The Charges Against Guilty Simpson

Let’s get something crystal fucking clear: when I’m elected king of the world, skits will be legally abolished from hip-hop records. Likewise intros, interludes, and outros. You know what I want when I put on a hip-hop album? Fucking songs! Just record like a dozen goddamn songs and let me listen to them! Why should I have to wade through eleven tracks of annoying bullshit to get to the twelve or thirteen actual songs you recorded?

If I seem angry about this, it’s because I’m listening to Guilty Simpson’s O. J. Simpson, which has – I shit you not – a “Prelude” and an “Introduction” before it’s first song, which is the title track. And that song ends with a standup bit, which is really just a skit when you paste it into your hip-hop record. But that’s okay because “O.J. Simpson” is followed by “Pimp Rap Interlude” which isn’t a skit at all… it’s an interlude. Which still isn’t a song. So for those of you keeping score at home, only one of the first four fucking tracks on O.J. Simpson is a real song. Even with Mad Lib’s deft production, Guilty Simpson’s mediocre rapping isn’t worth the wait. I just barely tolerate skits and interludes from DOOM and Guilty Simpson is no DOOM. In fact, if I look back on my favorite hip-hop records of the last few years – DOOM’s Born Like This, Atmosphere’s When Life Gives You Lemons, You Paint that Shit Gold, Pharoahe Monch’s Desire, and Brother Ali’s Us – DOOM is the only one that gets heavy with the skits. The rest of those albums tend to be too busy bringing the fucking noise to bother with amusing little diversions. And DOOM is forgiven by virtue of sampling a Charles Bukowski poem, which is something not even the sagest hip-hop pundit could have foretold. But O.J. Simpson is a rap album where the MC, Guilty Simpson, spends more than half the album not rapping. I can’t imagine why someone would make an album like that unless they secretly hated hip-hop and everyone who enjoys it.

So the charges against Guilty Simpson are: eleven counts of Meaningless Skitting, two counts of Unnecessary Bullshit Before the First Real Song On an Album, thirteen counts of The Same Old Self-Aggrandizing Bullshit that Is Always in Rap These Days Goddammit, Spending More than Half of A Rap Album Not Rapping, and one overall count of Tricking Me Into Listening to A Mediocre-At-Best Album Because Mad Lib Produced It. And honestly, I’m applying the charges lightly because many of the skits actually devolve into other skits, so you end up getting two skits under one title. Given the seriousness of the other charges, however, I feel it’s okay to let Mr. Simpson slide on the charge of Listing One Annoying Skit that Is Actually More Like Two or Three Really Annoying Skits.

Will the defendant please rise?

Mr. Simpson, your album O.J. Simpson shows a clear disdain for quality recorded hip-hop and its fans, many of whom are virtually starving these days for a meaningful rap record. Your album is a positive riot of ego, manifested most frequently in the form of some of the most retardedly stereotypical skits I’ve heard this side of…well, ever. Your album is to hip-hop what Adam Sandler’s albums were to comedy, which is to say, a total fucking detriment. And worse – some of your skits are longer than the actual songs! What the fuck is wrong with you? Do you secretly hate hip-hop, Mr. Simpson? What kind of asshole puts both a Prelude and an Introduction at the beginning of their album? Why not include an Overture and then stick an Entr’acte in the middle? People pay money for albums. Granted, I got O.J. Simpson for only twelve E-Music credits, but I value my credits very highly indeed. They are to me what gas is to everyone in those Mad Max movies. So you can imagine how cheated I feel having spent even one credit on this trifling excuse for a hip-hop record. For fuck’s sake, I had to wait until the last four tracks  to hear three songs uninterrupted by skits. There’s no excuse for that, Simpson.

Perhaps what you’ve done here is some kind of ingenious satire of everything that is wrong with modern hip-hop, in which case you have just become some sort of rap hybrid of Andy Kaufman and Stephen Colbert. But I don’t think that’s what’s going on here. No, Mr. Simpson, what you’ve done with O.J. Simpson is a remorseless auditory crime. I know there are people (let’s face it: I’m talking about stoners here) who will enjoy this album, just as there are people who enjoy professional wrestling and Wienerschnitzel restaurants, but I am not amused in the slightest.

O.J. Simpson smacks of laziness to me, and if there’s one thing this court can’t abide, it’s musical laziness. Why bother making music at all if all your skits are so fucking amusing to you? Make a spoken-word album, if that’s what you want. But you didn’t do that, did you, Guilty? No, you tried to bury your lack of originality under sixteen tons of meaningless banter about broads and fighting. 

For numerous crimes against the already fragile state of hip-hop, I hereby sentence you, Guilty Simpson, to spend ten years in a maximum security hip-hop penitentiary, where you will be forced to listen to early Public Enemy records and much of the recent Rhymesayers catalogue until you are rehabilitated of your desire to bombard the listening public with mediocre raps crammed in between self-indulgent bullshit skits. You’ll be bunking with Lyrics Born and will probably be in at least a few classes with Sage Francis. And none of you will be eligible for parole until you can show a serious desire to atone for your crimes against the people.

Court is adjourned.

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