Review: 4:44

My friend, who I’m not going to name drop, sent me the new Jay-Z album. I haven’t listened to Lemonade or A Seat At The Table. It’s a trilogy I hear. Last thing I listened to on Tidal was Not The Actual Events and December 99th. I don’t want to go through signing up for the service again. I’m not the biggest Jay-Z fan so there is some implicit biased in this review. Take it as you will, it’s going to be a short review.

Thirteen albums in and I’m still not any more of a fan that I was on The Black Album. Line for line, this was a much shorter album than any other Jay-Z album I’ve listened to. I enjoyed that part of 4:44. I think it is something of a point of pride that many Jay-Z fans that I know have. The old man still has the hands to go toe to toe with the rest of them. Jay-Z has the money and the power. He has the baddest chick in the game wearing his chain. He’s bought every V12 engine. He’s a Rap God, but he is also self effacing enough to admit to that being the equivalent to the tallest midget. Isn’t that transcendence? Isn’t it therapy waking up in the middle to the night to pen your true feelings. Feeling be damned of the opponents, there are no rivals outside of the family, those are the only ones that can touch the untouchable. He has said it all, been it all, and is now becoming post modern, post post modern, the future? Anyway, praise due, to continue, to reclaim the game after changing it as his voice has and return in an era of kings disposed takes the dispassionate, doggedness of a real rap assassin. It’s nearly impossible to write this without a Jay-Z quotable and in that I give my praise. Another job will done.

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