Inspectah Deck: Manifesto (Traffic Entertainment)

By March 25, 2010Music & Reviews

Inspectah Deck was never the most commercially viable member of the Wu-Tang Clan, and 1999’s Uncontrolled Substance certainly wasn’t a five-mic classic. But during a worrisome stretch for the Wu-Tang Clan that year, he seemed among the most likely to survive and even thrive if the Clan ceased to exist as a functioning group. Largely self-produced and forgoing any A-listers (U-God doesn’t count), the album harbored no delusions about what it was meant to provide– Deck ripping through one simile-laden verse after another with beats that stayed out his way. But since then, his fall-off has been dramatic, as he’s rattled off increasingly less-noticed solo drops and sounded wholly uninspired on higher-profile Wu-related releases (remember “keep it fresh like Tupperware” from 8 Diagrams?). It was easy to view last year’s “House Nigga” as some sort of nadir, Deck spending five minutes dissing Joe Budden for his Internet fame. This was the guy whom even GZA was scared of following on “Triumph”?

A more positive approach is to see the song as Deck’s attempt to find his place in a galaxy of faded NYC stars; the wise ones realize they’re not competing with Drake. At the outset, Deck seems aware of what could constitute a solid 2010 release on his part. Though the ringside samples of “The Champion” are beyond played, he still lets off rounds of impressively pugilistic internal rhyme. Meanwhile, the Obama-quoting “Born Survivor” continues the low-key revival of Cormega and reveals the image Deck wants to create for himself here, a grind-oriented street soldier not all that far removed from latter-day dead prez albums. They called it “revolutionary but gangsta,” while Inspectah boasts, “Still I’m quick to pop it off/ With the model broads or the Molotovs.”

But as Manifesto runs through its forbidding 20-track playlist, it unsurprisingly falters when it chases Hot 97 spins that are laughably out of reach. The aluminum hand-claps of “We Get Down” evoke a G-Unit beat so generic that even Tony Yayo would take pause, “T.R.U.E.” is a limp rap&B overture for empire states of mind, and “The Big Game” is saddled with a cornball hook of a non-metaphor that can’t fully commit to Auto-Tune. And while the relationship songs of Uncontrolled Substance offered an occasional glimpse behind Deck’s otherwise stoic veneer, “Luv Letter” comes awfully close to Murs at his most needy.

But worse than the blind fumbling for hits is hearing what sounds like an average MC doing an uncanny Inspectah Deck impersonation. It’s disorienting to hear him put such conviction behind subpar get-that-paper rhymes. And while Raekwon, Billy Danze, and Kurupt hold serve, “Brothaz Respect” houses quite possibly the most embarrassingly off-beat Cappadonna guest spot to date (and I’ve heard The Yin and the Yang), and too much of Manifesto is turned over to aggressively average foot soldiers like Fes Taylor and the indefensibly-named Carlton Fisk.

Look, it’s no fun to criticize Deck for reaching for that brass ring. You can’t help but think he realizes this disconnect during “This Is It”, where he counters those who think he’s slipped by boasting of “A million kids thinkin’ he rich/ A million bitches think he the shit.” Sadly, it shows how the dynamic’s been reversed for Inspectah Deck since Enter the Wu-Tang (36 Chambers)— you sit there and watch him play himself, knowing he’s lying.

Ian Cohen, March 25, 2010