Lupe Fiasco is better than this. His debut album, "Lupe Fiasco's Food & Liquor" (2006), is a groundbreaking piece of alternative hip−hop. Rather than empty boasts about chains and loose women, his lyrics offer social commentary and creeds against deadbeat dads. "The Cool" (2007) mixed these themes with more energetic beats and a loose overarching story about the album's titular character.
In fact, much of Lupe's appeal lies in two things: his impeccable delivery — ranging from Twista−style raps to sung choruses — and his socially conscious lyrics. The beats and hooks are always secondary to the message; this is not to say the songs are devoid of energy or fun, but there's definitely a difference between Mr. Fiasco and his Top 40 peers. Wiz Khalifa will never write a song about child soldiers.
So why is Lupe's most recent effort, "Lasers," such a disappointment? Well, critical acclaim does not always translate to commercial sales. "The Cool" was certified Gold, while "Food & Liquor" did not sell well enough to gain such certification. Atlantic Records, Fiasco's label, was not too happy over the lack of returns, and literally refused to release "Lasers" unless it was changed to be more commercially viable. Several songs on the album were given to Fiasco by Atlantic, their conception dictated by men in suits.
That explains why many of these songs are shallow shadows of Lupe's old work. Gone are the days of two skateboarding lovers being admonished. Gone are the self−aware nerd culture references. In their place, we have Trey "With a Z!" Songz singing his rent−a−Usher heart out on the embarrassing "Out Of My Head," a song that seems to have been thrown together only to get college girls to make mistakes. Admittedly, "The Cool" has the occasional simpler song, but "Lasers" is orders of magnitude worse.
That train wreck only loses the race to the bottom to "I Don't Wanna Care Right Now," where Lupe raps over a beat that even Flo Rida would dismiss as too synthetic. "And the flow tight/ Skinny jeans, skinny jeans," Fiasco raps — this from a man who at one time opened his albums with spoken−word interludes about tragedy in the ghetto.
The sad irony of all this is that Lupe used to mock this very type of mass−appeal, soulless tune crafting. "Dumb It Down" from "The Cool" was entirely about how his peers aimed for the lowest common denominator to sell records. Even on "Out Of My Head," Lupe seems to acknowledge his marked change in style: "Everything hooks/ … / I need you to sing that single again/ Play the video I seen you up in." "State Run Radio," a searing attack on the American media, includes the lines, "Not too smart, you will be a super star/ And if you're dumb or something, maybe you could be number one."
It's this tenacity — this effort to make these songs more biting — that ultimately saves the record from the depths of the forgotten. "Words I Never Said" is a sonic twin to Eminem's "Love the Way You Lie" (2010). Both share the same producer, Alex Da Kid, and Skylar Grey (who is featured on Lupe's track) wrote the choruses of both songs. Fiasco stomps on an overly−synthesized, boom−bap beat and uses his very first verse to attack the War on Terror, the American educational system and Barack Obama's silence over the Gaza Strip bombings, proving he hasn't entirely lost his edge.
The better songs on "Lasers" stand as some of Fiasco's best work. "Till I Get There," with its jangly piano foundation, is a highlight. "The Show Goes On," the record's first single and thematic sibling to "Till I Get There," is another solid song about believing in oneself. These tracks are wonderful examples of Lupe's message and Atlantic's commercialization finding a happy medium, and they work.
There are also two songs here with the emotional depth that Fiasco fans have come to expect: "Beautiful Lasers" and "Never Forget You." In "Beautiful Lasers," Lupe invites listeners into his depression and thoughts of suicide — the second verse in particular is especially affecting. "Never Forget You," with its John Legend−sung chorus, is a wonderful closer to the album as Lupe remembers his deceased father.
Taken as a whole, "Lasers" is incredibly tumultuous; the highs soar while the lows plummet to unlistenable depths. The infighting between artist and label harms the album, and it's unfortunate to see the result stand as Lupe Fiasco's worst record. In the end, the good and bad sort of cancel each other out and we're left with a dose of mediocrity.
