LL Cool J's comeback doesn't impress

LL no longer doin' it and doin' it and doin' it well.

By Lindsay Eanet

Published Sept. 11, 2008

Now seemed like a good time for an LL Cool J comeback. It's been 13 years since he released "Doin It," his biggest single from his second comeback album, also a result of him returning after being phased out by gangsta rap, where a rapper's credibility is measured in hardness. And unlike his abs, LL is arguably not hard. Gangstas neither compare their enemies to jellybeans nor appear on a Disney compilation rapping "Who's Afraid of the Big Bad Wolf" (fact: he actually did this). But now, as gangsta rap is being phased out again, this was the perfect opportunity for LL (now 40!) to mount his brilliant return to the rap game.

Unfortunately, LL thinks he can stay relevant by bending over to the current (or recently passé) trends as opposed to doing what he did best - being rap's smooth-talking, overly charming lover-man. Instead, on Exit 13, he's only out to show he's still hip with the young people. The jingoistic, overwrought "It's Time for War" sounds like a track even DMX would pass on, overly simplistic and overproduced. It plays like an episode of "The O'Reilly Factor": militaristic, overconfident and full of the mantra that it doesn't matter how eloquent the argument is as long as it's loud enough. On "Old School New School," he name-drops the Nintendo Wii and brags about his legions of fans in a slapped-together attempt to prove to the kids that he's still "with it."

Occasionally, we get to see glimpses of LL's old self. "You Better Watch Me," which begins with LL asking "Oh, y'all wanna go to the '90s?" has that same brash delivery and sneer that propelled "Mama Said Knock You Out." It's one of the rare moments on the album where he seems to really recognize where he came from, referencing Rakim instead of Chris Brown and paying his hip-hop dues. "Rocking With the G.O.A.T." has the right amount of attitude and swagger without feeling overwhelming, with a few clever wordplay moments (he shows his age by comparing himself to Yoda). "This Is Ring Tone M..." has an old school refrain and some funny moments, but LL overdoes it a bit on the bragging and the use of tired rap phrases like "no homo," as though he needs to further assert his masculinity and hardness.

And like many past-their-prime rappers, LL has turned to the guest star as a means of sustenance. But even with a brassy, James Bond theme song-esque background, 50 Cent's bland delivery takes all the flavor out of what could have been a great erotic-encounter track on "Feel My Heart Beat." Songwriting phenom The-Dream joins him on the slow jam "Baby" and brings a little bit of tenderness to LL's erotic fantasies, but it's clear that even The-Dream can't totally bring him back. LL has officially gone from "I Need Love" to "drunk as a skunk/feeling all dirty/truck stop bathroom at 7:30." Richie Sambora gives the remix of "Baby" a little muscle with a "Livin' On A Prayer"-esque guitar riff.

LL even attempts to get political on "Mr. President," with the help of an established hip-hop activist, Wyclef Jean, who gives some nice backing vocals and harmonies but little else. The track opens with radio snippets and LL reciting the First Amendment of the Constitution, and the song just goes downhill from there. It's hard to take dissent seriously when he keeps saying "with all due respect" every other phrase.

The album closes with "Dear Hip Hop," which without a doubt is the most hypocritical piece of crap on this album. LL calls out rappers for being everything he has become: a swagger jockey who has replaced charisma with machismo, writing overdramatic, unimaginative tracks for an industry whose top players still value style over substance.