Review: Pray For Paris - Westside Gunn
By Luke Robinson
In the latter half of the 2010s, hip hop trio Griselda proved once again that boom bap is not dead. Yes, old heads need to move on from 1994 and realize there are amazing new hip hop movements and artists - I’d take J.I.D. or Denzel over LL Cool J any day. But Griselda has played it differently than your typical boom bap group: they have escaped the bombard-with-lyrics format in favor of incredibly gritty and cold coke-raps, more akin to Clipse than Army of the Pharaohs.
Griselda are also serious about this shit. All three MCs - Benny the Butcher, Conway the Machine, and Westside Gunn - have collectively served many years behind bars, having lived the life of needing to push drugs in order to survive. Taking these stories, the trio helped carry the torch for a new era of production in the underground. Gone now are the heavily quantized drums and stale jazz samples of the 90’s, replaced with percussion that is minimal if not absent, and sounds as experimental as they are mood-scoring. It makes it so much more impressive when a rapper like Westside can confidently squawk over a skeleton bones being played like a xylophone.
Westside seems to be the face of Griselda. He is incredibly loud and charismatic, with hilarious one liners and violent braggadocio. He can sometimes be a bit one note, carrying the same flow and topics into what is usually a fun but redundant listen. However, Pray For Paris is his most consistently enjoyable release yet, showing he can craft an album as well as a mixtape in his Hitler Wears Hermes series.
This album starts off with an outrageous auction that flows into the monster “No Vacancy.” The percussion is hard to make out, but the soulful, jazzy chord hits and plucks creates an angelic melody that soars to the heavens. My forearm hairs stick up higher than my quarantine hair, especially when Westside raps “You ever throw up from smellin’ too many kilo’s?” The song doesn’t overstay its welcome, as it quickly moves into the posse cut “George Bondo.” The percussion is much heavier, a nice creeping drum beat supported by sweeping piano melodies. Westside turns a new leaf, showing in-depth wordplay and a tighter flow. He feels unstoppable with the bars “The yay reekin’/your lips movin, you ain’t breathin’/You start coughing up blood for the same reasons/You ever sold a hundred then spend it all in the same weekend?” Every member delivers, but Conway’s merciless second verse is the true stunner.
“327” with Joey Bada$$ and Tyler, the Creator is a collaboration that we needed. The beat is nostalgic, almost as if it were crafted for Joey back in 2012. It is silky smooth with an elevator jazz sample and a calming, huskily sung chorus by Billie Esco. Joey murders his feature, but the biggest surprise is Tyler - surprisingly, he has brought the grimy, aggressive raps again, and they work to both his and the song’s benefit. On “French Toast,” Westside poorly but confidently sings “I’m out here in Paris crushing on you,” which then harmonizes with a gorgeous 90’s R&B styled vocal, providing a weird but amazing dichotomy. It’s certainly infectious, and is reminiscent of a “Got Your Money” era Ol’ Dirty Bastard.
“Euro Step” could very well be the best beat on the album, containing a haunting, manipulated drone that stutters around clacking percussion - proving exactly how the new age of boom bap is keeping the ethos timeless while changing the sound into something weird and experimental. “Allah Sent Me,” another Griselda posse cut and trademark beat, features an incredibly fun, strung out chorus from Westside, sounding hilarious when he strains his voice while singing. What makes this cut better than “George Bondo'' is how conversational it is, as all three members interject and trade off bars every few measures. It has this palpable energy that continues to build the group’s brand and aesthetic to giddying heights. It’s as if their chemistry - in comparison to other groups and duos - cannot be matched.
“$500 Ounces'' brings together two of my favorite rappers, Roc Marciano and Freddie Gibbs. They are in the familiar coke rap territory of their prior work, and they know exactly what to do. Roc, with his usual delivery, raps “The marijuana money green/I’m running the company like a drug ring/Living comfortably off of gut instinct,” while Westside delivers amazing one liners like “you hang with a rat, you a rat too.” But beyond the one liners, Westside quips that “We used to chip in on the big, bag it up, that’s my rent/You take shift, I take a shift, the feds come, raise my kids.” It’s welcoming to hear Westside hone in on spitting lyrics that are more emotionally potent, rising above his simple coke brags.
“Versace'' is an amazingly warm gospel vocal chop, similar to the Royce Da 5’9” track “Overcomer” without anti-vaxxer sentiments. The lyrics start with hilarious one liners (“I chose the feds, fuck college”) that transition into dark, introspective statements like “Brick on coke pioneers, imagine laying on the cot/Haven’t seen your fam in years, lookin at old pics/Droppin tears, my old celly live like that.” “Shawn vs. Flair” contains some of the tightest flows Westside has ever spit, supported by a bass line that would do the West Coast proud. The beat has some really strange atmospheres that contrast to Westside’s rhythmic foundation. Sadly, Pray For Paris’ last two tracks breeze past, and it doesn’t end with the strong finish that feels promised by its consistency.
But Westside has shown that he is fine-tuning his craft, with a tremendous album to back it up. His flows are tighter, and his energy has been perfectly rounded out. His one liners are even more memorable than before, and often precede lyrical blocks of grime and matter-of-fact bluntness. The features almost all deliver, and the majority of the beats are incredibly warm and entrancing. Seeing Griselda win is something that’s becoming more and more commonplace, and Westside once again claims victory with his most impressive solo record, the premiere of coke rap that won’t be leaving rotation any time soon.
BOPS: "No Vacancy," "327," "$500 Ounces," "Versace," "Allah Sent Me"
DUDS: "Claiborne Kick"
