Album Review: Lupe Fiasco’s Food and Liquor II: The Great American Rap Album Part 1

In theory, Lupe Fiasco is a rapper with a message. In practice, Lupe Fiasco is a rapper with a disconnect between his intended message and its delivery. He claims to be a “conduit/to keep you calm through it” (Heart Donor), but throughout Food and Liquor II: The Great American Rap Album Part 1, calm is absent. In its place are short circuits, overloads and vicious electrocutions. It is tempting to claim that this disconnect between artist and listener is just a function of language. After all, language is layered with meanings and implications and sometimes, through no fault of the speaker, miscommunication occurs. This isn’t the case. Language isn’t the issue: it’s Lupe himself.

The album begins with a striking spoken word piece from Ayesha Jaco, Lupe’s sister. Bringing the same raw, indignant energy that she brought to the opening tracks of Lupe’s first and second albums, she sets a serious, tense mood. Her intro is followed by “Strange Fruition,” a song that alludes to Billie Holiday’s classic song “Strange Fruit.” While the song is initially promising and Lupe’s flow and the hard-thumping instrumental complement each other well, Lupe derails the song with the line: “Hello evil, I’m back.” From this line forward, balance is thrown completely out of the picture.

When asked about the title of the first Food and Liquor, Lupe said “The ‘Food’ is the good part and the ‘Liquor’ is the bad part. I try to balance out both parts of me.” Rather than attempting to find this balance within himself and encouraging the listener to do the same as he has in the past, on Food and Liquor II Lupe preemptively decides that he is already purged of the liquor and immediately begins tossing so-called food at the listener.

This preachy and arrogant stance prevents nuance and balance and leads to very complex issues being oversimplified at best and caricatured at worst. On “Bitch Bad,” we get a taste of the former. Here, Fiasco attempts to tackle the word “bitch” and muddles through it, ultimately only further dirtying the contentious term’s murky history. On “Audobon Ballroom” he tells white people that they can’t say “nigga” and tells black people that they shouldn’t, as if the history of the troublesome word can be resolved overnight (and as if these two groups are the only users of the word). Finally, on “ITAL” he makes the silly claim that “alcohol is stupid.” In the end, what is apparent is that what Lupe thinks is social commentary is actually just social commenting. Rather than mentioning social phenomena and taking stances (commentary), Lupe just mentions them (commenting). There’s a big difference.

To clarify, the problem isn’t the fact that Lupe is trying to discuss complex issues. It’s the fact that he tries to discuss these issues without even a hint of awareness. For instance, “bitch” and other problematic terms have been contested in rap for decades and are even being contested now, but in the chorus to “Bitch Bad,” after saying “Bitch Bad, woman good, lady better,” Lupe says “they misunderstood” as if he is making some startling observation (and as if he doesn’t misunderstand them). Likewise, he uses “nigga” on “Strange Fruition,” but on “Audubon Ballroom”, he tells everyone else to abstain as if he hadn’t even listened to the earlier song. The same goes for him using “bitch” on ITAL. Lupe addresses issues as if he is the first to comment on them, but he is unaware of even his own history when it comes to these issues. It’s almost like watching a Mitt Romney speech.

What’s really bizarre about Lupe’s lack of awareness is that on “Around My Way,” Lupe seems hyper-aware. Rapping over a problematic sample, he mentions models, drug use, American history, shoe fetishes, fossil fuels, American international politics, planned obsolescence, and various other issues, yet he is able to weave them all together to make a coherent statement about the problematic nature of the word “freedom.” Similarly, on “Hood Now,” he slyly mentions the myriad ways in which black culture has increasingly seeped into American culture and makes a coherent statement about social progress.

While these moments of hyper-awareness are unfortunately few in number, even hyper-awareness couldn’t solve the central problem of the album: Lupe’s preachiness. Lupe has a sharp mind, but when it is so overly and overtly dedicated to one way of thinking, it comes across as dull, obtuse. This is not to say that actual preachers are all narrow-minded. Rather, it’s just to point out that the way Lupe preaches leads to a lack of awareness.

In the end, the album is kept afloat solely by Lupe’s technical prowess and adaptable flow. Even when the album takes a very apparent turn for the commercial midway through – seriously, tracks 9-12 are a literal commercial break – technically, Lupe remains on top, tackling beats like Simeon Rice at a buffet. Nevertheless, Food and Liquor II brings shame to its namesake: overwhelmingly the food is rotten and the liquor is cheap. There are moments of brilliance (“Lamborghini Angels,” “Put Em Up,” “Form Follows Function”), but they are overshadowed by Lupe’s awkward position in the pulpit. By the time Part 2 is released, hopefully he will either feel more comfortable in this position or step down.