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| by kenn on 5/10/2005 11:33:00 AM |
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Dear Summer
Source:PF
Memphis Bleek's career has been on that Terri Schiavo for a minute now, which could possibly explain why his big homie Shawn has decided to intervene by contributing an all-Hovi heatrock to help boost the young Brooklynite's forthcoming album. Then again, Jay-Z might just be utilizing this chance to redirect the spotlight on his own nervously aging legacy. For that matter, I can see Jigga the sly opportunist consoling an unsure Memph Bleek now: "It'll still be, like, your single, dog, but just...you know...with me on it, feel me? Just don't worry about it, son. I'll take care of everything. Oh, can you pick up those Outback orders for everybody on your way out? Also, B needs these to go to the cleaners. Thanks!"
Something makes me think Jay-Z's motives are indeed selfish, and that on "Dear Summer", he's merely whetting appetites for his return via...a song that seems to reiterate his desire to remain retired? Strange, yes, but not entirely out of the question, considering that this is a dude who has been gracefully bowing out of this rap shit since his first album. Moreover, Young, whose fluid flow rides a soulful Just Blaze-produced beat, hasn't sounded this hungry since The Blueprint. But with nickel-slick lines like, "I don't talk shit, I just flip and 'Un' ya/ Sorry Lance, I'm just trying to advance my quotes/ I ain't making you the butt of my jokes," Jay proves that-- retired or not-- we'd still be hard-pressed to find another rapper as hot as he. [Will Dukes]
Dear Jay:
Must you tantalize me so? On what is the most misleading introduction to a rap album ever, you set-off perennial underachiever Memph Bleek's latest exercise in hanger-on-dom with this epistolary apology to your most beloved-- and now neglected-- season. Your most reliable partner in crime, Just Blaze, lends an assist with such a brilliantly weightless throwback I can almost feel the sunroof breeze whisking my girlfriend Gisele Bündchen's horsehair-hair as we sweep toward the Hamptons, switchin' four lanes.
After your annoying, misguided collabos with R. Kelly and Linkin Park (did you really need that extra cash, come on now) you're back in fine form here, teasing with cruelly tight verses worthy of a self-proclaimed God MC. Offering a Purple Label twill jacket on a stick, you even say, "Give me couple years, shit I might just sneak in," with latter-day cadence, attitude and charisma fully (frustratingly) intact. The winking hubris and breathy humanity plays perfectly off the beat's girl-group ecstasy as you offer an un-tinted window into those famous labyrinth brain-bursts, rationalizing your unfortunate vay-cay from the music that put you in the penthouse. "Like all good things, we must come to an end/ Please show the same love to my friends," you conclude, but there's no way you actually believe the likes of Bleek, Young Gunz and Foxy Brown could hope to occupy even a spec on your looming shadow-- I can tell. But at this point, I'll take what I can get from you, so thanks for the letter. Hope to hear from you soon...if I'm not home, try the BlackBerry.
Best,
Ryan Dombal
P.S. Tell B I said hi and that she needs to get away from that whole D.C. clique posthaste. Doesn't Michelle have to go back to "singing" her gospel shit anyway? [Ryan Dombal]
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