Despite all the devastation and controversy that erupted in the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina, one could not ignore the glorification of New Orleans and the praise of sweet-southern comfort that simultaneously unfolded. The Crescent City's exotic subculture of food, fashion and music still saturates daytime talk shows today, as it should, given its rich color, unique mystery and spicy aftertaste.
But before the storm swept away the city, the Big Easy housed thousands of accomplished, locally recognized musical geniuses, whose southern saxophones and Cajun keyboards reflected the fragile scenery of America's jazz capital.
But now, almost nine months after the eye of the storm drifted to sleep, the title of musical leader of the New Orleans reconstruction team belongs not to the street musician prodigies, but instead to a foul-mouthed boy named Juvenile. His latest release, Reality Check, might not offer the musicianship of the lesser-known Louisianan artists but still delivers a well-rounded, passionate attempt to ensure no American forgets the physical damage, cultural burdens and political shortcomings that were left in the wake of Katrina's violent attack.
There is certainly no shortage of hip-hop moguls, whether it is Snoop Dogg coaching a youth football team or 50 Cent preaching against gangs, who manipulate their money and power to better the society that made them millionaires. But if neither Puff Daddy, P. Diddy or even the simple Diddy could pester enough "vote or die" chants to generate an admirable young-voter turnout during the 2004 elections, what makes Juvenile think he can inflict civil responsibility to an audience too lazy to leave their living room on a pleasant November Tuesday?
The answer, it appears, is guilt.
Perhaps it was the abundance of news coverage and indistinguishable feature stories that made the mainstream public lose interest in the hurricane relief efforts. Or perhaps it was the dramatic Jessica/Nick divorce that clouded the storm's profundity. Nonetheless, after the donation of one raggedy sweater and a small prayer, the majority of the American population rests comfortably in their high-grounded homes, detaching themselves from the thousands of homeless southern souls who are still today chaotically struggling to piece their lives together.
The New Orleans native Terius "Juvenile" Gray, however, isn't blessed with that luxury of detachment, as he watched Ms. Katrina rip away his New Orleans home and witnessed the crumbling foundations belonging to hundreds of his friends and family members.
And embedded in Reality Check lies Juvenile's candid, and lyrically explicit, discontent with government-aided relief in the wake of the storm and his emotionally-charged grief in seeing his artistic home base bombarded to shambles.
Being raised in a city that prides itself on its rhythm, Juvenile translates his innate melody to a majority of the tracks on Reality Check. But in a Darwinist society, rap is a dying breed, plagued by uneducated advocates, gateway drugs and highly offensive lyrics. While Reality Check doesn't offer the needed tools to move hip-hop up the evolutionary ladder, it is, nonetheless, a brilliantly composed collection of a whopping 19 tracks, showcasing Juvenile's maturity without losing the signature bounce that made him a star as an amateur.
Reality Check is the 30 year-old rapper's post-Cash Money debut, and while hardly an independent endeavor, the album highlight's Juvenile's confident ambition through a smooth artist/producer collaboration and appearances from hip-hop heavyweights like Ludacris and Fat Joe.
The captivating "Get Your Hustle On" reflects Juvenile's most ambitious political statement, criticizing everyone from FEMA to Fox News and stating, "your mayor ain't your friend, he's your enemy / just to get your vote, a saint is what he pretend to be."
Other highlights on the album include the smooth, R&B-suave "Rodeo" and the synthesized, salacious and Lil-Jon produced track, "Why Not?"
Collectively, Reality Check is a party-pleaser, a well-established balance of hip-hop and R&B, a hybrid of the bouncy, incoherent rhymes with lush, female vocals, reminiscent of L.L. Cool J and Notorious B.I.G. classics from a decade ago.
Ignoring the traditional titles like "Loose Booty," "Who's Ya Daddy" and "Pop U," Reality Check is an ambitious album comprised of good rap with an even better message. It's just too bad Juvenile hasn't wised up enough to take advantage of the extensive diction Webster offers its English-speaking readers. Juvenile layers passion on top of experimental rhythm, but the overabundance of derogatory lyrics is likely to deter any acclaimed respect.
But here's the reality Juvenile wants you to understand: New Orleans is still a mess and the least you can do is count your blessings as you shake your booty.
Rating: 4 out of 5
