Albums Of The Year: The Force
Johnny Cash was 61 years old in 1994 when he and Rick Rubin began work on the album that would become American Recordings and later, “American One,” the first of their six collaborations. These revitalizing projects remove everything extraneous to highlight the essence of their protagonist. “The Man in Black” rises again, reanimated to share his signature in a new moment. Every musical titan deserves a project like this, where they are asked to remind the world that there is something they alone can provide for us.
Ironically, the same Rick Rubin discovered 16-year-old James Todd Smith in 1984. In Rubin’s NYU dorm, Rick and James created LL Cool J, a sound and a persona that would change hip-hop forever. Forty years later, with Q-Tip playing Rubin’s role, we are treated to a revitalized Cool J.
“The Force” contains LL Cool J’s most cohesive and least compromised hip-hop music since Ronald Reagan was in office. There are appearances from Snoop Dogg, Fat Joe, Rick Ross, Busta Rhymes, and Nas, but many of the album’s standout moments are LL solo tracks. His most profound lyrics come on “30 Decembers,” where LL takes the listener along as a Covid-era anonymity allows the legendary superstar to ride the NYC subway for the first time in three decades. LL became a multimedia megastar, and routine activities like riding the train became unfamiliar. The multiple TV shows, the movie roles, his hosting the Grammys, and even the focus on his biceps and his lips have distracted us from the fact that if there is a quintessential New York emcee, it is LL Cool J. The first artist signed to Def Jam. Rap music’s first crossover sex symbol. LL really came up with Alpo and Rich Porter. LL really wore a FUBU flex-fit in a Gap commercial, and he really decimated every MC who challenged him for nearly 15 years.
With a 54-year-old on the beats and a 56-year-old on the mic, “The Force” wisely avoids attempts at contemporary rap music tropes or sonics. Thankfully, the album also avoids being a nostalgia exercise. While I am sure there was more to the project’s inception, the album’s raison d’être seems to be: Tip can still make dope beats, and L can still spit, so why not? Except for, “Proclivities” an attempt at nastiness that fails to go beyond PG-13 despite featuring Saweetie, and “Murdergram,” a duet with Eminem where two emcees who could not possibly have less to prove go back forth rapping with the puerile relentlessness of a grade-schooler desperate to show you that he can pop a wheelie on his bicycle, “The Force” is a collection of hip-hop masters rather effortlessly doing their thing. The fact that the pop charts no longer have a place for LL has freed him to re-establish himself in an essential NYC hip-hop aesthetic where he has always sounded most at home.
