Clipse - Hell Hath No Fury

The "(White) Rapper Show" post reminded me of a legitimately great rap album released last year.


Let’s no sugarcoat the obvious: rap music has become a bloated caricature of its formal self, and for every time you have to program out a pointless skit on a rap disc, you’re fueling my argument. I mean, am I really supposed to take a gansta seriously after they’ve scripted out a few “scenes” on a fucking music cd, detailing the imagery of their lifestyle, neighborhood, or profession before landing that lucrative record deal? Who has the balls to call bullshit here?
I’m betting that Clipse has the gonads to call bullshit on every single rapper that’s filled their disc with redundant filler and songs “featuring” every motherfucking MC that happened to be in the studio the night it was recorded. They’ve completely liposuctioned the fat out of Hell Hath No Fury and brought gansta rap back to the level it needs to be: uncompromising, uncommercial, and legitimately frightening.
Rather than rehash the details of why it’s taken, what, four years to follow up Lord Willin,’ lets rehash why HBO’s The Wire has a ton of critical praise but little in terms of actual audience. Work with me here, because I’m willing to bet that all of the glowing reviews blessed on Hell Hath No Fury will not translate into platinum certifications either. Both examples are deserving of accolades, no doubt, but both examples are typically too real to effectively market to white audiences. So there you have it: Clipse’s latest is the sonic equivalent of The Wire. And while the white suburban youth like to dream about how awesome it is to be a hustler, they seldom consider the moral sacrifice it takes to get that ’06 Bentley Continental. Clipse does, and the journey doesn’t travel through the suburbs or lend itself well to radio programmers.Part of this is due to the Neptune’s production prowess, which is as barren as the street corner where addiction is traded to anyone with the right amount of need and cash on hand. The minimalism is intentional, and it provides the perfect backdrop to contemplate the rhymes, which paint a more detailed picture than anything Pharrell Williams or Chad Hugo could create anyway.
The canvas, it seems, is selling cocaine. “I’m more in touch with the keys/Move over Alicia” they’re declaring within the first minute, explaining that the rap game is “like child’s play/my show and tell.” Malice and Pusha T, the two brothers that make up Clipse, are talented at the rap game to the point where the listener can believe this isn’t their primary source of income. Or, as explained before the fade out of “We Got It For Cheap,” “Record sales…digital scales…it’s whatever…we always at home”
Thankfully, their home is a million miles away from my own because Hell Hath No Fury is one brutally honest document of what being a hustler is really like. And within the disc’s fifty minutes, you’ll understand how completely diluted rap’s current gansta superstars really are.
Clipse’s shit is completely uncut.



This review originally appeared in Glorious Noise.