Review: Clipse – Til The Casket Drops

Virginia rap duo Clipse’s first two records were so cold-blooded they almost seemed like coke-rap meta-commentary: Nobody could be so vicious, so violent, so cool. And dudes were nothing if not single-minded in their pursuit of cash – with the exception of Lord Willin’s “Ma, I Don’t Love Her,” I can’t really think of a single Clipse song that isn’t about pushing weight. But Til The Casket Drops, their fourth album (and first not produced entirely by the Neptunes), shows a new side of Clipse struggling to push through.

It’s not that Pusha T and Malice have stopped shining or selling, and there’s a fair number of straight-up cash raps scattered throughout the set’s track list. But they get very explicit very early on about the way their consciences are starting to itch – acid-rock guitars get all hot and squiggly on the climax of the epic opener “Freedom” while someone screams “Are you entertained, motherfucker? Then dance, bitch!” Seems that the boys feel some remorse for making snappin’ and trappin’ sound like such hot fun, and now we’re supposed to feel guilty about enjoying their past work.

I feel a little guilty. I always do when I listen to rap. This music has nothing to do with me, and was not made for me, and the visceral thrill that I get from it is a pretty dirty high. But whatever. It’s a mass-marketed commodity. Pusha T and Malice probably have huge houses, with swimming pools and hundred-car garages, all based on ignorant people like me soaking up their violent fantasies. So, let’s say we’re all a little bit to blame, and that Clipse are definitely way more to blame than I am, since they’re still up to their old tricks: “I’m Good” is a weak re-write of Kanye’s “The Good Life,” and “Showing Out” is all about exactly that. Meanwhile, the excellent “There Was A Murder” takes (I think) a refreshing pro-snitching stance, but on the very next track (“Door Man“) snitches can, once again, burn in hell. Obviously there are some contradictions bouncing around here, especially if I’m not supposed to be entertained by any of this. And, seriously, if I’m not supposed to dance, then why is the Keri Hilson-assisted “All Eyes On Me” so fucking sexy?

Clipse has always been a somewhat frustrating enterprise – these are two very intelligent guys that could pretty much do whatever they want, and they choose to be evil. Frustration aside, though, that evilness is what made their music so compelling. Til The Casket Drops makes us consider the possibility of a “conscious” Clipse, even if Malice spits late on the record that he hates that shit, and it’s not the most tantalizing possibility. The wordplay here is pretty tight, but shout-outs for Lady Gaga and Twitter (seriously: “You can check my timeline!”) verge on corny, which is an accusation you couldn’t level at their previous work with any semblance of a straight face. Indeed, this record tends to overheat and get kinda laughable, but the few tracks that really, really work (particularly “Kinda Like A Big Deal,” with a great, goofy guest verse from Third World Timmy’s arch-nemesis Kanye West) stand tall with the rest of Clipse’s brief-but-stunning catalog. And the disc reaches an awesome late apex on the one-two punch of “Footsteps” and “Life Change,” which closes out the record on a note of determined aspiration and uplift.

The filler, though, is another story. The best way I can explain this is maybe also the only way I can explain this: If you are super high, this record sounds great. The beats are Hulk-strong, with bass often sitting front-and-center with the vocals while melodies unspool enticingly in the background. Without the benefit of a blunt, though, about half of the tracks get way too repetitive really fast, especially the songs where these guys just brag aimlessly (or, you know, eat fried chicken ["Popular Demand (Popeyes)," which of course features Cam'ron]). Unlike Hell Hath No Fury, this is not a disc you’ll spin on repeat. The first few songs, strong as they are, suggest this might be something like Clipse’s Stankonia; that is unfortunately not the case. Instead it’s one of those awkward situations where a group unintentionally proves their weakness to be a secret strength – after listening to Til The Casket Drops a few times, who would complain that these guys rap about coke too much?

I don’t think I want to hear them rap about anything else.

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One comment “awaiting immediate, obnoxious rebuttal”

1. tim says:

   December 10, 2009 at 1:04 pm

   You should have put a picture of HULK SMASHING some shit in the review. It would be the only thing that could make it better.