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:::Music Review:::
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Young Buck - "Straight Outta Cashville"
by William Ashanti Hobbs
author and co-owner of Meroen Press
August 2004
This Music Review is sponsored by:
1102 S. Adams St., ste.#5 - Tallahassee, FL 32301
850.222.6940 - www.flavamusic.net
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This Music Review is
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Recently, while riding back to my hometown of ATL , I
found myself listening to Outkast’s "Chonkyfire" from
1998’s Aquemini. At the end of the song, there is a
recording of the historic jeering and booing Outkast
received in New York from becoming one of the first
Southern rap acts to be awarded anything at the 1995
Source Awards. Since then, the annoyingly cliquish
nature of the East has taken well-deserved licks,
thanks to the fallout from the Bad Boy/Death Row face
off.
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I punched the CD out of the dash and wondered how has
things changed for the South in dealing with Northern
(or the East's) circles since Outkast’s insolent 1995
reception. I wondered what was the result of the
Empire State-inspired tribal hostilities that directly
(or indirectly) lead to the death of two of the
greatest MC’s in contemporary hip hop. And then came
some of the undisputed Southern hip hop classics that
the Rotten Apple had to acknowledge in the following
years; Bottom line, I wondered, is there really love
now for crunk above the Mason Dixon?
This lead me to review what will seem as an unusual
addition to the Archives; Young Buck’s "Straight Outta
Cashville." Being a member of 50 Cent’s G-Unit made
this CD terribly intriguing. 50, the next Tupac if the
hip hop community has its way, is New York through and
through, yet he put Young Buck, an unabashed
Southerner, on his team. Unprecedented stuff.
Young Buck proves to be more than a gimmick by 50 to
corner the market. The Nashville, Tennessee native’s
(hence the title, duh!) raw emotion does not let up
from the get go. "I’m A Soldier" gives you a
Hennessy-coated tour of Buck’s stomping grounds where
Crips and Bloods deal head up with each other, 24 hour
liquor stores call out to you and middle-schoolers to
baby mothers tote heat.
"Do It Like Me" is interesting in that, unlike 89% of
today’s rappers, Buck is determined not to be Tupacian
when he says he "can’t do the cross on his back"
because he "can’t be like that cat" (Tupac). Born
with cocaine in his veins, Buck’s subject matter is
stunted in G-mode and has plenty of room to expand.
Glimmers of hope shine through on occasion: "feel my
pain, but don’t feel sorry for me,
‘cause there’s some kids in Somalia with nothing to
eat."
"Let Me In" is making its rounds on the airwaves.
Here, Buck states that he has arrived as a heavyweight
thanks to the G-Unit in spite of a father he hasn’t
seen in ten years, the twisted nightmares of his
mother, and the ever-present shadow of haters at every
turn. "Look At Me Now" moves in the same direction
(told you the subject matter is a bit monotonous). The
soulful chorus will stay with you though as Buck gets
vivid with tales of maintaining his sanity in spite of
lights and water being cut off and anything else you
could throw at him.
"Welcome to the South" unloads a rapid snare and meaty
bass that will certify it as an anthem with
dirty-dirty enthusiasts. This is especially a done
deal when Buck waxes unchecked about pushin’ old
school rides that sit on 22" rims, cooking chicken in
the kitchens of projects, scuffling in clubs and the
whole nine in a way that’s distinctly Southern, but
can’t be far off from how it is in any other region of
Black Hood USA. David Banner guests and goes so grimy
that it’s almost on some kind of horror-core vibe.
Lil’ Flip’s predictable, mellowed out contribution
fares well only in that it contrasts the others.
"Prices on My Head" gives the business to anyone that
ever crossed paths with Buck and didn’t come correct.
Even fellow rappers get a foot in the ass for their
barbed opinions about him:
"most of these rappers throw bricks and hide they
hand, come to our shows, then hide behind they man, they
hoes."
If the aggressive delivery isn’t too disconcerting,
"Shorty Wanna Ride" can be mildly humorous in that it
brings out the moment a girl, wanting a thug, has no
idea what to do when one (namely Buck) steps to her:
"You don’t know what you missin’, just quit talkin’
and listen, see I’m holding up traffic, we just right here
sittin’, think about it be’fore I leave and you holla I’m wrong
then you see your best friend in this Impala on
chrome" Buck promises any brother whose at the top of his game
in whatever he’s doing "can relate" and those who’re
not "just gone hate."
"Bang Bang" has an intro that is as refreshing as it
is off-putting. You just don’t plan on hearing Nancy
Sinatra’s "Bang Bang" (My Baby Shot Me Down) (recently
on the Kill Bill I soundtrack) to set the tone for
someone as rowdy as Buck. The mood brings out a more
introspective Buck as he gives some of the best
imagery on his debut about the doomed and inevitable,
crooked cops, the looming of death and his almost
Eminem-amped hatred of his estranged father, who, as
you can see, comes up more than once on this album.
The sample in "Thou Shall" gives the sometimes
minimalist keyboards and synth of crunk a break. In
fact, the sample here is reminiscent of classic
Wu-Tang. Though Buck claims there is no ill-will
between him and his former clique, Cash Money Records,
a few lyrics seemed rather pointed, considering how
the Birdman and Cash Money were not able to get Buck’s
career and money going: "how can ya' be a Birdman, if
you don't know how to count?..." He goes on: "no I'm
not waitin on nothin, no more either you pay me what
you owe me, or I'm cuttin ya throat."
The sonic scenery of "Black Gloves" seems to be one of
the best suited tracks for Buck’s flow. "Stomp" serves
as a Bonecrusher-styled, "Never Scared" anthem. Though
aimed more squarely at southern folk than "Never
Scared," "Stomp" will please the nagging need to get
loud, stank and ign'ant. And yes, guest star Ludacris
shines again with the wit as T.I. does with swagger.
What does a kid like Young Buck, his still evolving
style and his positioning as a southerner in one of
the top New York squads mean to me? It’s sweet
vindication for those who have driven the SGA vans of
their respective HBCU’s to pick up snotty rappers from
up North to perform at some college production. This
is sweeter than candied yams for people like that who
put up with not only that arrogance so many of these
artists have, but that outright loathing of you as
they clowned your accent and town in your face… all
while you hustled to get them to their hotel rooms,
towels for their musty necks and bottled water. 50
Cent is one of the smartest rappers the Rotten Apple
has ever produced. The whole city needs to take notes.
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