Fucking bitches?! Like a bitch, the beauty of the product is allowed to overshadow the work. Like a bitch, the work is teased to you with much conceit to make you cop. Bitches lay in your ears and do tricks of sound on you. So in this upgraded matrix the tricks and bitches are merged, Drake from the bottom to the top. Pause. They rewind with revisionist history and empower bitches with a dower that makes this work sour. A pimpire massive for the bitch of a music this Hip Hop has become. A Marci needed to thank it with the aural cinema of frenchly worded slaps. On these pages, these are thoughts of a square revolutionary, better built, the God holding his square, sitting by the door with guerilla thoughts. All as Roc Marciano exploits and violates this bitch with 2 LPs of vicious lust practice and victoriously layered preparation, The Pimpire Strikes Back & Marci Beaucoup.
To listen to the sold words of great Hip Hop is already to engage in pimping. You are hearing the words of extreme Black/Brown boastfulness brilliance and the perfection of the greatest worded rhythms ever assembled that you willingly trick off of. No more machetes on cane, the spics can cut words for big puns and niggas can stay out of their cotton picking minds with a rhyme hot on licking dimes. The hypocrisies of holiness don’t exist in the contradictory hells of our Art. And the artistic creativity of immaculate lyric style and dynamically free beat experimentation by Roc Marciano is the epitome of it all.
Both works return Roc to the mic after the supreme sample work and stylist opus of 2012’s Reloaded. With Pimpire, Roc narrows his content to this pimping persona savaging bitches and civilizing Hip Hop. Lyrically, Roc Marciano is a stylist of abnormal proportions and the premiere deliverer of rhyming today. His way of lingering a detail in chopped pauses (“Egyptian musk, bitches blush/A vintage tux, the Dillinger’s tucked/Diamond cufflinks trini cut…Solid gold all on my collarbone, only momma knows/That bread we never promised hoes/Pay homage to those/I’m polished to the toe, sip Moscatos/Picassos/12 shells dig in your meat, like a taco/The heat’s by my cock though, spit hot when the block got slow/Dry Milanos, sly hoes like Nelly Furtado/Hit the high note/Rock a fly coat/I’m just sowing my wild oats” – “Sincerely Antique”) and blistering through persona pumping punchlines (“Calling me from your man’s house/ you in the bathroom drunk/ should of let you pass from the jump/ but your ass was plump/ I’m in the jag looking like a hunk/ I hit it once but the pussy stunk” – “German V’s”) in sublimely subtle fluctuations of pitches and speeds.
Roc Marciano’s production way is the epitome of Hip Hop—pimping every and any particular moment of musical bliss that hoed out of the land of wax bodies. It may be the simplicity of Syl’s “Any way…” on “Ruff Town,” the steady heartbeat break and twanged guitar riff of “Higher Learning” or the lovely bounce of soul drenched pattern on “Doesn’t Last.” Yet Roc’s statement of musicality is his free beat work on Marci Beaucoup that samples with no limitation. A lack of limitation that with guests on every track serves as a producer album as well as a feature heavy solo album for Roc. A tour from the hypnotic croons with bass bumps thumping through on “Love Means,” the funky guitars, sneaky snares and short soul proclamations on “Squeeze,” the swaying love song chop of “456,” the tough bass drums, cascading cymbals and buttoned bass of “Drug Lords” and the again superior bass extensions and chopped cheers of “Dollar Bitch” are the beats expected to peak in properness. But the other portion of Marci Beaucoup is a sampling circus of successful experimentation few artists can give. The lullaby of “Didn’t Know” left alone with a loudly spilled snare drum, the drum roll excess and redoubling on “Trying to Come Up,” the wild siren droning on frenetic drum arrangements on “Psych Ward” to the classic cinematic crescendo of reverberating synth bass notes on “Confucius” are all unheard of wildness only outmatched by the MCs chosen for them that work brilliantly.
MCing on an album as Marci Beaucoup for Roc is further proof of his stylistic gifts having perfect adaption. Many of the MCs on Marci can’t or would never want to flow on the other tracks they weren’t put on whereas Roc rides on all of them. Through that eased looped soul of “456” he cements the character with guttered jewels like, “See she think she bad, they ain’t nuttin’ you can tell her/Uh, i ain’t no regular nigga/If you see me with a bitch, you know she lucky I’m with her.” While Ka dropped an incredible verse with Guilty Simpson on “Squeeze,” on “Confucius” we have another classic Metal Clergy union. Roc’s bars rewind philosophizer lines as “my life stereotype/Why ice took rap through heights/That entice a thick woman in tights…” and contemplates his dominance ingeniously (“That shit’ll open up my pimp chakras/Push the plush after with the character/They thought I had to have the flux capacitor/I’m back from the future, my aura is future…). All the while Ka’s gift of prose in old portraits with their mentality captions reigns (“Kept format in mind when all that shine was frivolous/Crime indigenous design rhymes of madness/Heavy tolls, bury those we find ain’t diggin’ us.” With such variety, the peak of “Confucius” is clear that the dynamic journey of experimentation Roc engages in is consistently powerful.
The Pimpire Strikes Back and Marci Beaucoup are specialty records in the early solo career of a great Hip Hop musician, Roc Marciano. If we don’t pimp and pump works as these on our corner then we’re the trick. And this life will be more like the bitch this Hip Hop is commercially becoming.