario, making the album come off as something of a ghetto musical. There isn't a single whack song on it. Not an ounce of filler. The album is a full and complete meal, providing all of the necessary sonic nutrients. Yet, even in this flawless feast, certain courses stand out, dazzling the palette with a burst of flavors and textures.
The second chapter, “My Summer Vacation,” lays out the
nationwide spread of Los Angeles Gang Culture in a way that could that befits Gary
Webb’s conspiracy laden tome Dark
Alliance. A group of gangbangers in
LA seek their fortunes in Saint Louis after the crack trade in LA becomes
buyer’s market. The song displays Cubes
storytelling abilities at their most vivid and immediate. As always, he tells the tale from a first
person perspective, forcing the listener to see things through the main
characters perspective. It’s all set to
the rubbery, menacing bassline of George Clinton’s “Atomic Dog,” spliced with
Zapp & Roger’s “So Rough, So Tough.”
“A Bird in the Hand” illustrates how the crack trade was, at
one time, seen as a viable alternative to minimum wage employment. A teenage father must contend with the real
world after graduating from High School.
The good grades he maintained throughout his scholastic career are of little
use, as job prospects are bleak. A job
in the fast food industry provides him with barely enough to live on, while
politicians and community leaders offer nothing but empty promises and ineffectual
social programs. Salvation comes in the
form of a kilo of powder cocaine, the metaphorical “Bird in the Hand”
referenced in the title. The swaying
violins and rolling drums are almost as dramatic as Cubes delivery.
“Man’s Best Friend”
is a darkly humorous ode to the second amendment that would bring a tear to the
NRA’s collective eye. Cube paints a
handy firearm as much more reliable companion that the most faithful guard dog.
The beat is a collage of George Clinton and Parliament samples, smashed
together into a treacherous yet funky soundscape. A refrain at the end of puts a unexpectedly
hilarious spin on the songs nigh impenetrable machismo: “Fuck a dog fool, he’ll shit in the
Den/Nowadays, a gat is man’s best friend.”
The albums sense of consciousness awakens like an angry,
sleeping giant on The Death Side. "Horny
Lil' Devil" is a paralyzing dose of venom, meant as a lethally permanent
cure to the condition of Jungle Fever.
Cube casts the white man as a literal and figurative rapist, ravaging
everything in sight. His voracious
sexual appetite knows no bounds, and is not limited by boundaries such as
sexual orientation. A portion of Lou
Donaldson’s “Pot Belly” (Also used in Main Source’s “Just A Friendly Game of
Baseball”) is sampled and looped at a Merry-Go-Round pace. It’s graphically violent, homophobic,
profane, racist, vengeful, and undeniably infectious. It invades the listener’s blood stream like
adrenaline. Rarely has unbridled anger
felt so good.
“Black Korea” is a dire warning against Korean store owners
who set up shop the hood, but treat Black store patrons like pilfering vermin. “True to the Game” slows the Gap Band’s
“Outstanding” down to a leisurely stroll.
Cubes tone and pacing is likewise adjusted, but the emotion and message retain
their potency. He puts sell outs of all stripes
in his cross hairs, from successful Blacks who abandon the hood, to Oreo’s who
eagerly climb the corporate ladder, all the while sacrificing any all semblance
of Black pride and self-respect.
The somber and affecting “Color Blind” takes a look at LA’s most
infamous and ongoing civil war. It’s an
all-star posse cut featuring the likes of Cube, King T, Deadly Threat, Kam and then
future star Coolio. It subtly yet boldly
calls for a cease fire between all warring parties. It has the ambience of a mournful gospel song
coupled with the inherent ruggedness of early 90’s hardcore Hip-Hop. The perpetual funeral march is often
interrupted by lyrics that are shockingly sobering: “Lou wears blue, Big Fred
wears red/Put 'em together and we color 'em dead/Dead, dyin, gettin smoked like
part of the fun/They get smoked just to show how many come to the funeral”
Lest one think that Cube is afraid to confront the enemy within, “US” is a ballsy indictment of the Black race as a whole. Cube illustrates the various acts of self-sabotage that that bring about Black America’s collective demise. It’s the kind of record that many so-called “pro-Black” rappers of the era were afraid to write.
The album closer, “No Vaseline,” ends the proceedings on
vengeful note. Over the glitzy sonic
ambience of “Brick” by Dazz, Cube unleashes an industrial sized can of lyrical
whup-ass on his former band mates. Like
“Horny Lil’ Devil,” the song is a dose of vitriolic homosexual derision, only
much more focused and personal.
Death Certificate
is blast of raw Hip-Hop power from a phenomenal young talent riding the eye of
the storm. It’s Hip-Hop at its most
frightening, emotional, and thought -provoking.
Cube would go on to even greater success in both the music industry and
Hollywood, but would never again manage to muster up this particular brand of
controlled chaos. He was like an expert
marksman wielding a devastatingly powerful WMA.
He meant to lay waste to all enemies, both foreign and domestic. While he may not have accomplished that, he
definitely put them on their collective guard.
In so doing, he established himself as the most gifted rapper of his
generation.
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