Rick Ross is possibly the worst rapper I've ever heard, and I've endured many piss-poor rappers during my tenure as a rap enthusiast. He's a poor man's Young Jeezy (so does that make Yung Joc a homeless man's Rick Ross?). He doesn't ride beats as much as chase them, huffing and puffing, hands-on-knees in exhaustion.
Port of Miami Suffers from Ephemeral Catchiness
His wordplay, if it even qualifies as such, consists of lazy Kanye-esque turn of phrases ("twelve years over due, call it due time") and constant references to his former life as a cocaine dealer--no, coke kingpin--that border on gimmicky. Why then has the first quarter of his debut Port of Miami been in constant rotation at my house, in my car, and in my iPod the past week or two? Hov might actually know a thing or two about the rap industry after all, as Port of Miami is 2006's version of last year's The Documentary, with one glaring difference: Rick Ross doesn't have a dime rock of talent compared to The Game, to continue the trend of cocaine references.We've all heard "Hustlin'," and The Runners' bubbling synthesizers are just as potent as they were a few months back, but after hearing other (read: better) rappers destroy the summer's hottest track, including the original is just redundant and only highlights double R's inadequacies on the mic.
Notable Production Courtesy of the Runners
Nevertheless, Ross' deliberate bragging and boasting remains endearing perhaps because it's fun to emulate the exaggerated inflection and meter of his "flow" (quotations intended) and perhaps because the production is tailor-fitted for the infinitesimal charisma Ross does possess. Along with his deadpan delivery and tales so implausible they incite laughter, The Runners' don't miss an opportunity to inject "Hit U From the Back" with inside jokes like a screwed snippet that starts with "cock, cock, cock," then just as you're beginning to ask yourself what-the-eff is going on and the rest of the phrase: "ya legs" is chopped in and you suddenly get it. "It's My Time" is a sonic portrait of Miami's sweltering nights and bright lights, the pseudo-chipmunk vocals in the background reminiscent of something RZA might've done if Michael Mann had reached out to him to score the recent "Miami Vice" film. "Where My Money (I Need That)"recalls Lil' Wayne's "Money on My Mind" (another Runners track), the glossy, synth-pop sound still shining bright like European diamonds.
Rick Ross' Port of Miami is Crack Music...and More Crack Music
As if all the drug-trafficking references littered throughout his rhymes weren't enough, there must be over a hundred on Port of Miami, J.R. Rotem samples "Push it to the Limit" from everyone's favorite rapper's favorite movie, "Scarface," for "Push It." And lo and behold, it's less cheese than one would imagine, the 80's pastels coloring Ross and company's suits as Peruvian white floats like snowflakes to ground-level after a transport plane is blown up over the coast, Ross piloting a speed-boat while trying to catch the falling fishscale. Well, I imagine this sort of scene was the inspiration for said track at least, if not a number of missions in "Grand Theft Auto: Vice City." But, unlike that video game, Port of Miami lacks the depth to "push it" anywhere past skin-deep superficiality.
Cool & Dre contribute the album's best cuts. On "Blow" Dre croons in a falsetto that bests all past, present, and future attempts from Andre 3000 and Pharrell. Later on "Blow," Dre encourages his boy Ross to "run how he wants, floss how he wants, do what he likes." I'm sure Rick hasn't ran anything more than Cubans back over the border in over a decade, and judging from the fronts he's been known to adorn, I doubt he flosses much either.
Port of Miami - Designed to Move the Masses
"Blow," along with the rest of the entire album, is just another excuse for Ross to brag about how rich he is, how he's supplied coke to half of the western world, and how he's slept with ten million women. Just when you think you might be getting a glimpse into his psyche with a line like "I'm into real estate, and the realest state of mind," he catches himself and lumbers back to cliched thuggerisms the very next line: "we came from trigger plate, kill a n***a for a dime." After your hopes are piqued with a promising beginning of a line in "They say life's a b***h," he finishes it with "well close your eyes for a minute and just bite this d**k." How banal, not to mention painful.
Port of Miami, and more directly Rick Ross himself, are products of market research and a big budget. Def Jam hired the southern equivalents of Dr. Dre and Kanye West; and instead of recruiting Mary J. or Nate Dogg for hooks, they got Akon and Lyfe Jennings. It's no wonder Lil' Wayne only contributes a chorus--he's too busy rapping, and rapping damn well, to bestow something of note for made-for-mass-consumption rappers like Ross.
