A Year of Blind Spots: Illmatic

Illmatic

Nas

1994

 

The easiest question to ask is "Why do some listeners believe that this is the greatest rap album of all time?" It's a good jumping off point, even though I must once again give the warning that if you want the answer to that question, you're probably best served going elsewhere. This space is not filled with the words of an expert, but rather an interested party who is going to certain lengths to find the answers in his own way.

 

But you know that already. You've been reading aYoBS entries in 2023, and you've seen the slight uptick in emphasis on hip hop. You've read my musings on the subject, and you know that I'm comfortable starting with the classics, because of the assumption that they are considered "classic" for a reason. So here we are with another certified classic rap album. Illmatic by Nas. I can't give you answers, but I can take my best guesses. Why is Illmatic often considered the best of the best?

I think we have to start with the vocal skills of Nas (real name Nasir Jones, whose only previous blog appearance was as the object of Amy Winehouse's affections). I'm past the point where I can only say whether a rapper is "good" or "bad" at rapping. He's good. I think I'm at the point where I can at least take stabs as to why he is a good rapper. What I hear are a mix of speed and mobility and flow. There are rhymes that seem pretty clever, and they stack up at an alarming rate.

The big thing about Nas' rhyming, I'm told, is that he does "internal half rhymes." I'm not sure if that's something I would've picked up on by myself, but I notice it now, and I appreciate it. From "N.Y. State of Mind," for example, you have something like: "Now, bullet holes left in my peepholes / I'm suited up with street clothes, hand me a 9 and I'll defeat foes / Y'all know my steelo, with or without the airplay / I keep some E&J, sittin' bent up in the stairway." It's not a simple ABAB rhyme scheme. Some of it isn't even actually rhyming, but the vowel sounds are enough for it to pass as a rhyme anyway. He has holes, peepholes, clothes, foes, and steelo all in two and a half lines, then airplay, E&J, and stairway in the next one and a half.

Meanwhile, like East Coast rap brethren the Wu-Tang Clan, the simple production allows for the vocal fireworks to really pop off. The bars are the center of the show, and Nas is right there in the spotlight, throwing punch after punch. The big thing in "N.Y. State of Mind" is the bass, and how that counterpunches from the low end against Nas' mid-range spit.

There is also a specific POV to the lyrics. The words tell a story, both within each song, and also contributing to an overarching theme ("growing up in Queens"). The details are specific, and they are conveyed through a dizzying array of rhymes. But every detail is also in service of the main theme. This isn't a "rap superstar" album. This is a humble man who worked hard to get where he is, and the verses on this album are designed to pay tribute to that humble beginning. He's not bragging, and he's not complaining, he's just telling a simple truth: this is how it was, and this is how it is.

One thing that speaks to my particular sensibilities is the fact that it is dense and compact. Ten songs in 40 minutes is a far cry from Tupac's epic sprawl. I think there is value in saying more with less, and Nas gets there better than any hip hop album I've listened to so far. There is no filler. Save for the subway-noise intro, every song establishes the beat, and then bids the master storyteller to perform his craft. 

I know I repeat myself a lot in these blog posts about music, but bear with me, because this one's important here. I had this discussion with Pam a couple weeks ago when she said that she couldn't find enough to relate to on Nakhane's album in order to write a review. That made me think about my own experience with music, and whether I can or cannot relate to any particular piece of art. It's a thought that definitely pops up every time I'm listening to an album like Illmatic, that tells a very particular story, a story that I have never lived and will never live. What is our responsibility as listeners to the artist? Do we need to relate directly?

I've used that as an excuse in the past, but I'm at the point where I believe it is simply my responsibility to try to relate on an emotional level, as opposed to a physical one. There are listeners that probably find great value in hearing tales from 1980s-'90s Queens, NY, because they themselves were there, and they know the exact struggle that Nas is rapping about. But there are also listeners like me, who did not grow up hard, and who only really know what that looks like because of storytellers like Nas.

So, one, it's being here to listen to his story, and to validate his experience, not by living it too but by willing to hear it and believe it. And then two, in between an appreciation of the music and the craft, there is an appreciation on an emotional level, in seeing flashes of your own emotional experience in it, on more of a nonspecific level. I have never felt fear stemming from participation in the drug trade, and I have never felt pain from growing up in a marginalized community, but I have felt fear and pain. Just that tiny spark of a connection, on almost a metaphysical level, elevates the art.

This is a great album. I may not be able to say with experience that it is "the best," but I can say that it's great. I want you to know that if you are like I was prior to really giving hip hop a go, then you might hear "just another rap album" when you hear this. I get it. But I also want you to know that it is possible to put in the work, and it is possible to hear this album for the work of art that it is. And maybe one day, I'll have put in enough work that I can say which album is the best. For now, I'm cool with the simple fact that I'm making any kind of connection at all to a hip hop album. For that, all this is worth the effort.