THE WOOK SPEAKS: You gotta at least give Jamie Kennedy a shout on this front — he’s easily the second best performer ever to emerge from the 19082 — a few paces behind Tina Fey and a good mile ahead of the dead heat that is the chick from the “Blair Witch Project” and the corpse of Jim Croce. Which is to say that when “Scream” was the shizzy back in ’96, J-Kenn was assuredly Upper Darby’s Great White Hope.Which explains why 10 years on, he’s put out a rap album.
Actually, the tense on that should be past, as in July 11, when “Blowin’ Up” dropped like the steaming pile of Yankovician caca it is. I apply such a descriptor not because I’ve taken the disc for a full-on test drive, but because you can buy the sucker used on Amazon for less than a buck — 98 cents, to be exact. Which means
means you’ll pay more to ship the debut long-player from Malibu’s Most Wanted than to hold it like a limp dick. If strictly defined by the Used Price Index, “Blowin’ Up,” then, is arguably the worst hip-hop album of 2006: worse than Ron Artest, currently commanding $5.91, worse than Diddy, at $8.75, worse . . . Oh sweet baby Jesus, even worse than K-Fed, at the inexplicable price of $8.72?!?
Man, all this hatin’ is making me feel sorry for J-Kenn, which is why I feel that Dan DeLuca could have found room on his annual mix tape for possibly the pinnacle of the album’s half-assedness, the epic “Rollin’ With Saget.” Far better than that Arctic Monkey crap and arguably on par with Scritti Politti‘s “Boom Boom Bap,” the track had me from the opening New Jack intonation of “You’re now about to witness the strength of Bob Saget,” which means that if you found last year’s joke about just how funny it is that the dude who played the dad on “Full House” has a superior potty mouth, then you’ll be riveted.
Yet the funny thing about “Saget” as a track, and perhaps more to the point, about “Blowin’ Up” as an album, is that Kennedy plays Flavor Flav to Stu Stone‘s Chuck D on his own record, which in many respects, means Upper Darby’s Second Finest has at least matched Diddy at his own game. And just to add a little more self-confidence to the fire, the Dem Franchize Boyz disc is pricing out at 48 cents. J-Kenn, vindication be thy name!
ABOUT THE AUTHOR: If HOLLA is a coal miner’s helmet, shining a light through the darkest, stankiest confines of Philly’s hip-hop scene — and it is, stanky that is, but in a good way — then consider James Doolittle the sweaty dude wielding the pick axe. That’s Yer Wook: documentary filmmaker, music writer, kept man, reformed carnivore, and now, bringer of the phunk to the Phawk, straight up and South Philly style. Feel the wrath of his tofu, ye mortals. Forever and ever, Amen.