I grew up roughly 30 minutes from San Francisco, another 15 to Oakland. No, I wasn’t born under the Coit Tower, but I am most definitely from the Bay Area — and if there’s something I can confidently say as someone from here, it’s that our hip-hop is garbage, and hyphy is nothing more than a collection of tracks to fill in your #bangers playlist. “But” you exclaim, “but what about Hieroglyphics, Zion I, Souls of Mischief?” Sure, great artists … from a couple decades back. The best thing the Bay Area can say about its urban scene today is that E-40 was saying ‘hella’ before anyone on the West Coast did. Today, the Bay Area rap torch is being carried by G-Eazy, an Oakland rapper and producer whose clothing choice is leagues more interesting than the music he releases.
This is what we have to show? The East Coast is churning out quality like some kind of hip-hop sweatshop, the Midwest has Chance killing rappers on their own tracks / Freddie Gibbs killing people in real life, and we’re sitting over here with an unoriginal, biological Abercrombie and Fitch mannequin. Call him rap game Dane Cook; upload the lyrics of whatever sleazy college boy anthem he’s released this week to turnitin.com and watch your professor get this kid expelled. But wow, does he get support: dude has straight legions of teenage white girls and high schoolers in love with him — it’s enough to make Hoodie Allen jealous (shots. If he was still relevant [shots]).
Let’s slow it down, though, and take a look at what he’s got to show us. His latest effort, When It’s Dark Out (2015), has beats that are slightly less banal than his lyrics.
Every song on a G-Eazy release could honestly be mistaken for something that’s already been spun to death at every douche-infested frat party of (insert current year). There’s hardly a moment present throughout where it doesn’t sound as if DJ Mustard and Mike WiLL Made It ghost-produced every track, and there’s hardly a feature on his albums whose contribution doesn’t outshine G’s boring, boring wordplay. G-Eazy’s music is truly unnecessary: a collection of hooks and instrumentals that have been wasted on plagiarized flow and trite lyricism about touring, girls, and money. If you are already a fan of artists like Drake, Big Sean, Macklemore, or anyone in the vein of pop-rap who has been spanning the charts lately — don’t touch his records, because you’ve already heard everything on them.
Written by Adil Siddiqee