The Roots - Game Theory
MusicMash Rating: not rated yet
Pitchfork Media Rating: 7.7
The way ?uestlove keeps telling it, that initial meeting
with new boss Jay-Z sounds like a fully-hocked saliva rocket in the eye of every asshole who
tried to force the Roots to compromise their status as studied hip-hop altar
boys in pursuit of the bottom line. Like the tough-ass principal with a heart
of platinum, it seems Mr. Def Jam was full of charity, spewing
quotables like, "Don't come to me playing a whole bunch of Clear Channel
songs thinking I'm gonna be cool with it," and, my personal favorite,
"If y'all come here with snap music, I'm snapping y'all the fuck out of my
audience."
So the Roots were sent off to make a Roots album...you know, that
"artsy shit." For a band known for the occasional indulgence (the $300,000+ price tag to complete Phrenology's
horrendously overwrought "Break You Off", a concert mentality that equates
excruciating length with awesomeness), such a mandate could have birthed a
freewheeling disaster tipsy on its own pretensions. Miraculously, art-hop's
highest get concise on Game Theory-- cutting song lengths,
spoken-word tedium, and call-and-response nonsense. Fourteen years deep, the Roots avoid the wild sonic
tangents of yesteryear, zeroing in on a svelte, safe, and solid
take on what we've come to expect from a Roots record.
Light years away from the jazzy bap of their early days, the Roots continue to embrace their band-dom and musical acumen here, with studio guru ?uestlove
tweaking with purpose; unlike the sometimes directionless experimentation of
Phrenology and the preternatural smoothness of The Tipping Point, each sonic
decision sounds measured and precise yet still alive and heaving. Beat-wise, the
bounding throb at the center of "Here I Come" pumps hardest, with
key-man Kamal striking futuristic synths while ?uest lays down an unrelenting
boom that's rewarded with a fizzy solo outro. Wet drums return on doom-y
"In the Music", adding grit alongside a horror movie bassline
and simmering guitar-- clearly (and thankfully), Scott Storch is nowhere to be found.
Pop music writer Chuck Eddy once described Bruce Springsteen as someone whose
"muse can't be separated from his ego; he's too palpably concerned with
how he'll be documented in the history books" and the same can be said
about the Roots. They sometimes mistake experimentation with progress while preaching holier-than-thouisms to the choir. Both "Take It There", with its over the top piano
melodrama and the listless "Livin' in a New World" falter, relying
too heavily on questionable texture and knob tricks. Tellingly, though, they are also
two of the album's shortest tracks. Whereas such noble risks were once epic, they're now
miniaturized-- the Roots have learned from their mistakes. More than ever, the
band uses its know-how skillfully, as on the stunning title track, which beefs up Sly
Stone's early 1960s song "Life of Fortune & Fame". On the original,
Stone all but predicts the paranoia and doubt he'd perfect with 1971's There's a Riot Goin' On. That album's claustrophobic murk is felt
throughout Game Theory, and its musical moodiness is echoed by Black Thought,
who unpeels himself ever so slightly while charging hard with anger and
desperation.
There's been much debate about Thought recently, spurred
by recent critical drubbings deeming him dull and uncharismatic. Even ?uestlove
chimed in on the
Okayplayer message boards, dismissing the hate as a mere "trend." Such rationalizations can't hide the monotonous nonchalance of Thought's natural delivery or his often second-rate bread-and-butter battle rhymes. Though technically proficient, his passivity is
the Roots' most noticeable handicap. Game Theory partially solves this problem
with a healthy dose of guest shots from old friends Malik B (making a strong
return as a non-member after being booted for drug dependence about six years
ago) and Dice Raw, along with welcomed mixtape all-star and Philly native
Peedi Peedi (aka Peedi Crakk) and newcomer Porn.
All four are gifted with lively styles that juxtapose nicely
with Thought's steady cadence. The two best vocal performances on the
disc come courtesy of Dice, who annihilates "Here I Come" with a
one-eye-open, nervy confessional, and Peedi, who shows off an uncharacteristically
tender touch on the warm Illadeph ode "Long Time". Although he gets the dubious distinction of Least Googleable Rapper,
Porn haunts with his unique sing/cry style on the hook for "In the
Music". Indicative of the LP's troubleshooting nature, Thought is wisely relieved from most of the album's hooks, and he trades in his half-huff boasts for pinpoint post-Katrina polemics that deride Bush, the creaky state of American democracy and the urban drug trap as he plays modern black editorialist.
The Public Enemy-inflected "False Media" finds him
voicing Dubya as a multitasking evil empire unto himself ("Send our
troops to get my paper/ Tell 'em stay away from them skyscrapers") and it
does an...
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