Word: crunk
(lookup in dictionary)
(lookup stats)
Dates: all
Sort By: most recent first
(reverse)
They are now men of a certain age, and it no longer becomes them to aspire to be things they are not. So there's no crunk-style rapping on the new U2 album, no gospel choirs or techno experiments, nothing that could possibly be misinterpreted as a sign of midlife crisis. Instead, this as-yet-untitled album is just full of confident, expansive guitar rock from the masters of the form. All the old tricks--the Edge's echoing guitar notes, Larry Mullen Jr.'s martial snare--still work, although Bono has lost a touch of the high clarity...
...it’s got more to do with knowing exactly how to get an audience. Few others could go from an old school (or rather, old New School) cut like A Tribe Called Quest’s “Scenario” to the postmillennial crunk of Lil Jon’s “Get Low” remix without completely disrupting the vibe. Usually it screams “yes, I am a famous rapper with a long history...
...talk lots about futurism but I’m a roots person at heart. For me, immaculately produced pop records are usually too smooth to hold on to and too perfect to really love. Thus I’m feeling Southern crunk over anything else remotely popular in rap music, and grime (its closest U.K. equivalent) even more—there’s that apathy towards the world at large and a palpable dirt in the snares and low-end. Dizzee Rascal’s Boy In Da Corner, grime’s flagship full-length, wouldn?...
...alongside more pedestrian bids for mass appeal. Last year’s Mississippi: The Album would have sounded curiously wrong to heads raised on boom-bap, full of blues chords and unearthly bass tones grafted to low-riding drums so nuanced they bordered on expressionistic. But with Outkast as crunk music’s ambassadors, few probably listened anyway. Suitably, Banner makes jams above all for himself, his crew, his hometown, the bitter South...
...spiteful rhymes and often tuneless tunes uncomfortably evoke thoughts of slavery—functional, slow and relentless like dirges, with scarred chants serving as choruses. There’s little time for bling-bling hedonism; at best Banner and clique wallow in their grim depravity with a smirk. Crunk ballads (!) such as “My Lord” are overshadowed by workhorse tracks like “Crank It Up” and the “Like A Pimp” remix. If the first Mississippi: The Album was cathartic and empowering, then this one only finds relief...