By Odeisel
As with all classic albums, True Warrior begins with the pounding of drums and a dramatic Diddy soliloquoy extolling the virtue of an under-talented artist. This magnificent prelude to the amazingly interesting songs found on this debut from hooper and Queens, NY native Ron Artest.
From there Ron-Ron questions the subversive motivations of those haters on the track…”Haterz.” Why are they hating on Ron? He smoked before game time, drank 40oz at half time and *gasp his man got half his life take by a black knife. Maybe he is related to Snoop’s homie Lil Half Dead. Artest attempts to admonish NBA Commisioner David Stern for not knowing enough about the ghetto life. I invision this to include a 3 hour morning session followed by a 50 cent Tropical Fantasy blue raspberry soda and a ham & cheese hero with salt and pepper oil and vinegar. They are out of Dutch Master rolling papers. Forgive them. He recounted the Malice at the Palace incident where a simple beer toss because a full on melee. Ron was also “persecuted like Jesus.” That’s how you know he’s a true warrior. Plus he thinks Matt Lauer looks like a girl and recuses himself from ever talking to him in his life. Fantastic.
Making millions and “bagging hoes” is nothing for on such as Ron, but he does take time to shout out the honeys on “Bad Karma.” He can’t spend much on you, but he can cop her a coup. Things take a bad turn as a war between side chicks erupts. He extricates himself from that situation and bounced to the project to meet…with his wife to beg for her forgiveness. No one can be above her and he proclaims his everlasting love…*tears…*sniffs. A flat out riveting love story.
On “Cash Money” Ron promotes self determination and persevering in rough economic times by doing whatever you can to get money. Whatever you have to do my niggas. I hoop so I have an inordinate amount of money, but you do whatever regular humans do. Juvenile drops by to sell some crack. That’s a very popular way to get money. Also champagne tastes better when your Lambo door is open and you’re doing donuts in the parking lot.
Ron miraculously overcomes the worst guest singer of all time to ponder which side of the Mason-Dixon line you reside and extols the merits of each on “Nasty North.” Ron represents with burners in the closet. How does T.I. feel about that? Speaking of North, Artest and Big Kap show some love to pole-workers on…”Working The Pole.” He will show you a stack if you making it clap. Maybe THAT’s what Rakim was referring to. Makem clap for this.
“Fever” finds Ron Ron dancing on the club listening to Jay-Z and “merking cats like the Holocaust.” That’s a lot of merking. He’s going to spend the cash and spend it fast. Chains hang from his neck but he’s not a slave. He’s Ron Ron the ass emancipator. Let freedom ring. The electro rhythm of “Hood Luhv” has Artest doing his best Brother Marquis impression. So many styles. So many styles. My words can’t do this proper justice. Forgive me. Here’s “Hood Luhv” straight from the man himself . Drink in moderation.
Ron takes a tragic look at the no goodness of his and all of our hoods where “a billion kids is dying” on the socially responsible “No Good.” This stark contrast to the “baby muhva baby fahvah afterparty” that takes place earlier on the album provides more evidence of Artest’s vast subject matter and deep emotional range. On the gripping “Coroner” Ron can’t believe that his friend is the billion and first dead kid. Unfortunately the coroner only deals with the fully dead. Not the half dead.
Bitches keep your hands up for the contagious “Rap Game.” They said that Ron shouldn’t rap. But his unconquerable spirit would not allow him to not be the “hoodest most universal artist to do it.” Not since Keith Murray have we seen such a flair for words. A poignant piano punctuates “Why?” where the formerly two side piece having Artest wonders why his main squeeze is playing him so close. Where’s the trust? Where’s the love? The horrendous hook singer merely serves as a device to mirror Ron’s addled emotional state. Brilliant. Cats and dogs and lots of cheddar are present as Ron imagines a healed relationship. Put your lighters up.
Ron Ron flexes his spanglish on a reggaeton song , “La La Ladies,” that actually has a different beat. Everyone likes rap in another language, right? He takes time to give praise to all Puerto Rican women in the hood. He likes the way they shake that booty, ma. Normally I’d rather pull my cuticles back to my shoulder than listen to reggaeton but Artest executes so flawlessly that I just bobbed my head.
Mike Jones hops on the album to tell suckers to “Get Low.” Who you ask? Mike Jones. When they finish you can call the mortician. I wonder if he knows the coroner. A piano solo opens “Hush,” which tackles the horrible ungratefulness that runs rampant in the hood. They know you’re talking about them, but you should just “Hush.” From there Artest proclaims that he doesn’t care whether you like his song because…”I Like My Song.” The na nana cadence burns your soul like ether as you wonder why a multimillionaire with a few chicken head sidepieces and a penchant for weird behavior could give a flying fuck about you hating his music. Feel the burn haters.
“Everywhere I Go” is pure film noir as Ron relays tales from the hood. “No Easy” makes sure that everyone represents their hoods properly. No one cares about the charities you contribute to in silence. They just focus on your very public flameouts. What is a melee of a few hundred people compared to 10gs for breast cancer? QB represent. Count the fiends. The album closes out with “QB Family” where Artest and his homies tell you in glowing terms how you’re a bitchassnukka that can’t eff with them. Lots of black male angst, weed, and liquor. That’s the American dream. Well ain’t it?
I can’t say enough about this album. I can truly say that I have never heard anything like it in the history of rap. Whether your check comes on the first or the fifteen, run out and cop that My World. If we send this overseas and drop it on Afghanistan, we can bring our boys home soon. Not from the amount of Afghani’s killed by cd slices and cases, but from the tremendous understanding that will come from such cultural diffusion. Who needs Eric B? Ron Ron for President. By the way…April Fools Suckers!!
LMAO I LOVE IT!