![]() "Niggas want my old shit/ Buy my old album," he sneers in "On to the Next One" over a hyperactive Swizz Beatz track that indicates Jay's not the only one trying to sum up his entire career within the span of four minutes. ![]() But it isn't a matter of Kanye fronting him bad beats as much as a state of mind, the sort of maniacal need for approval that often humanizes Kanye but just makes Jay-Z sound insecure and whiny (see: most of The Blueprint 2). Honest question- did Kanye West pull an inside job on Big Brother here? I mean, he gets all the good lines on "Run This Town" and getting Jay to follow his punchdrunk, slouchy flow on "Hate" has to be the result of some bar bet. As such, most of it finds Jay-Z dealing in contradictory impulses- to remind listeners of his unparalleled success in the rap game, but just as often, imploring everyone to stop thinking about his unparalleled success and get on some ill-defined "next shit." Maybe it's just the timing, but like any recent MTV VMA's, Blueprint 3 generates its event-ness from a stubborn belief in its own ability to be an event. While "30 Something" and "Beach Chair" might stand as some of the most smug hip-hop ever committed to tape, they at least came from a real place, which illustrated the "curse" Jay so often speaks of: Nearly all of his LP's are concept albums about the state of his career, but in the 21st century, he's needed some sort of external boost to make it work, whether it's announcing his dominance of New York, his retirement, or the ability to play fast and loose with Frank Lucas' biography.
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