Written by Drew Ricketts

Months ago, when Lil Wayne made the claim that he was the “best rapper alive” and (gasp) better than Hov, hip-hop fans deemed his declaration brash andspurious. It is incumbent upon the true hip hop scholars to examine his claim because, despite initial reactions, he might be right. Of course, no argument would be complete without defining the conditions for “best” rap and seeking orientation in this growing debate.

Harris Publications columnist Billy Sunday at XXLmag.com has taken up the supercilious position that Wayne is spitting nonsense raps, somehow not worth considering because they are playful and simply rhythmic. Even I was hesitant to give Weezy F. his much-deserved due as “best” because I saw him falling short by the “classic album” milestone I hold so dear. All that aside, Wayne is the best and probably most effective with the form for several reasons.

The first reason for his superiority is his attention to rhythmic pattern and enunciation. Where Billy Sunday views this as an accidental, haphazard choice of flow, I view it as a convicted, inspired turn of words to engage the listener with the beat.

The second reason for his primacy is his attention to idiom: Wayne has grasped how to use the English language for more than a punchline or two — he has defined his own way of speaking and translating common phrases into beautiful music.

The third reason for his eminence is more nebulous but perhaps the most important…Wayne follows in the black vernacular tradition set forth by emcees, griots, narrators and pimps before him. Although modern media would have us believe that black singers and black rappers share no common ground, there is a clear nexus of language and messaging that goes overlooked. Black poets, writers and emcees often use double-metaphors meant to sound casual on first listen but that hold deeper meaning on cross-examination. Jay-Z, for instance, is a master at this. He may say the words in a direct manner but the meanings abound, and this is a purposeful device only employed by virtuosos of language. In a sense, none of Weezy’s words are wasted because he packs each with significance.

In order to properly delineate this argument, I’m using a few of Wayne’s potent “freestyle” and “light” works to underscore how much the “free-form” definition does not apply in his case. First though, I want to return to this definition of “best.” The best rapper must fit a few criteria to claim this position. He must have both a signature flow and that models a recognizable format. In this way, he can be malleable to the expectations of the current era and outlast time by placing his stamp on any era in which he resides. Lil Wayne’s “Fireman” exemplifies his ability to experiment with esoteric and pedestrian flows (it’s a single after all) and surprisingly reaches transcendent heights of lyricism. The third verse especially accentuates his faculty for taking a hidden analogy and bringing it to light almost brilliantly. In it he evokes the analogy of being a complete circle — or cipher, if you will — by drawing on seemingly simple puns:

Ridin’ by myself well really not really
So heavy in the trunk make the car pop-a-wheelie
Who? Weezy Baby or call me Young Baby
My money 360, you only 180

After stripping away the obvious subject matter of cars, girls. jewelry et. al. the circle implied with the words “wheelie” and “360″ is abstract but ever-present. Later in the verse, he explains why he’s “ballin’” (also a circle) by saying he’s “ballin’ by nature” and “addicted to the game like Jordan and Peyton.” The recognizable device of comparing balling to basketball players is meant to lure the casual listener into the rhythm of the song, while the layered circle analogy has been thoroughly dominating the verse. To digress a bit, Nas’s “Hate Me Now” follows a similar form. Naysayers have often lamented this period of Nas’s career for its dearth of introspection or confusing contradictions. “Hate Me Now,” however, suggests that even in making a popular song, a true emcee has admirable awareness of how to conceal his pain and consternation at being a slave to form. Ostensibly the song “Hate Me Now” is about cars-girls-jewelry yet again but the first verse here also defies the topic for deeper stuff:

Expandin more to the big screen, Bill Gates dreams
But it seems you’d rather see me in jail with state greens
Want me off the scene fast, but good things last
like your favorite MC still makin some mean cash

Nas tries to explore the meaning of being good and being accepted by a wide range of people, the ultimate artist dilemma. In the last verse, he departs completely from the real to explain his separatism. The point is that the best emcees have to show their artfulness in rhyme and rhythm using the under-appreciated tools of subtlety. Lil Wayne does it to a tee on “Fireman.”

Wayne also challenges what a rhyme is by twisting syllables for personal use. He has used this as a signature of his style, refusing to submit to standard enunciation if it is detrimental to his rhythm. On “Diamonds on My Damn Chain” (from The Greatest Rapper Alive) his verse is in stark contrast to Fab’s because he is able to take the rhymes ‘I’m’ and ‘mind’ and ‘time’ and convert them with his Southern drawl into ‘name,’ ‘chain,’ ‘thang’ and astoundingly ‘domain.’ The reading here will lose something in translation so I recommend downloading the track to support this study. Again, this twist of accent is no longer accidental when it recurs across freestyle after freestyle. It is almost as if Wayne has realized how much conventional words rhyme only to a certain extent and wants to go well beyond those confines. Innovation is the only solution.

Similarly, among all the “getting brains” similes and “fast car” metaphors are incredibly well-crafted comparisons that elude casual listeners. I’ve listed a few here just from the Greatest Rapper Alive mixtape that illustrate Wayne’s ability to string together a group of metaphors for emphasis:

*Note a true metaphor equates one object to another through the vehicle of comparison.

1. On the “Dead Presidents” remix: ‘No I never choke but I strangle beats/n’ I am just a player in this game we be/so go blame the referee/don’t complain to me…’

2. On “Come Test Us” feat. Charli Baltimore: ‘Young Carter: I’m harder than a cooked quarter / bitch I’m bubblin’ like shook water…’ [simile here but potent image all the same]

Later: ‘I am that n*gga so follow my demonstration/goddamnit I’m in the building, get ready for renovation…’

3. On “Grew Up A Screw Up” freestyle: ‘Deez muddafuckas is slippin’ they betta hold on/ Y’all trippin’ like Cedric and Solange/I flow like I’m head-less NO MIND / I could say DON’T RHYME and it’s gon RHYME…”

4. On “Pump That Bass” freestyle: “Sittin’ in the strip club, never get a boner/only get hard for ‘D’OH!’ I’m Homer/and you’re a simp, son…

5. On “Good Girl Gone Bad” with Devin the Dude: ‘It just eats me up like the Barbecue from Luther’s/in the morning with the shooters/on the corner with the boosters/she’s a fresh CUT and they’re on her like sutures…’

So when Billy Sunday says things like: ‘Lil’ Wayne tries his best to construct a few verses with polysyllabic terms early in the song. Like any nickel and dime emcee he immediately proves that he should stay in the shallow end of the pool instead of trying to come into the deep water’ I have a hard time believing he’s even willing to listen to the substance in these colorful rhymes. If this is nickel-and-diming, what’s emceeing?

It behooves us as listeners to explore when we want to find. Look past the imagery to see the image.

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And now you’re saying “But TSS, where’s the links to all the songs mentioned above?”

And we say, “We’ve got more than enough Weezy material coming tomorrow.”

We’re saying b-sides, features, remixes, instrumentals, mixtapes…the whole nine.

Clear some hard drive space.

Runtelldat.

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