Polaroids Of Androids

Rick Ross
Rich Forever

To quote the late, great John "Bloody" Legend on this mixtape's title track — "we're gonna to be rich foreverrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr". What a lovely concept. Also a timely one, given the fact we've recently flown in to some hectic economic turbulence, where people routinely became billionaires overnight and then blow it all on red (or a red-headed bird with a huge personality) quicker than Jonny Greenbags can say "sub optimis prime special effects budget blowout". Unlimited money, "like we even look at the fucking price tag", buying first-hand books, tipping 15% for a vending machine soda and not stealing your Dad's clothes when he's interstate on business. For some people Good Living is a description associated with their existence, not just a pull-out section in the weekend newspaper which tells you about restaurants you'll now never be able to get a booking at. Unless you're Mr Richard Ross. He probably never has to worry about restaurant bookings. Or anything else really. The self-portrait oil-on-canvas he's consistently photocopied throughout his career is of an untouchable Don-like figure. And not only comparable to the underground horticulturist Don Burke, but also a larger-than-life Mafioso figure, a self-made world where the ice bucket is always full, Lil Cease takes your calls and you have no idea what an ounce of marijuana actually looks like because it's literally been centuries since you've had to carry any.

The reality of this portrayal is hardly relevant. Concern over believability in hip-hop is like paying just twenty clams for a lap dance and then complaining about the cleanliness of the ladyboy's clam. Maybe Rick lives with his Mum, salary sacrifices 90% of his wage, re-investing it into secure, low-risk term deposits. Maybe he's a prison guard. Maybe he used to shove his baton up Tupac's Shakur. Maybe he's Vanilla Ice, remodeled into a heavy gangsta by the same PR machine that arranged for Lance Bass to be shot into space. It hardly matters.

It's only important that the picture painted is believable. And it is. I believe Rick Ross has owned a helicopter for so long it's starting to look a little bit shabby. I believe that he has eight females lodged on his penis at any given time. (Not that he could be sure of the exact number, given that his unimaginable wealth has led to a substantial Money Gut, meaning he hasn't caught a visual of Lil' Rick since The Thatcher Years). And I believe that Ross where's my house around his neck. Because he spits every word with such conviction. And he's a fairly big fella.

Big enough to crush everything else on this mixtape that's for sure. A faultless verse from the rejuvenated Nasty Nas Escobar, Puff Dudley as Puff Dudley (twice!), Kelly "Never Not Fighting Her Way Out Of A Dilemma" Rowland, a "Diplo's music just sounds like sirens" zing, and an amazing skit about London in winter, cashmere socks and "'avin it all guvner". Rick towers over all of it. An enforcing, dominate figure, like Christopher Wallace giving Christopher Rios a piggy-back. He commands attention. And even alongside some of rap's strongest players (and Pharrell) he still stands out as the centric figure throughout Rich Forever. This isn't smart hip-hop — or even particularly ground-breaking — but it's remarkably invigorating to hear such a forceful and commanding individual, comfortably ripping your testicles out through your ears without even breaking a sweat.

If this is, as Ross alludes to throughout the tape, just a prelude for his delayed new album, God Forgives, I Don't, then I think we can safely say we've had a solid introduction to 2012's dominate rap figure. And it's not Don Burke.

Words by Jonny

January 11, 2012 @ 13:03 · Record Reviews · Rick Ross   4 comments