Common Criticisms of 20 Classic Rap Albums
We tallied some of the most Common Criticisms of 20 Classic Rap Albums to let the haters get their shine on.
Image via Complex Original
Over the years, plenty of rap albums have been recognized as landmark achievements and classic albums. But rap nerds are a nit-picky bunch. Never satisfied with an album just being a great piece of art, they want to tear down even the most venerated rap albums. Yeah it got 5 mics, but is it perfect? Is it that flawless victory beyond reach of us mere mortals? No? Well then it’s wack, son!
It doesn’t matter how well recieved an album is, it’ll always have its detractors. Thing is, those criticisms aren’t always unfounded—even if they aren’t enough to sink the overall value of the record. We tallied some of the most Common Criticisms of 20 Classic Rap Albums to let the haters get their shine on.
Written by Insanul Ahmed (@Incilin), Edwin Ortiz (@iTunesEra), & Erik Ross (@HellaDecent)
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Illmatic is too short.
Why People Say That: A landmark album set to the backdrop of Queens, New York, Illmatic raised the bar for aspiring artists and rap fans alike with a nearly flawless masterpiece. The only flaw? It's too short! At just nine songs, it clocks in under 40 minutes. Illmatic feels like it ends before it even begins. The reasoning at the time was the album was rushed due to the massive bootlegging of songs even before its release.
Why It Doesn't Matter: Illmatic is the epitome of the phrase, "Quality over quantity." Capturing Nasir Jones' Queens state of mind during the first two decades of his existence, it's a lyrically dense narrative that rarely, if ever, loses focus of what it sets out to do. Especially considering the standard now, there's no guarantee a longer track list translates to a better product. Check Street's Disciple if you don't believe us.
Jay-Z was lyrically phoning it in on The Blueprint
Why People Say That: Jay-Z caught lightning in a bottle for the production on The Blueprint. With budding beatsmiths Kanye West, Just Blaze, and Bink! at his disposal, Hov couldn't miss. However, some felt this gave him an opportunity to kick back on the rhymes and let the beats take center stage. It's also known that Jay essentially made the album over a weekend, giving detractors another point to poke holes in his lyrics. And when Jigga fans debate Reasonable Doubt vs. The Blueprint, even ardent Blueprint fans have to admit it pales in comparison to his debut.
Why It Doesn't Matter: It's true that Jay's verses weren't as intricate as they were on his debut, but that doesn't take anything away from them. If the lyrics to Reasonable Doubt were a high powered rifle of density, then Blueprint was a shotgun blast of clarity. No longer needing to prove his mic skills, Jay was free to paint in zen brush strokes.
And regardless, nothing can discount the fact that tracks like "Never Change" and "Song Cry" were refreshing soliloquies recounting his past, or that "Takeover" is one of the best diss records of all time. The overall execution on The Blueprint was masterful, something a few meager bars could never overshadow.
Eminem's The Slim Shady LP is too juvenile and crass for a grown up to enjoy.
Why People Say That: Eminem came out the gate and was branded a lyrical genius who created his own world on his masterful debut. But some of the material on The Slim Shady LP is outlandishly vile. He joked about date raping young girls, clowning fat kids, and smacking Pamela Lee's tits off. Humor was part of Shady's brand, but the character on his debut LP seemed more akin to South Park's Cartman than Canibus. The vulgarity didn't bother rap fans (come on now, we're used to it!) but the immaturity did.
Why It Doesn't Matter: Eminem's juvenile humor only added to the overall aesthetic of his project. The album sounds childish because so much of it deals with Em's childhood, which was filled with anger, neglect, and abuse. The extreme violence on the album reflects the pent-up rage Em felt during his heartbreaking youth. People get caught up in the jokes and overlook the darkness that permeates the album and made it great art. Packing it with humor made it more accessible, but that doesn't mean stories of bully beatdowns and a drug addict mother weren't rooted in reality.
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The second half of Dr. Dre's The Chronic doesn't have enough Snoop Dogg.
Why People Say That: Dr. Dre is the Phil Jackson of rap coaches and he won a championship ring when he made Snoop Doggy Dogg the voice The Chronic. The album's other regulars, like Kurupt, Daz, RBX, and even Dre himself held their own, but they simply weren't equipped with Snoop's languid flow or his pizazz. Snoop ignited every song he touched.
However, despite dominating the first half of the album, he kind of disappears towards the end. After his touching reflection on track eight ("Lil Ghetto Boy") Snoop doesn't drop another verse until track 14 ("Stranded On Death Row"). That doesn't mean any of those songs without Snoop weren't great, it just means it felt like Dre let the Best Rapper Alive sit on the bench.
Why It Doesn't Matter: Snoop might have been the voice of the album, but you cannot overstate the influence and impact of Dr. Dre's g-funk sound. Even if no one could touch Snoop on the mic, putting perfectly capable rappers like The Lady of Rage or Kurupt in front of a classic Dre beat still resulted in magic. Plus, "Let Me Ride," "Lyrical Gangbang" and "A Nigga Witta Gun" were all notable songs that didn't feature major vocals from the Doggfather.
Doggystyle is a carbon copy of The Chronic
Why People Say That: After using Dr. Dre's The Chronic as a launching pad for superstardom, Snoop Doggy Dogg set up his debut as one of the most anticipated debut albums in rap history. Snoop lived up the hype and then some with Doggystyle. But haters were quick to point out that it didn't offer anything new—just the same old gangsta tropes that they had popularized a year earlier.
Why It Doesn't Matter: With g-funk, Dre and Snoop found a timeless aesthetic that was worth riding out until the wheels fell off (which they did shortly thereafter, but for reasons beyond the music). Dre didn't really expand the sonic soundscape, but he did make it deeper and it gave Snoop room to roam free. Plus, it ought to be noted that after the massive success of Chronic, Doggystyle is clearly the more pop-friendly of the two records.
Death Certificate is racist
Why People Say That: Decades after the fact, Ice Cube's Death Certificate is still poignant, intense, and at times, outrageously offensive. On "Black Korea" Cube raged against Korean store owners who treated Black customers with no respect screaming lines like, "Your little chop suey ass'll be a target." As if that wasn't enough, when Cube demolished N.W.A on "No Vaseline" he made anti-Semitic remarks by calling out the group's manager Jerry Heller saying, "You let a Jew break up my crew."
Why It Doesn't Matter: Unlike Tone Loc's, Ice Cube's rap rage was real. The whole point of his style was to get under your skin. There was a reason he called himself "The Nigga Ya Love To Hate." As uncouth as Cube's rhymes were, they weren't unfounded: There was genuine anger in the Black community against racist store owners after the murder of Latasha Harlins, as evidenced by the burning of many Korean owned shops during the L.A. Riots. While it was totally unfair to blame Jerry Heller's business dealings on the fact that he was Jewish, it seems like Heller was doing something shady as Dr. Dre would later leave the group under similar circumstances.
The College Dropout has too many damn skits
Why People Say That: The College Dropout has seven skits—one-third of the tracks on the entire album—and that's not including "Last Call," which is mostly Kanye retelling how he got down with Roc-A-Fella. Three of the first five tracks are skits, with "Intro" and "Graduation Day" bookending "We Don't Care" and interrupting its momentum. All the stopping and going made Ye's debut album difficult to digest with so many interludes, prefaces, and stand-alone transitions. Worse yet, Kanye wasn't initially perceived as a real MC. His post-car crash jaw didn't help matters, limiting his ability to rap with the precision he would bring later in his career.
Why It Doesn't Matter: Even if the skits bog the album down, the songs themselves are too damn enjoyable. We're talking about an album that has "Two Words," "Jesus Walks," and "Family Business." Yeezy's appeal wasn't his polished flow, it was his emotional honesty and forward thinking. That's why in an era of uneven rap projects, 'Ye's became a classic because it offered an alternative to coke and birds and was more like spoken word.
Game namedrops too much on The Documentary
Why People Say That: There's nothing wrong with giving a quick shout-out on a record, but Game's namedrops on his 2005 debut The Documentary were excessive. You couldn't get through a song without hearing a reference to what type of ride Dr. Dre was in, how thuggish 2Pac did it, or the influence Eazy-E had on the Compton MC. It was a lyrical distraction, taking away from those rugged rhymes about his ruthless upbringing.
Why It Doesn't Matter: Game's name drops are no different than the countless references every other rapper uses for what type of weed they smoke, what liquor they drink, and all their fancy clothes. In that same vein, his lines actually serve a purpose by paying homage to the artists who paved the way for an entire generation.
Few rappers these days take the time to pay respect to their elders on wax; "Ask a Jay-Z fan 'bout Big Daddy Kane/Don't know him, Game gonna show 'em." Call it a shtick, but Game has proven that his material runs much deeper than namedropping.
The second half of Reasonable Doubt drags a bit
Why People Say That: Jay-Z's Reasonable Doubt didn't sell all that well at first, but it did gain traction among some of hip-hop's more discerning fans and was eventually hailed as a classic. In the first half of the album, Jay-Z displays an exciting, charismatic rhyme scheme detailing the lifestyle of a hustler—these are eight of the best songs he'd ever release in his illustrious career. Once the album gets past "Can I Live?" the overall tempo slows up a bit and it feels like Jigga takes a step back in the quality of verses.
Why It Doesn't Matter: Even if the later tracks on the album take Jay a slight bit out of his element, they do show his lyrical variety. He proved himself as a fast-spitting, slick-talking rapper who can go over your head with punchlines, but he showed he could also take his time and give you an earful of game and a gun in your face.
The second disc of Wu-Tang Clan's Wu-Tang Forever is a mess
Why People Say That: It made perfect sense for Wu-Tang to do a double album. Not just because it had worked for Biggie and 2Pac, but because the Wu had nine members—all of whom deserved their own share of the spotlight. Listening to disc one, which features only 10 tracks, with "Maria" being the weakest link, it seemed like the Wu's plan was working perfectly.
When you threw on disc two, things picked up where they left off with bangers like "Triumph" and "Impossible" hitting you back to back. But then things starts to fall apart, becoming inconsistent and unfocused. By the end of the album, which closes with a snoozer trifecta of "Black Shampoo," "Second Coming," and "The Closing," all you can think is, "Why didn't they just do a single disc?"
Why It Doesn't Matter: Despite the shortcomings of the album, the Wu as a collective were at the height of their powers on Forever. The album only loses focus as more and more of the MCs start to go out for self, instead of one for all, but that's to be expected when you're as successful as the Wu had become. Despite the lack of focus and unity, no one could criticize RZA's production or the microphone technique of anyone in the crew.
Nas' It Was Written was too commercial
Why People Say That: After catering to the boom-bap crowd on Illmatic, Nas' sophomore release It Was Written took a curious sonic turn. Largely produced by the Trackmasters, the project was littered with looped beats that were smoother and easier to digest. And Nas was sounding kinda... commercial on singles like "If I Ruled The World" and "Street Dreams." But things were masterminded by Nas' then manager Steve Stoute, who worried Nas would end up like Kool G Rap, a great MC who never had big hits and worse yet, never made big bucks.
Why It Doesn't Matter: "I felt like B.I.G. had changed the playing field [of rap music] in a great way," Nas told Complex about the making of "If I Ruled The World." "You couldn't be talking about you're the Don of the city and your record is only resonating to a couple of street people. If we're the Don, that means I need mayor Giuliani dancing to my songs."
Nas was right. By 1996, acts like Biggie, Snoop, and 2Pac had changed the game and rap was becoming more and more mainstream. There was no reason for Nasty to not ride that wave. Plus, what did it matter if Nas had Trackmasters producing for him? For one, those guys came in the game producing for guys like G Rap. And two, they still managed to pull off some of Nas' best material ever, including "The Message."
Hittman is on 2001 too much
Why People Say That: 2001 has 22 tracks but only 17 songs. 10 out of those 17 songs featured verses from a guy named Hittman. Granted, 2001 was obviously meant to be a launching pad for the West Coast rapper, but let's face it: His career went nowhere. He was supposed to release his debut album Murda Weapon in 2000 on Aftermath, but like so many artists signed to Dre's roster in the aughts, it never came out. In the end, Hittman was just another plebeian MC who rounded out the vast guest list of 2001. He simply lacked whatever superstar potential Dre thought he saw in him.
Even more frustrating was the fact that there were only four appearances from The Chronic's original star, Snoop Dogg, who sounded rejuvenated after hooking up with Dre again. Plus, Dre had Eminem—one of the best rappers ever and a man who owed his career to Dre—in his corner but Em only spit two verses (two of his best verses ever, by the way). Even Xzibit, who unlike Hittman was able to use 2001 to become a bigger star, only made two appearances.
Why It Doesn't Matter: Sure, 2001 was stacked with run-of-the-mill guests, but you don't listen to a Dre album just for the rhymes, you listen to it for beats by Dre (and we ain't talking about headphones). Even if Hittman didn't bring much to the table, he didn't take anything away either. And when Dre regulars like Snoop, Em, Nate Dogg, and Kurupt did show up they smacked it out the ballpark anyway.
Tha Carter III is a sprawling mess
Why People Say That: When you're the self-proclaimed "Best Rapper Alive," there's bound to be detractors who want to believe otherwise. Lil Wayne likely gained as many new cynics as he did supporters when he dropped Tha Carter III as the album was called out for its lack of thematic unity. Songs like "A Milli" and "Lollipop" were great, but what did they really have to do with a song like "La La La"?
Why It Doesn't Matter: Lil Wayne didn't become the Best Rapper Alive by sticking to one style. He did it by doing every single style under the sun. Diversity was the key to his success, so of course he doubled (or maybe even tripled) down on it for C3. It was catchy but never counterfeit, bold but never boring. Weezy ran the gamut. How many rappers could serenade their female fans with a cuddly cut like "Mrs. Officer" and still keep the streets on lock with "A Milli," and do both with equal poise?
Graduation didn't need "Drunk and Hot Girls."
Why People Say That: The "Stadium Sound" took on a whole new meaning when Kanye West dropped Graduation. From rousing anthems like "Good Life" and "Can't Tell Me Nothing" to the heart-pounding drums of "Stronger" that could shake an arena, the project displayed an overall aesthetic that was as lavish as it was sonically complete.
Sitting right in the middle of this bombastic style was "Drunk and Hot Girls," an otherwise hazy cut with 'Ye rashly ridiculing club-going women who are experts in running up a bar tab on someone else's dime. Fans didn't know what to make of the song, writing it off as a sluggish ramble from the Chicago MC with a lackluster assist from Mos Def.
Why It Doesn't Matter: Kanye has always been a vibrantly candid character, and "Drunk and Hot Girls" is a clear extension of this. It's playful in approach, yet honest to a T, with the beat seamlessly fitting the theme of the record. And don't act you weren't out with the crew reciting, "Stop talking 'bout your boyfriend since he is not me/Stop running up my tab cause these drinks is not free" like it wasn't your mantra.
"Something 2 Dance 2" is completely out of place on Straight Outta Compton
Why People Say That: N.W.A's debut Straight Outta Compton flipped the rap industry on its head with explosive commentary from the streets of L.A. But in-between gun toting and putting the boys in blue on trial, the "World's Most Dangerous Group" threw listeners an album-ending curveball with "Something 2 Dance 2." Built over production that sounded curiously like a Sega game, the song was more likely to inspire you to bust a move then bust a gun. The dramatic change of tone from pistol-packing gangstas to disco-inferno dancers stuck out like Spike Lee at the Staples Center.
Why It Doesn't Matter: First off, props to N.W.A for making it the last song on the album so we didn't have to skip it—we just turned it off. And we shouldn't have been that surprised by it, considering the fact that Dr. Dre and DJ Yella were just a few years removed from their World Class Wreckin' Cru days. Even so, the song takes nothing away from the anger and explosiveness of the tracks preceding it.
Midnight Marauders is consistently good, but the individual songs (especially on the second half) all blend together.
Why People Say That: Tribe always did more with less, but like Marge Simpson and her prized Chanel dress it started to sound like the same damn outfit. How could it not? The elements of the songs were essentially the same. Tribe's drum loops were hard to distinguish, and the melodies on the songs were never intrusive enough to stand out. In fact the whole album mostly played the background—and over time, it all morphed into one big sound of Midnight Marauders.
Why It Doesn't Matter: There's nothing more underappreciated in hip-hop than thematic unity. Midnight Marauders took you to a dark, jazzy world where you were free to be yourself. The record blended the same way Phife and Tip did. On MM they were so on-point and in sync we couldn't tell them apart, like two rappers sharing one brain. Why shouldn't their album be a living embodiment of that idea?
Puff Daddy jacked too many beats on No Way Out.
Why People Say That: Puff Daddy's 1997 debut No Way Out was a massive commercial success. It churned out hit after hit, transforming Sean Combs from a businessman to a prominent artist. But of course, this wasn't actually due to Puff's contributions, right? His lyrical prowess was panned, and he and The Hitmen production crew slyly reworked melodies that were otherwise built around the original samples. "I'll Be Missing You" was a somber version of The Police's 1983 pop serenade, "Every Breath You Take," "Been Around The World" had the DNA of David Bowie's "Let's Dance," and "Can't Nobody Hold Me Down" was a slowed-down interpolation of Matthew Wilder's "Break My Stride." Jackin' for beats indeed.
Why It Doesn't Matter: Sampling has always been a part of rap, whether it's a certain drum pattern or vocal alterations. The key is to flip it in your own way, and in that respect Puffy was supremely effective. He and The Hitmen took what were reputable records from the '80s and turned them into compelling rap cuts. What's more, they expanded the reach of hip-hop with their sampling. Back before Jay-Z was chopping it up with Bono, Puff got Sting to perform during Bad Boy's memoriam for Biggie on MTV's Video Music Awards, no small feat.
50 Cent wasn't enough of a "lyricist" on Get Rich or Die Tryin'.
Why People Say That: 50 Cent shot onto the scene with an 'S' on his chest and a relentless demeanor to match with his 2003 debut Get Rich or Die Tryin'. But to detractors, 50's kryptonite was his formulaic rhymes which packed a punch but couldn't bob and weave effortlessly over superior production. Sure, his commercial appeal went through the roof when records like "In da Club," "P.I.M.P." and "If I Can't" caught fire, but lyrically he couldn't touch former Kings of New York like Biggie, Jay-Z, or Nas in their primes.
Why It Doesn't Matter: Heavily shaped by his personal narrative, 50 Cent ushered in the hustler path in rap where rhymes weren't necessarily the biggest selling point (think Young Jeezy, Cam'ron). And whatever he lacked in his verse, he more than made up for with his hooks, making him one of the best songwriters rap has ever seen. He was gritty without being too wordy, playful where appropriate, and melodic to the point that you would have believed he studied under Quincy Jones. And really, that's all it took.
Jay-Z's Vol. 2...Hard Knock Life has too many cheap keyboard beats from Swizz Beatz.
Why People Say That: Poor Swizz Beatz, he doesn't get enough credit. People tend to forget that, in the late '90s, with the Ruff Ryder movement in full swing and sampling briefly out of style, Swizzy was in high demand. So Jay, as he's known to do, hooked up with the hottest producer around. Swizz blessed Jigga with three cuts for Vol. 2, the most memorable of which was "Money, Cash, Hoes." Thing was, Swizz' tunes were already starting to sound like he used the same eight sounds and rearranged them every beat.
Why It Doesn't Matter: Even if Swizz didn't have a knack for finding new sounds, his off-beat timing was flawless. And you know who was really good at staying in the pocket? Jay-Z. Peep the piano loop on "Money, Cash, Hoes" and how it stops short and keeps you hypnotized. Stop hating on Swizz Beatz people. He gave you "Money, Cash, Hoes" you ingrates!
Watch The Throne doesn't appeal to the 99.99%.
Why People Say That: So, this is what black excellence, opulence, and decadence sounds like? Luxury rap provided with the "the Hermès of verses"-a brand most rap fans don't know about and certainly can't afford. Watch the Throne vocalizes a perspective that is simply impossible to relate to for most rap fans. And it's all the more frustrating to hear about it during the Great Recession, with unemployment at nearly 8% and rising populist outrage over growing economic disparity.
Why It Doesn't Matter: How much of rap is really all that relatable anyway? Would rhymes about moving weight be any more universal? We can watch Scarface without rising to kingpin status and still find it enjoyable. Same goes for Watch The Throne. The execution is at a high enough level that disconnect between artist and listener isn't filled with empty space, but rather diamond-encrusted hoop dreams.