There ain't no parti like a Gold Chains parti, but how the hell to
describe the debauchery, to render the revelry as sensible syntax, to
make sense of the shit going down here, to be able to bring down an
answer that equates to Topher Lafata's self-professed "hip-hop
solution"? To line up two and two and come out the other side,
dancing 'til dawn at a dance-party, in possession of four, rarely
laid on the floor? And to keep in time to the belligerent beats and
Kit Claytoned digi-noise and booty bass and coochie references and
shit? And, even knowing that Lafata comes straight outta Kid606's San
Franciscan down-with-the-scene rocking the requisite attitude, and
that his last Straight From Your Radio outing showed that this
GC-shtick isn't some one-trick show, when you're confronted with all
the MCing laid liberally all over his first album, it's still a
conundrum as to how to tell the tale of Topher, and how to explain
his Gold Chains, motherfucker. He's told us his headphones are large,
and his speakers are in charge, but such rhymes are meant as being
knowingly meaningless, and, knowing this, I know only that the swirl
of entwined earnestness and irony in this American-made vanilla-choc
marble-cake is much harder to unwind than the easy fashionista
ribbons that come curling off of Peaches and Gonzales and the
styled-up like. Rather than letting one in on the game, Lafata's
lyrics keep things at comic/ironic distances, where they're shrouded
in the mystique of embodying pop-cultural critique. Meaning that all
his buzzword-spouting hip-hopper braggadocio is blustering hot air
designed to warmly mock those rappers rapping about their cock, said
rhyming-irony done warmly enough to keep you warm at night, the beats
that go with stomping on the electro-thunk crunk and the bouncement
broken-beat stabs in such hot-footed staccato that just listening
arouses a light sweat — even though this hard-partying parti is
a dance-party that I'm not sure you can actually dance to. So, yeah,
this music is hot, damn hot; warm and nurturing in such heat,
hot-headed in a self-conscious way, smart and stupid at once. And,
this debut longplaying disc of his is cover-stickered as having
"Moderate Impact," which means it's okay to sell it to teenagers, I
guess. Such stuck-on warning leads to some big questions, though.
Like, Is Gold Chains going t'be famous? Is he really gonna become a
hip-hop hero? Are kids gonna be chanting his viciously-mocking
re-chanting of Snoop's make-money-money hook with as much exuberance
as they put into putting their trigger-finger in the air when they
listen to dicks like D12? And, where does hip-hop class-analysis and
criticism-of-lyrical-politics come into the equation for those who
might, like, miss the value of comedy in this hip-hop solution?
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