Hip Hop Top 50 Vol. 1. Playlist

A sampling of tracks from the first 18 Hip Hop Top 50 entries. All apologies to Company Flow, since "Funcrusher Plus" is not currently available on the supposedly encyclopedic Spotify. A shoutout on the first Black Star track will have to do for the time being.

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33. Boogie Down Productions - Criminal Minded

To call Criminal Minded trendsetting would be a grave understatement. Not only did it bring street crime into the conversation, it merged the bass-heavy tones of Jamaican dub with New York City hip-hop, made disrespecting your contemporaries a sport and provided a frame of reference for the socially conscious rap to come.

Though the debate over hip-hop's birthplace is far from an underlying theme, Bronx's own Boogie Down Productions endlessly lobby for the title of rap's first and finest. Focusing his energy on besmirching the clumsy writing and stale production of the en vogue Queens figureheads, sole vocalist KRS-One brilliantly illuminates the power of creative thinking and socio-political brainstorming. Often affecting a playful growl or menacing patois, KRS stresses the importance of acquiring knowledge at his most serious and goofs on crackheads and DJ Scott La Rock's promiscuity at his most whimsical. His style focuses on a potent conveyance of rhyming words. That's not to say that his songwriting is basic, he's just perfected simplicity, which is much harder than hiding flaws in forced complexity.

The production follows suit, concentrating on high-pitched funk breaks, fragmented bits of James Brown's vocal wail and Scott La Rock's accelerated turntable work. Though uncomplicated by modern standards, it's suitable for the commanding thrust of KRS' voice, adding an authoritative drum blast on diss tracks and a bassy synthesizer to their reggae-leaning crime anecdotes. It's a sound that packs confidence far beyond their years, reflected in the effortless genre hopping and tonal shifts. Additional studio work provided by Ced Gee (of Ultramagnetic MCs) may be responsible for some of the manic energy, but the duo's ability to play off each other is the record's strongest virtue.

This partnership is well advertised on the title track, which opens with a jovial "Hey Jude" interpolation, followed in striking contrast by one of the most ferocious displays of linguistic power ever put on record. "Criminal Minded, you've been blinded, lookin' for a style like mine, you can't find it" is the crushing opening statement; so simple in its delivery, but so profoundly expressed. KRS' rhythmic verbal composition is backed by a powerful synth thud, high-stepping drum beat, disembodied moans and spastically disassembled horn samples.

What could have been a chaotic mash of opposing sonic elements and themes is reigned in by the scholarly intonation of KRS-One, a dauntless MC capable of verbal malevolence to his subordinates without sacrificing positivity or the desire to elucidate the power of poetry. His pairing with Scott La Rock is at once effortless and boundlessly exciting, marred only by the fact that Scott's untimely death would make it their only collaboration.
 

34. Raekwon - Only Built 4 Cuban Linx...

Picking up where Enter the Wu-Tang left off, Only Built for Cuban Linx... elaborates on the esoteric universe of the Staten Island collective, particularly their penchant for collaborative narrative. Raekwon and co-host Ghostface Killah are so comprehensive in their phrasing and word choices that they've expand on the group's mythology, injecting their own inventive street slang, colloquialisms and a cineaste's passion for dialogue and characterization. The characters prowling through their pulp narrative may take Tony Montana as spiritual advisor, but they aren't afraid to show pathos or express regret, which brings a uniquely human touch to an often apathetic genre.

The highly-evolved coke rap interplay between Ghost and Rae is itemized to the point of compulsion. The food on the plate, gun in the holster and scene of the crime are all cataloged like an Elmore Leonard novel, rife with atmosphere and pedal-to-the-medal fast. Ghostface is excitable, capable of expressing dominance and humanity at brisk pace and equal measure. It's chilling when he paints a gunshot victim's terror as "open flesh, burgundy blood colored my Guess." In contrast, Raekwon struts instead of runs, adding flourishes in place of clichés ("Mega ice on, chips ahoy") and an urgency to the close of each bar. The bleakness in Rae's tone perfectly mirrors the ominous nature of the production.

Curating the entire album, RZA has coated each track in a cavernous, low-tech wall of sound, propelled by heavy bass stomp and sunk deep beneath queasy, seasick tonal shifts. The film influence goes far beyond The Killer and Scarface samples, lending a foreboding eeriness that will strike a cord with Ennio Morricone buffs, particularly those attracted to warped strings, nuanced piano roll and screeching soul vocal. Blaxploitation horn and sax even find their way into "Criminology," a track that echoes like it was recorded in a tunnel and slowly hypnotizes with looped tubular bell. Avoiding a clean, manipulated studio sound has given the track a noticeable hiss, which contributes a rich warmth and uncommon depth. It stands in opposition to the mainstream sound of the time period, truthfully aligning itself to the content of the lyrics.

It's rare to find a solo effort that's both interested in furthering the concept of the group, while flaunting the talents of the individual. Cuban Linx continues the Wu-Tang story, but from the perspective of a street-wise storyteller, consumed with filing through the elements of the drug underworld. It's this attention to detail that separated Raekwon from the rest of the pack in 1995.

35. Kanye West - The College Dropout

Kanye West's strong suit isn't his ego or his cultural cache, but his insecurity. The College Dropout compellingly finds him struggling for an identity in post-millennium hip-hop. He's both "Benz and backpack," clinging on to pleasures of the flesh, while striving to bring God back to popular music and accurately portray city life. His product is perpetually subjective, as is anything released by a man willing to rap through a wired jaw. What makes him so fascinating is his eagerness to wear his heart on his sleeve, while still clamoring for the amenities furnished by a successful music career.

Though his failed collegiate aspirations may seem capricious, his mission to portray commonalities is steadfast. He's certainly adept at conveying ideas, spiked with only the slightest hint of ego (he's saving most of that for future LPs). These concepts are often dispatched through joke or pun and even his works of the least gravity possess effortless rhyme scheme (silhouette/cigarette, mocha latte/Pilates). I dare the listener not to laugh when West spouts, "Got a light skinned friend, look like Michael Jackson. Got a dark skinned friend, look like Michael Jackson" on "Slow Jamz."

His propensity for goofing off is only the half. He's capable of owning up to his contradictions, something that alludes MCs with experience beyond his years. An "everyman" quality makes it easy to look past his fledgling flow, which seems to be Talib Kweli's with half the adroitness, allowing one to revel in his command of language and songwriting capabilities. His finest works even take on the best aspects of spoken word and carry a satiric bent, particularly on "The New Workout Plan," which plays like an infomercial for the unfettered male libido.

Not only a showcase for his verbal brilliance, The College Dropout is a canvas for West's production, which leans towards a highly orchestrated, neo-soul collage. This energetic amalgam relies on the best snippets of 70's staples and amplifies/repeats them ad nauseam. Despite following a formula, it's compellingly diverse, adding acoustic guitar, paramount female vocals and slow bass groove to the already infectious rhythm. The sound can veer from emotional climax to "beers and blunts" party track (see "Get Em High"), showing off West's grasp of a multitude of genres. Yet, his most cogent moments stem from a strong gospel background, depicted in the group dynamic of the album's choruses.

"We Don't Care" bases its strength on community participation, inspired by Kanye himself and followed by a group of lively school children and female crooners. Heavy doses of funk organ lay a base for West's argument, which draws parallels between poverty, education and the job market. His role as spokesperson is never better than at this moment, where he confirms the inevitability of crime in a society of dire circumstances.

His arguments for equality make it impossible not to root for him. He's constructed a debut that is both intimate and innovative, coasting off of personal experience and a wealth of impassioned melodies. Though his public image would certainly change after this release, 2004 saw him as everything to everyone: thoughtful narrator, braggadocious baller, artful producer and astute civil critic.