This song is a genre of its own: Marble Floor, Ivory Pillar, Mount Olympus rap. Cold, hard, and gaudy. Regal and tacky at the same damn time. This is the latest single from French Montana’s Excuse My French, which might actually do the unthinkable and excuse him from his sins of being the worst “hot” rapper out right now. I tried with French. Really. But he raps and looks like Donkey from Shrek, if he fall asleep working the overnight shift at a bodega, quarter water and lit blunt in hand. Watch him dance in the “Pop That” video. He’s so awkward that he makes Lurch look limber.
Had Max B not got locked up and Harry Fraud not squandered some of his best beats on the Cocaine Funboy Series Volumes 1-1023, French would’ve been another amiable weed carrier, good for the occasional 16 bar donkey bray, but little else. Then again, we owe him for the accidental creation of “Fanute,” so maybe everything does happen for a reason. And like “Pop That,” there is something to be said for “Marble Floors.” It’s hard not to think that Puffy was behind the organization of these ensembles. After all, French is signed to Bad Boy and Puff basically pioneered the grandiose posse cut. Also, he and Rick Ross are starting a boutique crabbing business off the coast of Oregon.
There are two reasons why this song meets and maybe exceeds expectations. Both are pretty obvious. Mike Will continues to stake a claim for producer of the year (alongside Mustard, Alchemist, and Fraud). He basically adds an eerie sci-feel to the “B.M.F.” formula, synths that sound like alarms being triggered, odd water drop percussion that keeps time between snare crashes. He uses empty space as well as anyone and understands chord progression without resorting to Kanye levels of bombast. Somehow this beat sounds both minimal and massive. You could look like an insane person shadow cooking to this on the subway or it could (and probably will) detonate clubs.
Then there’s the rapping. Rick Ross opens up for comic relief, creating scenarios in which we are supposed to imagine that our bitch is fucking him, while she tiptoes on marble floors, occasionally tripping over copies of the Robb Report and leftover frogs legs. French’s highpoint is his revelation that he has seen the movie Taps. While Wayne continues to prove that while I would not recommend drugs as a lifestyle choice, they certainly once worked for him.
The only sentient body on this track is 2 Chainz, who basically justifies its entire existence. The erstwhile Tity reminds me a bit of RZA circa “Glock-O-Pop.” They don’t sound or flow remotely similar, but I like them for the same reason. They say the most patently ridiculous things imaginable with a self-awareness that suggests that it’s both serious and a total joke. Every line makes me slap my forehead and bust up laughing. How else to interpret his admission that his cup is filled with pink because he’s supporting Breast Cancer and is considering running their 5K. He also calls himself Ted Dibia$e in Versace loafers, so there’s that. After all, this track is on Bad Boy, the classic label of Roman decadence. All we need is Fonzworth Bentley to play his Virgil.