The most persistent knock against Southern rap is that it’s shallow, a criticism I never bought into. Even if it were true, it wouldn’t bother me muchI’d rather hear a vital song about rims than a trite one about being true to yourselfbut of course many of these rappers aren’t just rapping about rims. The best of them use materialism as a storytelling device, spinning rich narratives and escapist flights of fantasy around seemingly benign descriptions of possessions.
That’s probably not argument enough to sell the skeptical Little Brother set on the artistic merits of, say, Rick Ross or Gucci Mane, but for proof that Southern rap can be more conventionally substantive, they need look no further than Big K.R.I.T.’s K.R.I.T. Wuz Here, posted for free download here. Self-produced by the Missouri rapper and playing more like an actual album than a mixtape, the mix bangs with the soulful rattle of UGKa comparison hit home by K.R.I.T.’s brush-it-off drawl, which often suggests the late Pimp Cbut offers as much food for thought as Reflection Eternal.
K.R.I.T. is a relentlessly self-reflective rapper, incapable of going more than a few bars without considering his beginnings, his ambitions or his weaknesses. Though ostensibly autobiographical, his raps have broader implications. On “Children of the World,” he describes the nihilistic allure of the streets in a few swift verses: “I dropped out of school, pops, because college ain’t free/ Cause college ain’t me/ Sitting in class, questions brushing in my brain but I’m too proud to ask/ Take it all in stride/ Teacher talking physics and I just want to be fly/ What good is a degree if there’s no jobs to apply? … I’m feeling like hustling/ Tired of the food stamps and budgeting … If all else fails I’m in a casket like, ‘fuck it, then.’”
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Numbed by poverty, K.R.I.T. endures trial after trial. He suspects God’s abandoned him, and knows with certainty his girl has. His vision of fame is as unromantic as his take on daily life, but that doesn’t stop him from pining for it relentlessly. With a haiku-like economy of words, he paints a stark picture of self-destructive success on “Hometown Hero”:
Number one song
Get a Grammy
Now I’m smashing
Maserati crashing
Swerving through traffic
Wrap it round a pole
Sell a mil off the tragedy
As it progresses, K.R.I.T. Wuz Here plays with genre conventions. What begins as a trunk-rattling Southern rap mixtape gives way to a softer second half as K.R.I.T. abandons all pretenses of menace and reveals himself an aficionado of ’70s soul and and golden-age hip-hop. Closer “Voices” ends the mixtape on a hopeful note. “I got these voices in my ear, they tell me get up, get up, get up,” K.R.I.T. sings. “They tell me keep running, keep running, keep running ... they tell me get money.” An uplifting, orchestral coda hint at redemption, but K.R.I.T.'s own words suggest he's running to ruin.
