Vince Staples is hardly the ingratiating type. “Don’t shake my hands unless you passing payment,” instructs the redoubtable young’un on “C.M.B.,” a paean to ruthlessly mercenary, Randian capitalism. “Keep your salutation / I need my 40 acres.” This ice-grilling Left Coaster is more Mack 10 than Myka 9, a verbal marksman who refuses to placate admonishers
or admirers.
He’s one of the most depraved minds in his discipline (Cali stick-up kid rap), and new album Summertime ’06 bears that out. You’re not about to catch Staples choking back tears in a Grammy acceptance speech. The 21-year-old is most in his element choking on Long Beach’s loudest
erb as he
serves curbs, to borrow
a phrase of WC’s, and tags idle cargo vessels.