There are so many other songs I could write about at this point in this intermittent series of blurbs that are equally great, and many of them are actually better than this one. (Bad Religion, Smiths, Pavement, etc. – you’re up next. I promise!) Plus it isn’t like hip-hop isn’t full of songs about nothing. Most of Cam’ron’s songs – despite being inventive, amusing, and appallingly predatory in equal measure – are totally meaningless! Pharrell’s entire solo album is an expensive exercise in emptiness (it also sucks, “Number One” nonwithstanding). I don’t know when Prodigy’s H.N.I.C. 2 comes out; I don’t even know anything about his previous solo records or the Mobb Deep back catalogue. I bought Return of the Mac solely on the recommendation of this guy, and I haven’t regretted it. “Stop Fronting” is drawn from that album, and it’s hands down one of my favorite singles (if we understand “single” as any song, not necessarily one that gets radio play) of this year. Not only is it a song about – basically – nothing, it’s the first of its kind for me, new to these ears: a song about driving around the city listening to one’s own forthcoming (eventually) album, convinced that one is on the verge of world domination, catigating one’s rivals as useless, laying out what one will be doing later in the year career-wise, suggesting that the possibility exists that one will be enjoying X-rated sexual relations with one’s rivals’ significant others. And – superficially, anyway – that’s it.
The rhymes are mostly pretty workmanlike, which squares with the rest of Return. I get the sense that Prodigy saved the best stuff for H.N.I.C. 2; Return is supposed to be the “mix tape” setting that unreleased album up or something. Alchemist’s blaxploitation production undergrids the whole thing, and it’s gorgeous and sweeping and grand; it almost seems to be going to waste. Prodigy sounds angry/paranoid/sinister/weary enough in tone that I can almost forgive his lack of lyrical invention, even though it means Return won’t make my Top Ten (or even Top Twenty) Albums list this year. Why does “Stop Fronting” implore me to return to it over and over again? Why not “Bang On ‘Em” or “7th Heaven”? Maybe it’s because on this song he just comes off invunerable and self-assured, as though everything he’s saying is pure fact; it’s like he doesn’t even have to say this stuff, it’s all universally self-evident. (T.I.’s “What You Know” worked a similar angle and shone.) “Ain’t shit changed but the diamonds got bigger/Watch mucho frio, something like a blizzard/It’s summertime, it’s hot/And you ain’t got no freon/I’m in the Bentley drop, to me you’re a peon/You got neon lights, underneath your Nissan/I got LeAnn Rimes, passing me the weed, son.” Prodigy probably isn’t smoking marijuana with LeAnn Rimes or driving a Bentley, but that’s still one of the finest I’m-better-than-you couplets I’ve come across lately, in part because of the timeless lameness of anyone tricking out cars (luxury or otherwise) with neon lights and in part because Prodigy delivers it as if he isn’t even interested, as if he just came up with that string of lines while waiting for the light to change and decided it was better than what he’d planned to say about guns or getting revenge or whatever (see: the rest of Return). The subtext: his next album is just loaded with commentary of this mint/caliber, so check for it. The tapestry of faux horns and strings, meanwhile, glows and pulses and threatens to fade out behind him; it’s as if he’s cruising through a fog-flooded city that’s slightly unreal, the streetlights indistinct bright globs, the surroundings possibly dangerous but probably not. There is, then, a blatant artificiality to the production (and the whole enterprise) that winks at the listener, that says “The situations portrayed here do not represent real life for either DJ or rapper, and we know that you know that we know this, but isn’t it fun for all of us to pretend that we have this sort of power and prestige, to escape the mundane truth – you know, that we are simply musicians entertaining you, while you’re a bored office drone whose day we’ve maybe made just a bit more exciting?” I won’t quote it, but the chorus re-inforces this idea. Later, he refers to himself as “the God MC” for no reason whatsoever – perhaps to mess with Jay-Z, perhaps just because – later hinting that he’s got a vault of amazing rhymes and urging his label to “put my shit out now, put that other shit down,” knowing full well that this command probably won’t effect progress though it sets up a rhyme that reiterates that this is simply a mix tape. Later still: tour plans! He will be touring with “50 and Em” as part of Mobb Deep. This is an interesting comment for several reasons. First, while “50 and Em” are industry titans, they’re also (a) old news even for those who don’t care about rap at large and (b) significantly more popular and wealthier than Prodigy. So he’s performing with dudes whose careers peaked long ago but in all likelihood opening for them; openers are traditionally up-and-comers. So Prodigy is in effect ascending, moving on up to the big time; it’s been a decade plus ride but there are rungs left to climb. He’s using them as stepping-stones. “Stop Fronting” concludes with a bit of perfunctory beat hiccuping about taking your girlfriend home (you = hater, adversary, etc.) that isn’t as clever as Prodigy thinks it is but fits for outro purposes and as a means of breaking the song’s hypnotic drag-spell – the verses are stutters, clipped and abrupt and pointed, so the illusion is given that like the song has reached its logical conclusion, even if more could be said, really. Alchemist’s sleepy, Xanax-y production trails off into the night, the action or lack thereoff drifting on without us towards some blurry distant climax – and we’re left wanting more. Something, anything? The three-minute mark hasn’t even been breached; this is the final track on the record. Dude, what happened? Did my non-existant girlfriend who I’ve set up with the highest-quality jewelry and designer clothes and who is a frequenter of chic nightspots go home with you, Prodigy? Are they putting your shit out now? Did they put that other shit down? Did Em pop pain pills on tour? Was there an intervention? Did your pre-show ryder include a gross of 50’s celebrated vitamin water? Why isn’t this track titled “Stop Frontin’” when that’s how you pronounce it? (Is grammar that important to you? If so, shouldn’t “Bang on ‘Em” be titled “Bang on Them”?) I want to know these things, but no matter how many times I listen to “Stop Fronting,” I remain as removed from the answers as I was the first time. That’s one of the keys to a great song, though: always leave ‘em wanting more.
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