Killa Cam has a serious side. This is shocking, as the same emcee who once rapped for four minutes with trademark honesty about his bout with irritable bowel syndrome and was the conduit that loosed the Dipset phenomenon on the universe actually has grown up. It took an acrimonious breakup with the aforementioned Diplomats crew, and for namely Jim Jones to go on to terrific solo success for Cam’ron to stop and take a serious look at himself, the state of hip hop and he likely figured, as all senior emcees do, that it’s time to be a steward for the future. His answer, a young Harlem emcee named Vado. The product of Cam’ron’s work with his second project, the UN, Vado has aspirations on being a next generation Christopher Wallace in a generation that’s forgotten what intelligent frank talk about ill behavior sounds like.On his eagerly anticipated debut Slime Flu, the groundwork is there, but is an uneven promise for the future.
The problem with being aligned with Cam’ron and the resurrected Diplomats is Cam himself and the Dipset’s history. The Diplomats as an emcee crew built their history off of absurdness, meandering lyrics and an abstract take on the everyday struggle. Being Salvador Dali in a world of pedantic artistry certainly gains you acclaim, but when attempting to remove those trappings and get back down to basics, the move is extremely difficult and has to be carefully handled. Vado’s guest appearances and mixtape hits have all been major because it’s his plain talk in the midst of rampant surrealism that allows for him to stick out like a sore thumb to great success. Remove Cam’ron being Cam’ron on tracks like “Ric Flair,” and you have a third generation Biggie Smalls, a resurrection the game wasn’t prepared for, and in using the trademark presentation of this style does not make Vado anything more than good, when he deserved a great debut album.
The album kicks off possibly the best use of Minnie Ripperton’s soul staple “Memory Lane” as a simple since Clark Kent’s remix of Junior M.A.F.I.A.’s “Players Anthem” on “Council Music,” immediately dropping the album smack dab in the middle of 1996. If Vado prior to this point had been heavily pushed on a more mainstream level as an emcee who was definitively stuck in the 1990s, this would’ve been a home run. But, Vado doesn’t run around in Guess and Girbauds, nor does he boast about hanging at the Tunnel with Large Professor and Pete Rock. The last emcee of that generation was to be Big L, and, sadly, Vado is no Big L. But Vado is solid. He’s a developing urban storyteller with an economical flow, an intelligent plain talker with humorous sentences and not a consistent parade of punchlines. This sets him against the entirety of hip hop at this point, which is appreciated, but his skill at this particular style of lyricism is certainly in development.
The real stars of this album are emcees like Jae Millz, who stomps onto “Filthy Game” with expected dominance. Millz is best when used as the battle tested freestyler and sixteen bar guest assassin he has built a career off of being. As well, enough can’t be said about the performance of Cam’ron. He overshadows his pupil here, who sadly isn’t on the same level of wit as say, Juelz Santana, Vado’s ever present “Hunh?!?!” adlib not nearly as fresh or insistent as Juelz’s “Ay!” His two tracks, the likely top lead singles, “Shooter” and the magnificent “Speaking in Tungs” are more in tune with the current landscape, an armageddon of wordplay that excites an album that in its braggadocio and melodrama was an expectation of excellence of a long forgotten era. That being said, Cam merely stating “loafers, holsters, oysters, roasters/do the math, stupid ass” was lost in hip hop’s mainstream and pretty much blows away anything else on the album. “Speaking in Tungs” is a club banger about the sexual prowess of the Harlem duo, a club banger that is an easy listen and can fit DJ mixes and drive time radio equally.
This album started off as a mixtape. It should have stayed that way. Vado needs access to better producers and important co-signs from the era of rap he adores. Yes, Big L associate Gruff may be here on “Crimesquare,” but what about the Beatminerz, Pete Rock, Sticky Fingaz, Pharoahe Monch, Lil Caesar, Lil Kim, AZ or any great number of folks. Yes, I am perfectly aware. Koch wanted to capitalize on the mixtape buzz of the hood’s latest capo. But releasing what is little more than a muscled up mixtape as an album was a bad idea. As Melanie Fiona recently stated, “give it to me right, or don’t give it to me at all.”
THREE OUT OF FIVE STARS
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