MUSIC BOX |
Josh Bell
Martin Stein |
D12 (2.5 stars)
D12 World
D12 World is not hip-hop-album-of-the-year material, as some critics suggest. Instead, it's an Eminemian exercise in using history as a guide.
Eminem's successful formula—disarm the masses with milquetoast rap (My Name Is ..., The Real Slim Shady), then make them reach for the Mylanta—is repeated on the Detroit sextet's sophomore release. In this case, "My Band" serves as commercially hokey bait that underprepares your ears for the onslaught:
On "Git Up": "Bullets'll hit your liver, I'll even shoot Native Americans / An Indian giver."
On "Just Like U": "Runnin' around town / f--kin' skeezers / Shots in your ass, catchin' diseases."
On "American Psycho 2": "I ain't a racist / I just hate whites, fags and dykes, blacks and transvestites."
On "Loyalty": "I'm from 7 Mile and Stout, I'll shoot up your house / Next day, I'll pee in your mouth."
On "I'll Be Damned": "My chap lips will cut nipples when breast fed / And on the way, leave the bread with Ahkmed."
Which isn't to say that D12 World is all re-packaged gratuity and violence. Thrown in for variety are lasciviousness, thug love, gunplay and the typical hymnal to a fallen homey. Served up over thwumping bass lines, it's actually ear catching, with D12ers not named Eminem offering up clever quips and succinct metaphors on the above-mentioned subjects. It's just that most of the memorable stuff comes from the mouth of Marshall Mathers.
The main reason you care about D12, he soon becomes the main reason you listen to all 21 tracks and skits: awaiting the trademark snark, the dexterous wordplay, the controversy. Given the spotlight, Eminem shines—applying sinister lyrics to the melody of '60s song, "The Name Game" ("Vannas vo vannas, banana fanna fo fannas / Who come back all bananas, banna clips loaded")—further cementing his station in hip-hop's pantheon, but ultimately underming a band trying to break from the shadow of its front man.
Damon Hodge
The Magnetic Fields (4 stars)
I
Stephin Merritt shames nearly everyone else who has ever attempted to write a love song on a banjo. The Magnetic Fields' front man took what could have been the most supreme act of hubris—a three-disc collection of love songs, aptly titled 69 Love Songs—and made it work. If Sinatra were still around and in his prime, I can easily imagine him rubbing his hands together in anticipation before tearing through Merritt's repertoire. The same is true for Freddie Mercury and Kurt Cobain: Merritt is that smart and that accessible.
That's why you shouldn't be afraid of I, The Fields' tribute to your own best friend. I adds a fourth disc of love songs to that 1999 collection, all penned as first-person shoot-outs (every song on the disc begins with the CD's title vowel). "I Don't Believe You" is a raw, self-defensive rebuff ("So you quote love / unquote love me"); "I'm Tongue-Tied" celebrates the awkward moments ("I'm tongue-tied and useless / I'm weak-kneed and brainless"); and "I Wish I Had an Evil Twin" gives voice to that oldest of human needs: the wish for a doppelganger to vanquish one's foes and pick up f--k-buddies.
Every one of Merritt's terrifically clever songs is bedded in lush arrangements and tempos, ranging from Appalachian folk to Pet Shop Boys-style Euro-disco. If you stripped I of its lyrics, you'd still have one of the year's best records. But it does have lyrics; the words we've always thought about but couldn't think of a clever way to express. Merritt apparently knows thousands of ways—may he never exhaust them.
Geoff Carter