Jay-Z's The Blueprint 3: A Review

Jay-Z's latest opus, The Blueprint 3, is definitely an object of considerable pre-release curiosity. Forget about existing feuds with relatively minor rappers such as The Game and even more irrelevant rappers like Dipset's de facto leader Jim Jones might play out in Takeover fashion. Forget about questions of youth or moniker; it simply does not much matter whether Jay-Z really is the "best rapper alive." No, ever since the third track of The Black Album (read review), the question is really, what more can Jay-Z say to maintain both relevance and credibility with both older and younger audiences? After all, he's now "[sixteen] years removed, [is] the vibe still in [his] veins?" On a related note: he succeeded when his "grown man" artistic ambitions had a locus; see American Gangster (read review). He failed when left to his own devices; see Kingdom Come (read review). Again now, left to his own artistic devices, can he succeed?

The intro What We Talkin About is something of an answer to What More Can I Say? Here Jay-Z attempts to reframe the way he is seen, not as the cocky former drug dealer turned successful entrepreneur. No, Jay-Z wants to be seen as a, no, the transcendental force in hip-hop, one who casts aside the typical questions of "hardcore" and popularity. It is as ambitious a preoccupation as he has ever had, informing both the lyrics and the music. Musically it might be his richest album (as the cover depicts, it is full of live instrumentation, rich with saxophones, and trumpets), recalling some of Outkast's early experimental work. Progression is the theme, and even his historic commercial leanings are inflected with a yearning to move forward. Off That with its raps about setting trends, exemplifies this, as does On to the Next One. And as far as Jay-Z is concerned, his acrobatic flows are on display everywhere, but most notably on What We Talkin About, Hate,Young Forever, and Thank You. The lyrics are on-point and as intricate as they have been since 1998.

A nasty surprise a la Dr. Dre on Kingdom Come is the mediocrity of the Timbaland beats. Jay-Z himself once compared the combination of him and Timberland to Dr. Dre and Snoop, which may seem outlandish given the near mythic status of songs like Nuthin But a "G" Thang. However, few duos (perhaps DMX and Swizz Beatz)come close in terms of hard-hitting, contemporary gangster rap, complimentary production, and commercial success: think Jigga What, Jigga Who on Vol. 2 Hard Knock Life (read review); Lobster and Scrimp from Tim's Bio: Life from the Basement; the 50 Cent diss It's Hot or the innovative Come and Get Me off of Vol. 3 The Life and Times of S. Carter(read review); the spanish-inflected Hola Hovito off his seminal work The Blueprint (read review); or Dirt off Your Shoulder off of The Black Album, among other tracks.

The Timbaland of The Blueprint 3 is not the same nouveau hip-hop of Vol. 2: Hard Knock Life nor the underwhelming Timbaland of The Blueprint 2: The Gift and the Curse (read review). No it's a different Timbaland, the Timbaland of the oft-kilter Justin Timberlake and Nelly Furtado beats, but they are not hard-hitting enough for Jay-Z. In fact, the Swizz Beatz track is far more intriguing than any of the Timbaland beats, even if it is in typical Swizz Beatz fashion: repetitive and relatively simple sonically speaking.

Another surprise is the weakness of the hooks. This is the artist who, sans frequent collaborators and hook writers like Pharell, Jay-Z himself has both crafted a number of memorable hooks and ensured that his best albums had them in abundance. Reminder, one of the average Timbaland tracks is also marred by a substandard hook, as is the slick Venus vs. Mars, which wastes crafty lyrics on another uninspired Timbaland beat and bland LL Cool J-esque hook.

But beyond these flaws, the album is full of good music. Notable tracks include A Star is Born, wherein Jay-Z pays homage to rappers he respects, those who have been commercially successfully and critically acclaimed, even old foes like 50 Cent and Mobb Deep. Empire State of Mind, an ode to New York, is a sterling anchorpiece to The Blueprint 3 similar to the role that U Don't Know played on The Blueprint. So Ambitious recalls the early mellower Reasonable Doubt (read review) work. Thank You nicely addresses the competition with an intricate 9/11 metaphor. And as a whole, the futuristic backdrop provides a largely cohesive and enjoyable palette for Jay-Z to work.

D.O.A. notwithstanding, Jay-Z clearly recognizes and embraces the ever-blurring boundaries of hip-hop, as evidenced by the album's new school presence. But like D.O.A., Jay-Z fails to go far enough. The album treads artistic depth, as if Jay-Z wants to transcend his d-boy framework and become an artist like Nas, Common, or Outkast: deep, or in his case deeper. There's evidence for this beyond the choice of beats. Progression is why there is no Nas on Empire State of Mind, no State Property reunion here, or Memphis Bleek appearance. Further, concept records like Venus vs. Mars do not generously litter his discography, nor do artistic diatribes like D.O.A.

But it treads these waters lightly. Newcomers Drake and Kid Cudi are wasted on hooks that others could have rapped\sung; they each should have delivered a verse. J.Cole compliments A Star is Born well; the track recalls Touch the Sky's (Kanye West) introduction of Lupe Fiasco. But J.Cole is to be expected as he is the first Roc nation signee. Kanye's natural exuberance compliments Run This Town and Hate well and Young Jeezy holds his own nicely on Real As it Gets. Both of these artists are safe: former collaborators. Cudi and Drake aren't, and his failure to collaborate with them more extensively bespeaks a lack of progression. Further, he inexplicably takes a shot at Joe Budden, a rapper with arguably a smaller fanbase than either Jim Jones or The Game, both of whom dissed Jay-Z far more recently and overtly than the Slaughterhouse rapper. Perhaps Jay-Z likes the Slaughterhouse album (read review), and is trying to give their sales a boost. But he does so even after he pointedly dismisses the concept of competition. Progression? Not so much.

And still lost is the lyrical complexity of a Reasonable Doubt. On The Black Album, he proclaimed, "truthfully, I wanna rhyme like Common Sense\ but I did five mil, I ain't been rhymin like Common since." But since he, at this point has the financial freedom to do so, one would wonder whether he believes more wordplay, more depth, more substance would erode his relevance. Or perhaps in Jay-Z's mind, as hard as it is to believe, complexity is not progress. It would seem more likely that complexity is not relevant and Jay-Z despite his outward preoccupation with progression is still yearning for relevance and credibility. That's where artists like Outkast and Jay-Z diverge; with Outkast there is no compromise.

Undeniably, the bar is high. Jay-Z's own work has set new standards. Some fans of late nineties hip-hop who decry the low art of the new school look to Jay-Z to swing the pendulum back towards high hip-hop art. Many fans of the new school need their faith in the relevance and credibility of a nearly forty-year old rapper to be justified. And The Blueprint 3 strikes that balance with flair. However, the gap between Jay-Z's own ambitions and The Blueprint 3 - between his own potential and his final work - is still glaring.