11. Ice Cube - AmeriKKKa's Most Wanted

Equal parts horrified and inspired by the double standards and hypocrisies of polite American society, Ice Cube savors his role as fly in the ointment, dangling the thought of black rebellion over his frightened listeners like an older brother dangles spit near a sibling's forehead. Taking outsider politics and fueling them with bitter resentment, Cube directs his anger at police, the wealthy, Caucasians, women, race traitors, nearly everyone that he isn't, screaming a misanthropic monologue from atop his soapbox. AmeriKKKa's Most Wanted would be a merciless slog through a bitter mind, that is, if Cube wasn't bating us into being appalled, anticipating a serious reaction to his message after the shock and awe wear off.

Dancing the line between amusing and horrifying, O'Shea Jackson's inner-city exposé plays like a conservative's nightmare, brimming with a violent bravado and conviction that make flippant remarks about suburban home invasion sound like genuine threats. Inspiring terror isn't necessarily the point, but it benefits the serious inclinations roiling beneath the surface. By illustrating the most desperate measures of the broke and marginalized, Cube provides a voice for those without one, expressing the fears of existing in an unstable environment, particularly one under the boot of police corruption. It's a brutally honest, unpleasant vision, willing to rub the listener's face in the most base content and demand instant feedback. Whether casually talking about kicking a pregnant women in the "tummy" or seeing murder as benign necessity, stomach-turning moments pop up at random, creating a physical response to truly demanding bits of fiction.

This willingness to throw common decency to the wind may make him an asshole, but Cube is never a careerist or blandly commercial, since unflinching bleakness refuses to co-exist with the escapism that occupied early-90's pop music. He even questions how R&B and Top 40 radio intend to educate their listeners, since the content shares no common ground with the average person and manufactures false hope. Cube even struggles at times for a unifying thread, but wisely shades in the details of his everyday experience (unwanted pregnancy, drug abuse), making reality the most compelling catalyst for revolution.

The Bomb Squad's sound is as riotous as Cube's words, but rarely this bouncy and sprightly, forging a friendship between their trademark maelstrom of shrill sound clips and an over-caffeinated funk guitar groove. First impressions fool the ear into assuming these strange bedfellows are shacking up at random, but this is most certainly orchestrated chaos, intended to unnerve and agitate with its endless stream of abrupt fluctuations. Solace comes only in solitary drum passages, grinding like broken machinery and culled from microscopic bits of instrumentation, pared down exclusively for Cube's best one-liners and sobering moments of clarity.

The mash of disparate elements is tempered a bit by the free-jazz flutter of the composition, which moves from verse to chorus based on Cube's intonation and generates excitement with its delirious pace and mechanical repetition. "Get Off My Dick..." avoids structure entirely, simply looping its damaged guitar snippet ad nauseam while Cube expedites his flow to keep up with the shotgun-kick drum. It's all terribly fast and reckless until "Who's The Mack?," which prefaces G-funk with its elegant, incense-scented flute and ramshackle piano, moving along at a brisk jog. It's a wise shift in gears, showing the delicate pairing of samples and how this curated body of sounds thoroughly meets the mood and pace of the narrator.

The finest pairing of content and orchestration is "Once Upon a Time in the Projects," which happens to be the least cluttered and catchiest dish on the menu, teaming with heavy wah-wah guitar and tense percussive rattle. It's narrative would be satire if Cube didn't make it seem so matter-of-fact, examining the archetypal characters of LA's public housing system, making their every absurd action seem trite and ordinary. The culture shock for the listener, particularly those not exposed to the surroundings, may lead to nervous laughter, especially with Cube's penchant for painting his characters as insignificant buffoons. The irony lies in his exhausted shrug of a vocal track, which opens with a smirk, but ends with hopeless resignation ("Once again, it's on.") as a potential date night spirals into an evening in a crack house and two weeks in the county jail.

Plainly addressing the horrors of drug addiction, parental neglect and policy brutality plays like farce but stings like tragedy, especially as Ice Cube depicts the innocent trapped in a cycle fueled by racism and a disparity between the rich and poor. Burying AmeriKKKa's message beneath an assault of glacial scowls and scare tactics only increases the potency of Cube's agitprop, which, through its string of insults and provocations, intends to stimulate a response and, hopefully, inspire change.

40. Del the Funky Homosapien - I Wish My Brother George Was Here

Teren Delvon Jones defies categorization.

He's not a gangster rapper, despite his zip code and family ties. He's too contrary and antagonistic to fit in with the Native Tongues Posse. His affection for George Clinton makes for ass-shaking grooves, but don't dare ask him to dance. He'll point fingers at mainstream, derivative rappers ("crumbsnatchers"), but will never revert to violence or jealousy. If only one thing is certain on I Wish My Brother George Was Here, it's that Del the Funky Homosapien is completely content being himself.

Despite barely being out of high school, Del's storytelling flows organically, stressing his passion for authenticity and capacity for internal rhyme and playful alliteration. Words roll off of his tongue in an eloquent, nonchalant Californian sway, with punch lines delivered through delicate shifts in vocal tone.

Much like his cousin and production partner, Ice Cube, Del is a laconic orator, explicating complex ideas in an economical fashion. He's even capable of allowing counterpoints to his more controversial opinions, particularly on "Dark Skin Girls," where he chides light-skinned women for their superficiality, despite Cube's call for impartiality.

That isn't the only moment Ice Cube makes his opinion heard. With the help of DJ Pooh, he immerses every track in subwoofer-destroying bass, synthed-out organ and flirtatious female choruses, birthing a sound that wasn't chic in 1991, but would become the establishment by 1993. The result is a pacifist's G-funk album, free of the hedonistically violent dialogue that would eventually swallow up the sub-genre.

"Sunny Meadows" is the antithesis of G-funk to come, providing Del with a base of smoked-out saxophone and gently-strummed guitar to wax poetic about while scrawling in his notebook at the park and languishing for a more pastoral life. His thoughtful discourse seems better suited for the genre than most of those who followed, but we can't expect them to have such a singular vision. His is a stridently particular viewpoint that can't be strapped down to a genre, crowd or status quo.

42. Prince Paul - A Prince Among Thieves

As the unofficial fourth member of De La Soul, production wizard and pioneering sampler Prince Paul invented the hip-hop sketch, cracking wise in carefully placed 20-second blasts of childish glee. Paul and De La's skits were delightful confections, fitting perfectly between songs and rarely overstaying their welcome. Sadly, their passion for play acting would inspire every half-wit to fill their lackluster LP with lame boasts and absurd sexual escapades.

Despite the over-saturation of rap record fluff, Paul would try to reinvigorate the concept with a 70-minute skit about an up-and-coming MC who enters the world of crime in order to finance his demo. It's a brilliant story that holds a mirror up to the current state of hip-hop, impolitely skewering late 90's clichés.

Leading the ensemble cast is Breezly Brewin', a deft vocalist and likeable narrator capable of showing a range of emotions while effortlessly rolling out the lyrical tongue twisters. His counterpart, Big Sha, takes on a grimier, baritone flow, which allows for two distinct opposing viewpoints. Guest appearances range from the bizarre (Kool Keith) to the menacing (Everlast), with each reflecting a specific hip-hop persona amplified to a point between sincerity and parody. It's no small feat that Paul's sonic composition also delicately walks this line.

At its most serious, the production takes on a cinematic air of suspense, layered with strings, subtle guitar loops and heavy-duty bass, particularly effective on "Other Line" and the bitingly ironic title track. Yet, a certain playful whimsy permeates "Steady Slobbin'," which repurposes Ice Cube's ode to gang violence as a snickering dirty joke, basking in its own degeneracy. These moments of levity make a potentially self-indulgent project feel complex and imperative.

Ultimately, A Prince Among Thieves is both loving tribute and discerning satire, so spirited in its execution and earnest in its delivery that one can forget every bloated concept album released before it. Its enthusiasm and narrative drive are infectious, particularly due to the collage of quirky, danceable beats that have cemented Prince Paul as one of contemporary music's finest producers.

43. N.W.A - Straight Outta Compton

"Life ain't nothin' but bitches and money."

With that fateful line, Ice Cube and his partners in crime (Dr. Dre, DJ Yella, Eazy-E and MC Ren) beget 1,000 impostors. Their crime-obsessed, profanity fueled, lyrical Molotov cocktails would enrage parents, provoke the government and influence the masses, so much so that the sub-genre of hip-hop they actualized would become status quo.

Yet, they've still managed to separate themselves from their offspring nearly 25 years since the release of their seminal debut. It's not that the subject matter or production style is any different or more complex, but that the creators were more inspired. Beneath their front as provocateurs, they were actually diligent craftsman, capable of building narrative and diversifying their sound to broaden influence. They also wisely never hid from a little bad press, wearing their troublemaker persona as a badge of honor.

Cube was the most outspoken of this group of agitators; brazen, hostile and chauvinistic. He'd be easy to pass off as brutish enfant terrible, if he wasn't skillfully crafting compelling characters. With Eazy-E, he constructed a devilish anti-hero, both comedic and carnal, packing a drunken bravado that matched his high-pitched vocal wail. "8 Ball (Remix)" is their collaborative apex, bringing the smart-ass rebelliousness of Licensed to Ill and Van Halen to the streets of South Central.

These incendiary voices are backed by low-tech 808 clash and bass line thump, buoyed by skittish horn and guitar that wouldn't be out of place in a Blaxploitation montage. Despite the relatively primitive construction, the conceptual aspects of Dre and Yella's production are quite brilliant. Each track is built to fit a certain niche, whether that be rallying cry ("Gangsta Gangsta"), club jam ("Something 2 Dance 2") or, dare I say, sanitized inspirational anthem ("Express Yourself"). They're casting a wide net in hopes of attracting multiple demographics, possibly to counter any controversy inspired by aberrant and anti-social lyrics.

Ultimately, Straight Outta Compton benefits more from this pop sensibility than its sensationalism. Emotionless violence is a hard pill to swallow, but N.W.A manage to temper it with enough smirking and song craft to make us forget... if just for a moment.