Having hoes in different area codes is quite a responsibility indeed; as the hottest single rapper from below the Mason-Dixon line, Ludacris carries a lot of careers (and arguably the future of the entire Dirty South) on his shoulders. Well, get out da way, because he's back for the third time with "Chicken 'n Beer."
Lyrically and vocally, Ludacris is in fine form. His songs aren't particularly intelligent, but the funny ones are uproarious and the requisite arrogant ones straddle the line between ominous and hilarious quite admirably. He doesn't skirt around the beat very much, opting instead for his usual precision and driving each exceedingly minute syllable into you like it was launched using a sharpshooter's scope. He doesn't kick things into high gear with his distinctive double-time nearly as much as I'd have liked, either; but when he does, he's as good at it as ever.
Surprisingly enough, the ultra-confident exaggeration he uses at the end of the line (remember "What you got in that BAG?") sometimes works much better than you might expect -- and that's often without doubling his vocals at all, which is quite a feat for any rapper.
Unfortunately, a talented MC alone doesn't guarantee a great record.
Compositionally and musically, this album seriously makes me feel stupider with every listen. Most of his beats are based on one-measure loops, sometimes with a very slight variation at the end of every fourth bar if he's feeling particularly adventurous. Fair enough, Luda; but if you're gonna do that, it had better be a damn good one measure. These aren't, and it's possible that the liner notes may give a hint as to why: in the past, he has been produced by heavy hitters like Timbaland and the Neptunes. The biggest names on "Chicken 'n Beer," in contrast, are Kanye West and Erick Sermon. Those two have certainly made names for themselves, but they've got nowhere near the acclaim of the studio demigods against whom they are being compared.
A friend of mine once defined the aesthetic essence of hip hop as "word over beat." That's a certain degree of beauty in the simplicity of that characterization, but it's still a shame that Ludacris can't seem to turn his songs into anything more highly evolved. These backing tracks do set the rhythm, but they rarely accomplish anything else -- and don't you dare even try to give me the minimalism argument.
That's not the only problem plaguing this album. As has been the case on his past recordings, many of the songs that don't have disgustingly weak beats are totally destroyed by something else. For example, "Screwed Up" is built over a sweet little lick that sounds as though it was lifted from a carnival freak show, but it's also got the most inane refrain I've heard in a very long time. The same stupefyingly simple curse is used no less than eight times in a row, without any variation, and this recurs several times over the course of the song. Now, I'm certainly not against vulgarity by definition, but I find it totally aggravating when that sort of passage (whether explicit or not) just doesn't go anywhere.
"Hoes In My Room" is another example of potential excellence gone botched and then mercilessly bestomped. Here, we're given a collaboration with Snoop in which the two skillfully complain to rather hilarious result about the epidemic of ugly women that we all know has been going around. It's even laid out over a great beat that slyly slinks from lush to shimmering and back again. So what does Luda decide to do for the chorus? It's four lines long, so naturally he sings "Who let these hoes in my room?" four times... and let me tell you, it becomes quite obvious that there is a very good reason why he is a rapper and not a singer.
Amid all this, "Southern Fried Intro" seems very out of place, because it's got Ludacris turning what might just be the best performance of his career to date; the rhymes are almost too fast and furious to digest. "We Got" is also one of the highlights, featuring guest appearances by Chingy, I-20, Tity Boi, and a killer snare drum. As enjoyable as those two may be, though, they seem like short interruptions of the prevailing insipid, bloated environment, and are not enough to save this ultimately doomed endeavor.
I really like Ludacris; he's charismatic, funny, and he's got chops for days. Hell, he even looks cooler than anybody else out there right now... but for the love of God, could somebody please get this man some songs that don't suck? He gets plenty of points for artistic growth, because "Chicken 'n Beer" is worlds removed from "Word of Mouf" and especially "Back for the First Time," but, unfortunately I still can't say that this is a particularly noteworthy album.
I guess I'm the sort of person he is talking about when he says "I love all races / but if you hatin' my music / F*** you / F*** you/ F*** you / F*** you / F*** you / F*** you / F*** you / F*** you."
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