**NOTE: Below is Kurt's first contribution to Can You See The Sunset... Next time I'll make him write a freakin' preface so that I don't have to.**

We live in a world where hip-hop heroes shouldn’t be trusted, from indie favorites like Cannibal Ox (I dare you to make it through Vast Aire’s solo album all the way; sure, I’ll wait) and Atmosphere (Slug might not like being called emo-rap, but until he gets his face off of Fuse and in front of a mic to drop a verse that’s not so, well, emo, he’s the Pete Wentz of hip-hop) to mainstream kingpins like Jay-Z (his new album is a half-hearted lazy jingle for Budweiser and Nascar and, where I come from, is liable to get a motherfucker shot) and Nas (his new song, the one with the In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida sample, is just embarrassing; Nas rhyming over Iron Butterfly: hip-hop really is dead). Well, friends and brethren, there’s a pair of brothers from Virginia that are here to remind us that to some rappers, word is bond.

Clipse, made up of brothers Malice and Pusha T backed by the best of the Neptunes’ tracks, first showed up on our radars in 2002 when Grindin’ became a mini-hit. But the album it came off, Lord Willin’ never really hit; it went gold, sure, but this was at the height of the Neptunes media exposure and N.E.R.D. and all that. To make a long story short, the Clipse didn’t feel they were treated fairly during and following the dissolution of Arista into the bigger Sony/BMG camp, and now after four years, we have their re-up, Hell Hath No Fury, their no-holds-barred, safety-off, return to the stash house.

To put it simply, Hell Hath No Fury is the best hip-hop album of the year, and it’s more honest and heartfelt than anything the emo/indie/Elliot Smith retread set has to offer. The lyrics drive the album. The first single, Mr. Me Too, is classic Clipse: an angry, drug-infested affront to the followers and haters. “Wanna know the time?/ Better clock us/ Niggaz bite the style from the shoes to the watches/ We cloud hoppers, tailor suits like we mobstas/Break down keys into dimes and sell 'em like gobstoppers,” Malice says to lead off his verse, and it’s déjà vu all over again. This is what we waited four years for: the violent imagery and drug deals balanced against the sweet taste of candy. Look at how Malice refers to children with the opposition of hoppers (the neighborhood young-uns that run from dealer to stash to grab product) and gobstoppers; see the people in this game may sell drugs and kill people, but they’re kids and kids eat candy. Also of note is that built in to this is the subtle image of Willy Wonka (you know, that guy who invented the Gobstopper?); Clipse are Willy Wonka: reclusive-ass motherfuckers who are larger than life because of their magical product, but who are ultimately dissatisfied because nearly all their customers are degenerate addicts.

Almost overlooked in all the lyrical deconstruction is some of the best Neptunes production ever. Sure, Pharrell may pimp watches and laptops and sunglasses and trucker hats and be Esquire’s best dressed man, but when he hooks up with Chad Hugo and they get serious about the beats, the Neptunes can set it right. Hell Hath No Fury bounces to a sparse, futuristic soul so crisp it makes the West Coast g-funk on the Game’s new album (which is quite great, by the way) sound downright stale. It sounds like there’s a giant silver orb hovering above my head at the ready to drop the tractor beam. Pharrell can keep giving tracks to Gwen and Britney and shooting ads for Louis Vuitton as long as he keeps his synth fingers nimble. The tracks are understated, but loud in a way that reinforces the lyrics and highlights the sing-song choruses just right. It’s the synths just above the horizon; it’s the snare wound so tight you wonder if it could be a sample of a gunshot tweaked a little; it’s the alien lazer-bass that made the Neptunes famous.

We like Clipse because we believe Pusha T when he says, “Mask on face, Glock in hand/ I was in and out of homes like the Orkin man.” These are enthralling street narratives, and not in the sociologically interesting because I’m a white graduate student way. No, this shit is scary. And it’s brutal. And it’s true. Malice and Pusha T are a couple of real thugs with real gifts for storytelling and rhyming, and this is their opus. Hell Hath No Fury keeps everything street and keeps the references to guns, drugs, and childhood. Clipse are no hustlers; they are too honest, and it’s that honesty that makes this album a dirty shit talking masterpiece.

MP3 | Clipse - Mr. Me Too Hell Hath No Fury
MP3 | Clipse - Chinese New Year Hell Hath No Fury