God Forgives, I Don't review thread

[Scoop]

I'll post professional reviews here, feel free to comment and post your own reviews as well.

Allmusic:

Going cinematic comes easy when your life's a movie, and since Rick Ross' previous 12 months included platinum albums, numerous awards, and some pre-gig CPR and resuscitation on an airport runway, it seemed sensible that Miami rap superstar cited Scorsese and Tarantino as influences for God Forgives, I Don't. "Yeah, such a breath of fresh air/Get a blowjob, have a seizure on a Lear'" is the typically brutish and bold way he addresses the recent past on the great, familiar anthem "Maybach Music IV," but his detractors should note that he didn't cite Michael Bay or Brett Ratner as influences, meaning he's looking not just for bombast but for that new, kinetic kind of gangster noir, just like Marty and Quentin. On key track "3 Kings," he's found it, acting as a Tony Soprano-type character who's thoughts bounce between the meaning of life and the table dance happening in front of him, while mammoth guest Jay-Z shows up with some free association free-styling that's wonderfully clumsy and fun, while stone-cold legend Dr. Dre uses the loose atmosphere to growl and drop some product placement ("You should listen to this beat through my headphones."). Hip-hop royalty being so free and flippant takes the superstar team-up cut to another level, and when it comes to putting his Maybach spin on new ground, Ross proves he can thrive in "Prototype"-like surroundings during the smooth as silk "Sixteen," which slowly struts over eight minutes of J.U.S.T.I.C.E. League-produced elegance with OutKast's Andre 3000 along for the ride. Being overly serious is never an issue as Ross chills in the red light district during "Amsterdam," offering big boy insults like "You a bytch, where your Honda Accord?" along with the depraved brilliance of "I laughin' at the people who labeled me poor/Now I'm pissin' on Europeans, you'd think it was porn." Then, three of the expected thug tracks -- "Hold Me Back," "911," and "So Sophisticated," with Meek Mill -- help anchor the album before it's on to the unexplored with a Pharell Williams-helmed finger-snapping cut ("Presidential"), some naked passion with Omarion ("Ice Cold"), and a bright cut with Wale and Drake that compares fine woman to health food ("Diced Pineapples"). All of it works, there's plenty of ambition with little over-reaching, and the most striking bits of the album are striking for unexpected reasons. That makes three lavish triumphs in a row for Ross, with this one being the richest.

4/5

God Forgives, I Don't - Rick Ross : Songs, Reviews, Credits, Awards : AllMusic

Slant:

As mainstream hip-hop grows more baroque and exaggerated, many rappers have found themselves adrift, unsure of how to pair their personalities with a new generation of operatic-minded beatmakers. Not so for Rick Ross, who's benefitted more than anybody from the current climate, cultivating a cartoon-y boss image befitting his hefty size: huge shades, bushy beard, with a body so tattoo-smattered that it looks like silly putty rolled over a newspaper. And with his new album, God Forgives, I Don't, he proves that rap finally has its very own James Bond villain.
Two years ago, I made the mistake of taking Teflon Don seriously, which is an entirely wrong approach for an artist who's more focused on grand spectacle than verisimilitude, whipping up a frothy mixture of Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous prestige and Miami Vice criminality. It would be one thing if Ross were just taking rap's usual flashiness and applying it to a broader canvas, but he's also a noted eccentric who's fond of weird references and suspicious neuroticism and hyper-specificity in his lyrics.
This gets summed up by the immense, quasi-gothic "Hold Me Back," which shifts from a coming-of-age story, with Ross resorting to drug-dealing to fill the fridge for his kids, into an obscene and absurd catalogue of wealth, including a $24,000 toilet. He eventually has what seems like a near panic attack in the booth, with the line "These nikkas want to hold me back" dissolving into a heaving mantra. The theme of ridiculous affluence paired with paranoid fatalism continues on "911," wherein Ross converses with God and drives his Porsche straight to heaven.
At this point, a new Rick Ross album is an occasion for two things: witnessing both the new ways he'll find to describe his mansion and the rococo embroidering he'll apply to incidents pulled from his actual life. A few years back, he deflected 50 Cent's accusations of his prison-guard past by ignoring them entirely, inflating the drug-kingpin narrative to ever more cartoonish proportions. Here, he deals with last year's well-publicized seizure with a passive shrug: "Get a blow job/Have a seizure on a Lear," he notes impassively on "Maybach Music IV," somehow turning a medical emergency into further evidence of his booming bosshood.
As for scale, God Forgives, I Don't is basically unmatched. The beats are huge, varied enough that they don't become tedious, and the guest talent is deep and broadly selected: The reascendant Nas proves a great foil on "Triple Beam Dreams," Meek Mill proves why he's the standout of the MMG bench on "So Sophisticated," and Andre 3000 continues a run of fantastic guest appearances, blowing the roof off of "Sixteen" before exiting on his own weird little guitar solo, the dinkiest thing on an otherwise jumbo-sized album. (However, "3 Kings," which recruits Dr. Dre and Jay-Z for a strategic East/West/South photo-op, is tepid and canned sounding, with guest verses that sound like advertisements for Beats headphones and Blue Ivy Carter.)
Never the most dexterous MC, Ross nevertheless surprises by continuing to find new ways to describe his largesse, from a litany of rich neighbors (Lebron and Pat Riley), to boasts about funding his manager's car collection, to weird shout-outs seemingly purchased to pad his reputation (L.A. Reid appears to give his personal stamp of approval). At times it feels like a lavish status-affirming party thrown by and for Ross himself, with John Legend carted out to croon on the syrupy, self-laudatory "Rich Forever," using a Maybach Music Group slogan to confirm the everlasting wealth of all parties involved thus far. Like the rest of God Forgives, I Don't, it's silly, completely gauche, and still pretty impressive, another notable touch on this massive exercise in excess.

4/5

Rick Ross: God Forgives, I Don't | Music Review | Slant Magazine

 

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HipHopDX:

To rightfully misquote one of Rick Ross’ earliest supporters, the Miami rapper has largely shed his initial caricature as a dope boy to become not simply a businessman, but a business [man]. In the process, he has ascended into Hip Hop’s top tier, a calculated move that comes deservedly given successful growth not only from a financial standpoint, but also as an artist. God Forgives, I Don’t reflects this progress, in a manner that only Rozay could provide.

One couldn’t speak of his latest effort without first mentioning “Sixteen,” an eight-minute escapade that features the elusive yet incomparable presence of Andre 3000. Over smooth, melodic synths, Ross reveals bars of a better life while Three Stacks serves up three verses worth of contemplation that will have your head on a lyrical swivel. Intricately ignoring the standards of a formulaic Rap record, it’s a riveting performance that would make even the biggest Ross skeptic give an approving nod. A man who’s known for great excess, “Presidential” focuses on his penchant for self-worth and the women who benefit from it. With Pharrell Williams lending his signature Neptunes sound and Elijah Blake handling falsetto duties admirably, Ross is on cloud nine as he glides through the opulent production with a girl in one hand and a rack in the other. Still, even as Ross builds his stock portfolio brick by brick, he’s comfortable and (more importantly) sincere enough to revisit his past with clarity. On the soulfully somber cut “Ashamed,” he raps;

“Went from walking on gravel, now I’m riding on vogues / 50 M’s in the bank, I get me 200, I’m gone / Still so close to the hood, I’m ashamed to say / All the money in the world can’t take this pain away / It’s just another story at the campfire / Court side seats with the franchise / I think about my nikkas doing 25 / Shining bright, who am I for you to criticize?”

Highlights aside, Rozay’s most dependable assets on God Forgives, I Don’t fittingly become his Maybach Music Group cohorts. Whether it’s Wale partnering on the sexually connotative yet provocative “Diced Pineapples,” or Omarion’s bellowing hook throughout the distant “Ice Cold,” their unique approach compliment Ross’ grandiose style. With that said, by no means are these records made in the same vein as the Self Made compilations, as Ross firmly takes the reins in each instance. Such is the case with “So Sophisticated,” which sounds like a beat tailor-made for Meek Mill’s shout-first delivery, and he boastfully delivers accordingly. However, his verse pales in comparison to Ross’ as he verbally rips on foes who could only dream of his stature (“You wanna be the hottest, but that shyt get complicated / I pull your card, I know you’re p*ssy by your conversation / Show you the safe you’ll have to kill me for the combination / Made another two milli just off the compilation”).

For those following Ross’ career since his earlier days, the "Maybach Music" series has been a staple for flashy features met with prolific production, a combination no self-respecting Rap fan could resist. Flipping the script this time around, Ross tackles the fourth installment solo (with Ne-Yo as his hook wingman), meddling with J.U.S.T.I.C.E. League’s marvelous backdrop like it was his birthright. Ironically, the go-to track for star power on God Forgives, I Don’t turns out to be impressive in name only rather than in execution. Aptly titled “3 Kings,” Ross, Jay-Z and Dr. Dre churn out arrogant verses that feel carelessly put together, with Hov needlessly rambling about his daughter at the end of the record (any guesses as to who wrote Dre’s?). Alas, Jake One’s magnificent production goes unfulfilled. Things hit a wall sonically on “Hold Me Back” and “911.” The first detraction is the vast similarities in the sound of the production; “911” essentially comes off as a stripped-down version of its predecessor, which wasn’t impressive in the first place. Next up is the lyricism, with pompous lines like, “How we rose from the sewers / Funny now I’m the shyt” and “If I die tonight I know I’m coming back nikka / Reincarnated, big black fat nikka” awkwardly settling in, as if he’s actually impressed by his wittiness. Ross definitely stepped up his rhymes for this album, but these records would have you think otherwise.

Bold and indulgent, God Forgives, I Don’t embodies why Rick Ross has become a fixture that listeners can depend on, as well as an executive who can strategize success for not only himself but others around him. “It takes a boss to know a boss,” L.A. Reid states at the end of “Maybach Music IV.” Five albums in, there’s no disagreement here.

4/5

Rick Ross - God Forgives, I Don't | Read Hip Hop Reviews, Rap Reviews & Hip Hop Album Reviews | HipHop DX

 

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Rolling Stone

It's perfect that the first word Rick Ross raps on God Forgives, I Don't is "hallucination" – after all, he's in the fantasy business. Over his career, Ross has gone from generic dope-boy with a stolen name (the actual Ross, a California cocaine drug lord, sued for copyright infringement) to unmasked former corrections officer to inspired charlatan, who pretends to be a high-living kingpin* sticking to his script with hammy gusto, never breaking character. In interviews, Ross laid out a clear MO for his fifth album: He wanted to craft the equivalent of a Scorsese or Tarantino film.

There are times when God Forgives is as engrossing and surprising as rap can be. Over beats that alternate between sparkling, decadent string arrangements and assaultive, synthesized blare, Ross pretzels hip-hop's familiar rags-to-riches arc into a Möbius strip, slaloming around an autobiographical timeline that may or may not be his own. One moment he's enjoying "20-stack seats at the Heat game"; the next he's counting small-timer "brown-bag money." Here he's in a Maybach; a few bars down he's in a rental car. An Audemars Piguet on "Amsterdam" morphs into an empty fridge on the next song. Soon he's shouting, "fukk all these broke nikkas!" The result is a thrilling whiplash effect. Ross never feasts here for long without fretting about famine.

There are human-size details throughout: His wish to see "each one of my kids born," on "Amsterdam"; his mom's minimum-wage salary, on "Ashamed." Ross' favorite scale, though, is still Big & Tall – he remains rap's reigning maximalist. On "Maybach Music IV," where J.U.S.T.I.C.E. League set louche electric guitars atop hotel-spa synths, he raps, "Get a blowjob, have a seizure on the Lear" – a reference to two seizures he had in 2011. (One was on a Delta flight, which doesn't have quite the same ring.)

Ross is a restless eccentric masquerading as a no-frills traditionalist, and his best boasts go overboard to the point of incoherence. Over blissful chants on the Pharrell-produced "Presidential," he brags about "walking on Jewish marble." (Balling at a synagogue?) On "911," mashing together materialism and fatalism, he fantasizes about driving his Porsche to heaven.

There are flaws. Finer versions of most of these beats exist on Ross' 2010 triumph, Teflon Don: The Skinemax-sax on "Sixteen," to wit, is a faint echo of past sumptuousness. The gassy, cliché-stuffed "Diced Pineapples" may be the worst song Ross has ever made. But Ross has grown into a near-virtuoso rhymer: splashing in alliterative eddies, capable of crisp enunciation and consonant-melting barks. His luminary guests include Jay-Z and Andre 3000, who, like Ross, play fast and loose with fact: "Used to shop in T.J. Maxx back in '83," Jay notes, adding, "I don't even know if it was open then." Andre rhymes, "Summer '88. Or was it '89? Or was it wintertime?" "It's just another story at the campfire," Ross raps elsewhere, and that's his specialty: unburdening rap from the tyranny of realness, one tall tale at a time.

4/5

God Forgives, I Don't | Album Reviews | Rolling Stone

 

[The_King_of_Everything]

I think we heard this album before.

This fat fukk has nothing to talk about except his imaginary drug trafficking and his weird infatuation with red bottoms.



Score: -1/10

Via: Christopher Browns




















P.S. Crab meatz