Nas
I Am...
Columbia
April 1999 / Issue #115

Record Report
Imagine the possibilities, they said. About eight or so years ago, sixteen-year-old Nasty Nas-a self-proclaimed street disciple from Queensbridge Projects-threatens to kidnap the President's wife without a plan, and the hip-hop world goes bananas. After a couple of game-changing years later, the same young man shares his 40-side philosophy with those who would listen, masterfully weaving all the multi-colored threads between cold, hard fact and brilliant fiction into a masterpiece tapestry forever immortalized as llmatic. At last, proclaimed those whose definition of hip-hop music leans heavily on lyricism, hip-hop's next Savior had arrived.

The years following this stellar entry into hip-hop's scriptures saw the emergence of the hedonists' approach to rhyme writing. To be fair, pioneer era MCs had no qualms about praising the joys of sex, money and drugs. But in post-Cuban Linx hip-hop, love of "The Life" became requisite. And so, on It Was Written, the prophet Nasty Nas became the playa Nas Escobar, and what devotees expected to be Illmatic Part Two, turned out to contain a little more Scorsese than it did Goines. That transformation, though earning him a double-platinum plaque for his own Wall of Fame, cost him his Messianic title. The coveted Savior's crown had become a crown of thorns.

Now, a veritable lifetime since "Live At The BBQ," the crown having gotten to be a little too much to bear, the young man given the attribute Nasir Bin Olu Dara Jones returns with I Am...The Autobiography.

First things first: let it be known that Nasty Nas is dead, once and for all. Despite the wails from devout worshippers who've begged for his resurrection since the Firm fiasco, Nasty Nas is of the past tense, and has been since 1996. But wait, before the inquisition begins, proclaim throughout the land that Esco is dead, too, ultimately destroyed by the same passion which fueled his predecessor's rise to the forefront of hip-hop's consciousness. And so it was written: the illmatic ghost of Nasty Nas killed Nas Escobar.

So who's left? A cursory listen (though it's damn near impossible to do so) to "Nas Is Like," the Premier-blessed first single, will uncover traces of the lyricist we used to call nasty. Not since Nas and Large Professor's collabo on "It Ain't Hard To Tell" have we heard the kinds of project-induced poetics that, coupled with Primo's haunting strings, give goose bumps at first listen. And in case you've sinfully forgotten just how nasty Nas could get, Premier's trademark scratched hook uses nothing less than now-classic phrases from that equally classic song: "Nas is like.../life or death.../my poetry's deep, I never fell.../half-man, half-amazin'..." Indeed, you can feel the life again being squeezed out of Esco's veins.

But don't go buying a suit for anyone's wake just yet, 'cause like his wily, real-life namesake, Mr. Escobar ain't givin' up his own ghost without a serious war. In fact, with offerings like "Money Is My Bitch," though near-genius in its metaphor, and "Favor For A Favor," which features the always captivating, crime-vet vocals of Scarface, Nas Escobar may be very much alive and kickin'. And as further proof that reports of his demise may have been premature, the one man who has come to embody hip-hop's adoration of all things material declares Esco's continued existence on "Hate Me Now." "Escobar season has returned!" shouts Puffy.

While Esco's formulaic duet with DMX on "Life Is What You Make It" might not aid (nor hurt) his cause, his experimentation with the Mid-West flow on "Big Thangs" and his cinematic depiction of domestic-troubles-turned-ugly on "Undying Love" will cause many a street-lifer to raise their drinks to his name.

But don't sleep on the resurrected Nasty Nas's call to arms on "Ghetto Prisoners Rise," his indictment of (and from-the-heart "fuck you!" to) the government on "C.I.A.," or what will undoubtedly be referred to as the '99 version of "One Love," his introspective prayer/letter to Biggie and 'Pac titled "We Will Survive."

So who wins? "Freedom or jail/ clips inserted/ a baby's bein' born same time a man is murdered/ the beginning and end/ as far as rap go/ it's only natural I explain/ my plateau and also what defines my name/ first it was Nasty/ but times have changed/ ask me now, I'm the Artist/ but hardcore, my signs are pain..." says Brother Jones. Ultimately, the eternal jihad within the confines of his mind continues to rage on The Autobiography, as Nasty Nas and Nas Escobar struggle for control of one man's soul. As for his crown, let it be known that he wears it proudly, thorns and all.

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