The beats and the lyrics matter on “Flockaveli,” the debut album by the Atlanta rapper Waka Flocka Flame, but everything important about this album is captured in the ad-libbed vocal interjections sprinkled throughout, which approximate the fight captions of old “Batman” episodes: “Bam!” “Pow!” “Whap!” “Boom!” “Oof!”
“Flockaveli” (Asylum/Warner Brothers) is an album about pain, the physical kind. It’s a brutalist concoction, one of the most bracing and unforgiving hip-hop releases in recent memory. Almost single-handedly, and without context, it rediscovers hip-hop’s pugnacity in an era of extreme melodic sophistication, an idiosyncratic anomaly.
Waka Flocka Flame, a protégé of the wordplay specialist Gucci Mane, is a stilted, awkward and possibly awful rapper. In interviews, he speaks openly of his disdain for high-end lyricism. His rhymes barely merit quoting. But he’s thrilling nonetheless, a dynamo of emphasis and innate charm. (READ MORE)
By the way, shout out to Waka, his brother Paul, Dwayne Jones and the whole entourage.
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