World-Class Talent Disguised as 20-Something Nobody

Last Sunday was a quiet one in suburban Cleveland, the city tired and overwhelmed with disappointment after the Cavaliers’ Eastern Conference Finals elimination (and the post-game LeBron controversy that ensued shortly thereafter); it was like everyone was dragging their feet through a collective hangover. I sat on the patio of a restaurant in downtown Chagrin Falls, Ohio, iPod in hand, listening to “Decision,” a sad, piano-laced gem from Busta Rhymes’ latest album, Back on My B.S. As soon as Chicago legend Common began his verse, I let out a smile – it was a placid, poignantly thoughtful 16 bars. We haven’t heard many of those from him lately.

Common has had a difficult year, at least artistically. Universal Mind Control, his last full-length, was a disaster, an insufferably dreary attempt at Graduation-type synth-rap. His catalogue is absolutely swamped with classic songs, but nothing on Universal Mind Control came close to being as remarkable as “Retrospect for Life,” “The Light,” “Be (Intro),” or “Real People” – for the most part, it was just a lackluster assortment of barren, keyboard-soaked beats, obnoxious flows, and disengaging lyrics, the work of a man who had grown bored with the aesthetic he spent years perfecting and decided to experiment in the most ill-advised way possible. The album’s failure, coupled with boring cameos on songs like Kid Cudi’s “I Poke Her Face,” has presumably left a bad taste in the mouths of tons of Com fans, mine included. At a time like this, when his creative future is in flux, it’s best to re-familiarize yourself with one of his most memorable works – 1994’s Resurrection. Fun, relatable, and supremely likable, Resurrection captures Com at his best.

Fifteen years, millions of dollars, several movies, and a GAP commercial later, it’s easy to forget that back in ’94, Com was a blue-collar youngster from inner-city Chicago, living with his mother and burying himself in fast food and liquor. On his landmark debut Ready to Die, The Notorious B.I.G. chronicled the ups and downs of a powerful kingpin; on Resurrection, Com chronicles the ups and downs of a depressed, unemployed underachiever who, despite the support of a loving, stable family, can’t quite get it together. It’s certainly not all bad – there’s something weirdly exciting about chilling with four of your homies in a parking lot on an uneventful summer night – but the daily routine inevitably starts to wear thin after awhile. “They say become a doctor, but I don’t have the patience,” he admits on the hazy, bass-heavy “Book of Life.” “I can’t recall a day without being intoxicated.” Substance abuse and joblessness aren’t his only issues – he’s nostalgic for the glory days of high school (“I wish it was ’89, when it was just sunshine”), he’s worried about the decline of his beloved hip-hop, and rich white people certainly aren’t making life any better.

Venting frustration about your environment is nothing new in rap – if anything, that’s what the genre is built on – but most albums in this mold, whether it’s Illmatic, The Infamous, Reasonable Doubt, or the aforementioned Ready to Die, tend to depict a very specific part of society: drug-and-gun-ridden slums, like Queensbridge or Marcy. On Resurrection, Common doesn’t do that. His environment is lower-middle-class, full of factory workers and janitors, and his issues are probably a bit easier to identify with than those of Nas or Prodigy – most Americans in their 20s have never peddled crack or witnessed someone peddling crack, but they probably have experienced at least moderate bouts of depression. Missing your youth? Getting sloshed? Wanting to have success but being unsure of how to obtain it? Spending your afternoons eating Burger King at home? Living paycheck to paycheck? Who can’t relate to that? The album is great largely because its content is presumably able to resonate with a wide range of listeners, and its historical importance can’t de denied – without Resurrection, I’m not sure we would have ever heard The College Dropout or Food & Liquor, records that deal with sociopolitical and personal issues in a creative, witty, self-deprecating way.

Because of his age, there are naturally a few spells of juvenilia to be found amidst the constant everyman tales on Resurrection. On “Watermelon,” Com offers this little gem: “If this track was a broad, I’d be boning the s**t out of it! Bang! Bang!” But it helps that he delivers his lines with a really charismatic, youthful enthusiasm (he says, “I’m on fire/If I was a Michelin, I wouldn’t tire!” like a third-grader who just discovered a UFO), and, above all else, he’s an incredibly skilled rapper – every song here is crammed with a dizzying amount of multi-syllables and clever punchlines. His tone is slightly nasal, lacking the commanding authority he would later develop, and he very rarely switches up his flow, but he’s amazing on a purely technical level, as evidenced by the first verse of the title track:

I stagger in the gathering possessed by a patter-in
That be scattering
Over the globe, will my vocals be traveling?
Unraveling, my abdomen it’s slime that’s babbling
Grammatics that are masculine
I grab them in, verbally badgerin broads
I wish that madelline, was back on video lp
I went against all odds and got a even steven
Proceed to read and not believing everything I’m reading

It also doesn’t hurt that Resurrection is a masterfully-produced album – iconic beatsmith No I.D. helmed all but two of the 15 songs, and he supplies Com with a bevy of warm, melodious, often jazz-infused instrumentals: the sparkling pianos of the title track, the grooving funk guitars of “Watermelon,” the gorgeous, saxophone-laden glow of “Nuthin’ to Do,” the airy flutes of “Communism,” the DJ Premier-esque thump of “Sum S**t I Wrote.” And, of course, there’s the endlessly awe-inspiring tale “I Used to Love H.E.R.,” where, over the course of three incredible verses, he personifies hip-hop as a childhood friend-turned-lover (“I did her, not just to say I did it/But I’m committed”) who abandons him after getting sucked in by the wrong crowd – mainstream gangsta rappers – and leaves Com understandably upset: “Once the man got to her, he altered the native/Told her if she got an image and a gimmick/She could make money, and she did it like a dummy.” No I.D.’s sonic backdrop is equally memorable, with a smooth blend of twinkling pianos and somber wah-wah guitars. Simply put, if this isn’t the best rap song of all-time, it’s damn close.

Is Resurrection perfect? Almost, but no. The overlong “Chapter 13 (Rich Man vs. Poor Man)” is a complete snooze, thanks to Ynot’s dull guest spot, the plodding, trumpet-laced beat, and a handful of lazily-spewed racial stereotypes: Com could have written a much more original narrative here, which includes a wealthy white guy, a poor black guy, and an Asian store-owner as its main characters. And a few other second-half songs, such as “Maintaining” and “Orange Pineapple Juice,” pale in comparison to the rest of the album. Still, such flaws are fairly trivial. While it isn’t Common’s best LP – that honor goes to 2005’s Be – Resurrection is a stunning success, a mellow, feel-good album that’s bound to put you in high spirits, even if the Cavs’ Eastern Conference Finals loss – it’s been 45 years, still no championship! – is weighing heavily on your mind. Hey, there’s always next year.

Track listing: “Resurrection,” “I Used to Love H.E.R.,” “Watermelon,” “Book of Life,” “In My Own World (Check the Method),” “Another Wasted Nite With…,” “Nuthin’ to Do,” “Communism,” “WMOE,” “Thisisme,” “Orange Pineapple Juice,” “Chapter 13 (Rich Man vs. Poor Man),” “Maintaining,” “Sum S**t I Wrote,” “Pop’s Rap”

Standout songs: “Resurrection,” “I Used to Love H.E.R.,” “Book of Life,” “Nuthin’ to Do”