Pharoahe Monch – W.A.R. (We Are Renegades) (Duck Down)
Since the beginning of his career, Queens-based rapper Pharoahe Monch has been forced into the underdog’s role; constantly on the verge of larger things, but never quite earning the success for which his ability should rightly qualify him. He’s shared stages and guest spots with platinum-sellers, he’s ghostwritten for rappers with exponentially more money and considerably less talent, and even cracked the Billboard Hot 100 with “Simon Says” before the album’s distribution was halted due to a lawsuit over an uncleared sample. All of which is no guarantee that the mainstream would even accept him anyways–with a style built on tongue-twisting verbal gymnastics and an agitprop lyrical approach, his albums might seem out of place alongside the 50 Cents and T-Pains of the world. But the greater public’s loss is a discerning listener’s gain, and while it might seem like hyperbole, W.A.R. may be the best, or at the very least most surprising, hip hop album released in years.
Pharoahe Monch – W.A.R. (We Are Renegades) (Duck Down)
Since the beginning of his career, Queens-based rapper Pharoahe Monch has been forced into the underdog’s role; constantly on the verge of larger things, but never quite earning the success for which his ability should rightly qualify him. He’s shared stages and guest spots with platinum-sellers, he’s ghostwritten for rappers with exponentially more money and considerably less talent, and even cracked the Billboard Hot 100 with “Simon Says” before the album’s distribution was halted due to a lawsuit over an uncleared sample. All of which is no guarantee that the mainstream would even accept him anyways–with a style built on tongue-twisting verbal gymnastics and an agitprop lyrical approach, his albums might seem out of place alongside the 50 Cents and T-Pains of the world. But the greater public’s loss is a discerning listener’s gain, and while it might seem like hyperbole, W.A.R. may be the best, or at the very least most surprising, hip hop album released in years.
The album is framed by a handful of sketches trying to cast the songs as some sort of transmission from a dystopian future, a sort of Philip Dick/J.G. Ballard world based on the socio-cultural primacy of armed conflict and the systematic extermination of individual thought. There’s something about time-travelling assassins as well, but the narrative gets bogged down under its own weight, trying to pile too many details on top of too flimsy a structure. It’s a shame too–Monch’s conceptual approach is one most rappers wouldn’t touch with a ten-foot pole, but when its approached as haphazardly as it is on W.A.R., the results are more confusing than edifying, and given the time-table presented, will likely find its concept of impending ruin more dated than prophetic. This concept suffers due to its brevity, but because of that truncation doesn’t really hinder the album too much.
The body of the work succeeds wildly when it deals with the here and now, however, and the targets are wide-ranging–the mainstream media monopoly, repressive governments, the prison industry, and all manner of conformity both outwardly- and self-imposed–but the tone is rarely grim or defeatist. It’s as if, by offering the most strident, charged performances possible, he might somehow, on some level, slow the forces pushing towards the future’s darkest possibilities. He’s joined by an array of guests whose presence on the album ranges from spot-on perfect to fairly confusing. W.A.R.‘s title track features both the never-not-angry Immortal Technique, hurling invective at the powers that (shouldn’t) be as only he can, and Living Colour guitarist Vernon Reid, contributing the sort of extended solo he’s built a career upon. It’s about as subtle as a fart at a funeral, and in hands any less capable it would likely be a miserable failure, but the guests’ abilities salvage the song in the end. Similarly, “Assassins,” with cameo spots by Jean Grae and Royce Da 5’9”, benefits from the stylistic diversity brought to the table by its guests. A sharply caustic contribution from the former and a smirking, smart-ass bit of wordplay from the latter create a juxtaposition that helps the song overcome the awkward sci-fi leanings of its spoken intro.
Not all the guests are as well-chosen though. While The Wire might be a good show, getting Idris Elba to do the gravelly spoken intro comes off as forced as its futuristic overtones. And while the more soul-influenced half of the album has some great guest vocalists (Jill Scott, most notably), the more rock-oriented half relies on people like Citizen Cope, whose dreary, AOR-alternative voice does its best to bring down the otherwise intense “The Grand Illusion (Circa 1973).” This song will more likely than not elicit some Kanye West comparisons by sampling the same King Crimson album that the ever-divisive West used on last year’s “Power” (New sub-genre alert: Fripp-hop. You heard it here first, folks.). But whereas somebody like West trades in a rhetorical approach based on pathos, a kind of schizophrenic mix of braggadocio and self-pity that draws from the extreme reactions he is able to elicit, Monch relies more on an ethos-driven appeal, assessing his own abilities as a way of instilling confidence in the listener that his ideas should be afforded gravity. There’s no question he’s boastful (which could beg the question of whether there are any rappers that aren’t), but it’s more an invitation to trust rather than a display of inflated ego.
Individual positive or negative traits aside, W.A.R. is a greater album than the sum of its parts, and even the few missteps can’t erode the overall quality. Monch pulls off a verbal dexterity unmatched by many rappers these days, but still knows how to make a song accessible. He can reference intricate socio-political theory and still elicit an emotional response. And he can stare down the world’s demons, the lingering darkness of a human spirit deadend by the world’s oppressions, and shape his reaction into something positive–a creative outburst unlikely to be matched by any other rapper this year.
