I can’t remember exactly how old I was (which does have some pertinence to the following) – somewhere between seventeen and nineteen I think – when one day, in my fairly prosaic existence, whilst enjoying some toast and looking at the toaster (intently?!), I decided to challenge a common ‘assumption’ (albeit one based on a sound understanding of the laws of physics) and confirm my own corporeality/mortality. I deciding I was going to stick a knife in the toaster while it was on, electrical current in full flow, to see what would happen.
My age is relevant, in as much as I am attempting to demonstrate this was no act of naivety carried out by a yet-to-be worldly wise toddler, with little sense of right and wrong, or danger. No I was an adult, and contrary to this anecdotes apparent message, not an complete fucking idiot (despite this being the only way anyone could really interpret this text). I was fully aware of the principles that govern a flow of electrical charge passing through a conductor (in this case the wire coils – or element – of a toaster, offering the necessary resistance to produce the heat responsible for toasting my bread); I was fully of aware of the principles of grounding that would cause the electricity to run through (some part) of my body into the earth, and that should I break the circuit inside the toaster, I would prevent it from acting as a toaster.
After procrastinating over the worth of my experiment, fully aware of the probable, nay certain, outcome, I decided to proceed. After carefully selecting an entirely metallic knife, I pushed the toaster down (read: on) breadless, before recklessly inserting the knife into the toaster’s glowing core.
The laws of physics and the universe remained very much operative, and I duly received a relatively small electric shock[1], and some sparks did fly. This shock was not big enough to, say, cause me to urinate fully clothed in the kitchen, but, it was significant enough to ensure I would refrain from repeating this activity in the future. As I had broken the toasters circuit, I had broken the toaster, the silver lining of which was a shock that was relatively brief in duration.
Overall it was a fairly underwhelming, maybe even wholly disappointing, experience that left me slightly confused with a strange sensation retained by my body (mostly confined to my arm) and, of course, a broken toaster. It is questionable whether I could even say I had learnt anything from it, and it is a long anecdote indeed for the disgustingly poorly executed conclusion/comparison that follows: Lil’ Wayne’s latest album, Rebirth, an attempt at an ‘auto-tune rock hybrid’ from the erstwhile gifted hip hop MC , is very much commensurate to that experience on every level: physical, mental and abstract[2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12][13].
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[1] Despite anticipating and expecting an electric shock, it was very much still a ‘shock’, like trapping a mouse behind the fridge, then attempting to chase him out; you know the bastard is coming when you shift your cumbersome white goods to expose its hiding place, but it moves so bloody fast you can’t help but jump
[2] The question that naturally follows is why did I/Lil’ Wayne do it? I would like to cite the following possibilities (as despite being the protagonist in the tiresome anecdote above, I couldn’t give you a certain answer):
(i) Boredom
(ii) The early signs of a great philosophical mind willing to challenge commonly held assumptions (dogma) regarding empirical experience and natural law/the boundaries of musical genres, public persona and performance
(iii) Sheer stupidity
(iv) Slow mental development
(v) Because it could be done
(vi) The only pleasure greater than creation is destruction
[3] For those of you not satisfied with the toaster anecdote as a review, please peruse my notes below for further thoughts on the album;
[4] “I’m a dope boy with a guitar”
Firstly, those expecting a metal rap fusion, or even a nu-metal return <shudder> will be sorely disappointed. Wait, everyone will be disappointed. . .
RATM this is most certainly not, nor is it like Limp Bizkit or Korn hanging out with out of the guys from The Pharcyde. Musically, the (fairly synth heavy) ‘band’ is down in the mix, and, well, just quite tame, leaving some god awful lyrics and delivery in foreground. Actually, forget the bands already mentioned, and start thinking Ashlee Simpson’s alt. reinvention and Fall Out Boy on a bad day. Or perhaps a less pop and contemporary Katy Perry – less contemporary because of the screeching 80s guitar solos that occasionally rear their heads and badly produced sing-along chorus vocals [please allow me to qualify my use of “80s guitars solos”; I’m talking the soundtrack to Highlander or Lethal Weapon and not Van Halen here].
Album closer ‘The Price is Wrong’ is atypical by virtue of tricking you into believing you’ve found Wayne in some sort of Bad Brains hardcore territory, until you realise your ability to judge what is hardcore has been fundamentally compromised by the album that precedes it, and all he did was increase the tempo. The cringe worthy high school lyrics, increasingly clean production, and cries of “fuck her anyway” don’t help his case . . . Is this what he thinks rock is?
[5] “Bitch I‘m a pick the world up and I‘m a drop it on your fucking head”
There are some brief, promising glimpses of something greater here, although promising has to be taken in the context of the standards already set. The first two bars/bassline (prior to those incredibly tinny drums kicking in) of ‘Ground Zero’, sound, well, acceptable, and Wayne finally drops the auto-tune. It is worth noting that in Wayne’s hands auto-tune becomes a very dangerous beast, not least because for some unknown reason he can’t hold a consistent pitch for more than a syllable.
Three quarters of the way through the album and finally a piece of eccentricity and humour that sounds intentional, with a hip hop intro, interesting verse, and the chorus quoted above inducing a level of jocularity/absurdity that even some dubious ‘rock’ drumming, Eminem’s singing, and acoustic guitar accompanying the last verse can’t halt. Eminem also has the privilege to drop the hip hop quotable “ I buttfucked this game up”, which in keeping with the album, leaves me unsure whether to laugh or cry .
[6] “Fuck you, Get a Life”
On ‘Get a Life’ we see Wayne impersonating Britain’s own Lil’ Chris (remember ‘Checkin’ it Out’?) but with his distinctive use of autotune, and hoarse/spat vocal delivery. By the time I got here I couldn’t tell if it was a highlight or lowlight . . . Fuck that ‘Checkin’ it Out’ song by Lil’ Chris was class wasn’t it?
[7] “I’m on fire, she’s on fire”
The intro – an incredible piece of Flashdance homage for 4 bars keeping the 80s film theme running – gets a contemporary hip hop treatment by the way of the handclap to create a song that sounds like it has beamed in from a different record/artist, until then the beat drops out to reveal some very quiet 80s guitar screeching.
[8] “Where is it going to end?”
‘Runnin’ follows a short verse with literally 3 minute of chorus delivered by some 8th rate Kelly Clarkson wannabe (on her third album appearance) – where the fuck is it going to end? This is worst song since Wayne offered his attempt at europop with ‘Da Da Da’, guitars employed for comedy effect only, and yes, ‘Da Da Da’ is the chorus.
[9] “and it feels like uh-huh-un-huh-uh Yeah!”
‘One Way Trip’ introduces a moderately interesting electronic 16 bit beat, behind the 4/4 drumming, until an atrocious soft-American-emo-rock chorus drops, complete with embarrassing group cry of ‘Yeah’. The quotation above is ¼ of the the aforementioned chorus. No fucking joke. A new uninspiring low, ‘A Milli’ seems like some bizarre dream lost to the ether.
[10] “Get the telephone please, it’s an emergency”
Give me an upcoming female solo artist who wants to show some attitude (and early 2000’s sound), and she’ll love ‘Knockout’ . . . luckily, and for the benefit of the review in general, this sort of glorious appropriation of semi-alt. guitars for shameless pop is my guilty pleasure – it isn’t close to a Kelly Clarkson ‘Since I’ve Been Gone’ breakout, but the increasingly irreverent use of auto-tune and appearance of a female vocalist who isn’t cringe worthy have left me giddy in a world of repeated listens. By now Wayne’s increasingly bizarre delivery has grown on me and/or I’ve stopped noticing it, it’s absurdities/contradictions in making auto-tune sound melodically awful, and the ugly/hideous sort of compelling. Has my ability to launch into any sort of comparative standard been destroyed by this album? Yes. . . But what the fuck, I’m going to say it anyway . . . This is quite good?
[11] Was this Wayne’s attempt to rival ‘808s & Heartbeats’? If so, what the fuck just happened? And what the hell has he done to auto-tune . . .it ain’t never sounded quite like this
[12] There is no need for a delux version of this record, and there will never be a need to listen to hip-whore Madonna’s collaboration with Lil’ Wayne. Ever.
