I remember telephoning my local Tower Records on release day to ask if they had Crackavelli. They didn't, so I called another Tower Records a bit further away to ask the same question. The woman who answered the phone (who if I had to guess based on her voice I would guess was Black) couldn't contain her laughter at the album title. "Oh yeah," she said, composing herself. "I think I saw that one come in. It's a rap CD, right?" After a brief hold, she confirmed that they had the album, so I hopped in the car & went to buy it.
Aside from being illustrative of my old-head-ness ("We used to have to call the record store! On the telephone!") this story demonstrates 2 things. First, the absurdity of a rapper selling himself as the white 2Pac--the Tower Records employee was not the only Black person who had a hard time taking Haystak seriously. There's no such thing as a white version of 2Pac. Blackness was deeply embedded in his artistry & his image. Blackness was what made 2Pac 2Pac. The 2nd thing this story demonstrates, though, is the fact that there was something in Haystak's music that spoke to me enough that I went to such lengths to get this album when it dropped. I still have some unpacking to do in order to understand exactly why I spent about a 4-year period enamored with Haystak. Did I too feel like a "victimized white boy?" I'm embarrassed now to say it, but it's possible. I don't really remember. I was also smoking a whole lot of weed back then. Today I see Haystak as an undeniably skilled lyricist kneecapped by boring production, with a knack for heartfelt songs about emotional topics like his deprived upbringing yet desperately wanting to be seen as a tough street guy, & obsessed with being a white rapper despite having little understanding of the broader implications of whiteness in hiphop.
Crackavelli is a double CD & marks the point when Haystak's music started to lose its freshness. It doesn't help that he embarked on a recording frenzy around this time, releasing 7 full-length albums over a 2-year period. This prolific streak had the effect of watering down an oeuvre that could already be repetitive & samey. Starting with this double album, it seems like he began to believe his own hype & so we get several songs' worth of outrageous claims about what a ruthless crime boss he is, with titles like "Bounce Through Ya Block," "Make You Fly," "Boss Status," & "Fall Through the Club." Things soften up on the 2nd disc, with more of his trademark poignant numbers about topics like his dead homies ("Sail On") depression & creative outlets ("Drive," "My Lyrics"), & the paranoia & soul-deadening effects of street life ("Nothing is Wrong"). But this is the album where they start to sound a little too forced & overdramatic, like the swooping strings & layered choirs of "Sail On," where Haystak brings out his Cartman from South Park sounding singing voice again--for most of the album he uses a lower, growling register.
I've been avoiding saying too much about production this far because there isn't much to say. The beats are all made in-house by Street Flavor Productions, which at this point consisted of Sonny Paradise, Jon Conner & a few others. As I've written about many times before, the 2000s was the era of MIDI in hiphop production, & it makes sense especially when you're on a budget: you don't have to pay for either sample clearance or session musicians. There is plenty of good MIDI production in the world, but this isn't it. These beats aren't exactly bad, but they are almost universally soulless, artificial, lifeless & boring. Occasionally an interesting instrument pops up like the flute in "Fall Through the Club," but mostly it's the expected orchestral horns, movie-score strings & synth bass. Listen to 5 random songs out of 30 & you've heard everything this album has to offer production-wise.
There are some bright spots: a self-assured Bun B feature livens up the timpani-heavy ode to grimy rap music known as "Track 7," & "Let's Ride" is a sober piano-led reflection on the unglamorous side of street beef taken to its logical conclusion. But the best song is the disc 1 closer "Freak Show," where Stak breaks down the mainstream's gaze as it pertains to street hustlers & rappers. He indicts "respectable" society by pointing out that by deriving entertainment from the sometimes desperate actions of underprivileged people, they have a vested interest in allowing those conditions to perpetuate.
Then the whole thing ends on the giant turd known as "Pale Face." A collaboration with the Las Vegas duo of the same name (one of the many groups that Stak either put together or joined around this time, like multiple incarnations of CWB), I see this song as the tipping point when Haystak's obsession with being white trash stopped focusing on the "trash" part & started focusing on the "white" part. There is absolutely no justification for professing "pride" in one's whiteness, & with their skinheads & neck tattoos, the Paleface guys look a bit too much like an Aryan prison gang. It doesn't help that the song has a big f-slur right in the middle of the hook that Stak repeats multiple times.
I'll admit to replaying several songs from this album. "Track 7," "Freak Show," "My Lyrics," "Let's Ride," & a few others are as interesting as anything else Haystak ever did. As a whole, the record fares better than Car Fulla White Boys but was a disappointment following the more concise From Start to Finish. Stretch about 6 songs' worth of ideas over 30 tracks & you end up with the kind of album that does its best to extinguish its own bright spots.
No comments:
Post a Comment