By Odeisel

Previously we spoke on how the aura and the lead in to Rich Forever made it possible for the tape to reach classic status. All that is well and good as far as storytelling but what happens when you listen? First off, the tape is built like an album, with all the guest star goodies, good sequencing and top notch production. It’s essentially a trap album infused with depth and lyricism, highlighted by Ross’ compelling presence.

Skits are kept to a minimum and they add meaning to the album, specifically the Mike Tyson interlude, which establishes that legacy and music is important to Ross.

Ross is a thespian delivering a command performance; reinforcing his “Bauce” persona while skillfully allowing his co-stars their commensurate room to breathe. There is no trying to kill it for the sake of not getting bodied on a record. Ross understands the idea that an ensemble cast should be allowed to shine when they are called. So when it’s time for Nas to come down from the mountain on the incredible “Triple Beam Dreams,” the concern is the song, not Ricky’s rap rep. Ditto for allowing Drake the early nod for line of the year on “Stay Scheming” with “bitch you wasn’t with me shooting in the gym!” Not only did Ross let Drizzy have the shine, he stopped the song and made sure you got the line. If you don’t think it mattered, Twitter hash tag it and watch how many hits you get. That understanding of the importance of teamwork is key to pulling off an album with that many parts. Yet despite all of the guests, there is never a part of Rich Forever when Rick Ross is not the star of the show.

Ross is so slick with it, that you don’t even realize you’re being drawn in. You know the Officer Ricky history, but he sounds so authentic and it’s delivered with so much “unh” that you don’t give a fuck. Yes I trick on hoes. A lot of them. So fucking what. And he doesn’t make excuses for it, it’s just a fact (“Got a hundred women, gotta deal with it, love”).

When he paints his pictures, you’re at the scene of the crime, ground zero at film noir. “Roll up and inhale, I live next to Denzel, Alonzo my condo cost 3 mill, this shit real,” exhorts Ross, not sticking it in your face but slickly selling you on his way of life on “Fuck ‘Em.” He leaves enough of the table for the very hungry 2 Chainz, who makes a strong showing on the album, along with Wale. Even French Montana, a guy that really can’t rap sounds crisp on this album because of how he’s placed and the situation, like Jordan passing the ball to Steve Kerr to dead the Suns in the ’93 Finals.

As usual, his ear for beats is all but unmatched, with a mixture of low bottom beats that bang in headphones and whips and add so much variety to the often one note trap soundtrack. Look no further than the sublime DVLP-produced title track to see all of these elements play off each other. The string driven, piano-paced, minimalist first half is awash with genuine emotion as Ross recounts his rise to fame and fortune. Then out of nowhere, like a bolt from the blue comes a venomous shot at Young Jeezy that is about as real as a rap line can get (“your man got murked and you squashed that”). The element of drama is left for you to ruminate and then the beats ramps up and goes even harder. It encapsulates just about all that makes the album great.

In the end some people will just not ride with Ross, and as he says in his rhymes, he’s okay with that. But he’s the only guy in that lane who cares more about the music than the fiends or the fanfare and it shows in the way he put together Rich Forever. It’s legacy time. Peep the Mike Tyson interlude. Once you have kids (MMG) you get over the flash real quick and all of the trappings of fortune become baubles. He’s laying down the example to those under his wing like Kobe getting a cortisone shot before every game with a busted wrist. How dare you not give your all when your leader is. It’s a lesson worth learning and ultimately the real reason why Rich Forever reigns as the best trap rap album ever. I don’t know about you guys, but I’m hyped for God Forgives… I Don’t’.

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