Fast-forward to the 1:10 mark for 16 bars from W.C., who at 40, still immolates Cube’s new Lench Mob henchman and O’ Shea himself. As for his old Lench mob, maybe Doughboy discarded them because he read on the world’s most entertaining encyclopedia that they are “Black Supremacist racists.”Apparently, Glen Beck is putting in Wiki-work.
I reviewed Cube’s I Am the West for the Times and unsurprisingly decided that I’d rather listen to W.C. Hip-hop legacy has always been more about career solstice than consistency. Rappers were only expected to put out two or three good albums until Jay-Z coined the term, the Metamucil MC. So Cube is justifiably considered the left-coast G.O.A.T. despite being largely worthless since the Player’s Club soundtrack. We will always have N.W.A., his first four solo records (Lethal Injection is underrated)and Friday. That’s plenty of work put in– a lifetime distilled into a decade. We don’t need any more.
Conversely, W.C. has been consistently excellent since he was a teen, but rarely “great.” Greatness implies owning a moment, and the Ghetto Heisman has always been more Outland Trophy. Unsung but essential. Recognized by those who know, but ignored by connoisseurs of shiny metal and bright clothing. Swag. I will defend Coolio, but the fact that he was the one to blow up out of the Maad Circle speaks volumes about popular taste and the power of a Stevie Wonder sample. W.C. has been paying dues since Low Profile and has never fallen off. He’s so West Coast that he has the same initials.
William Calhoun uses the same tongue twisting flow seen on “West Up,” because it’s impossible to top. His lack of commercial acclaim is understandable. He lacks the charisma or flashiness of a Cube or even Mack 10 (he did not get T-Boz). It’s an iron man consistency, a monochromatic marine blue, greatness muted in Chuck T’s and khakis. The guy was in Friday too.