When listeners hear Clipse, they can't help but smile. Maybe it's the endless cocaine punch lines that make their teeth numb. Or maybe they find it funny that other rappers are even making music when these guys are just so much more compelling. Either way, Hell Hath No Fury is the best hip-hop album of the year.
Here's the back story: Clipse went platinum with their debut Lord Willin' thanks to their Neptunes affiliation and surprise smash single ""Grindin."" Caught in label limbo for two years, their much-hyped sophomore album was repeatedly pushed back. Eager to feed their fans what they so desperately craved, the brothers from Virginia Beach, Malice and Pusha T, joined up with two underground Philly rappers—Ab-Liva and Sandman— to form the Re-Up Gang, and released the awe-inspiring and now-legendary We Got It 4 Cheap mixtape series.
As the mixtapes kicked up the anticipation level to unbearable heights, Fury sat in some executive's office at Jive for almost three years. The first single, ""Mr. Me Too,"" dropped over the summer to whet appetites. It's a slow-burning scorcher; a toxic aspersion from Pusha, Malice and Pharrell that is directed at pretty much everyone. Foreshadowing Fury with that Neptunes virus, it looked like the album would actually see the light of day by the end of the year. And here it is.
Whenever the Neptunes oversee a full album, the production is sure to be a major talking point. Granted, their sound has changed over the years, and some N.E.R.D. fans may be put off by the minimalism of Fury, but Pharrell and Chad laced the album with some of the weirdest, most singular sounds you'll hear in 2006.
The beats are like golden age hip-hop reinterpreted in the year 2046, except using only antique instruments. Harps, accordions, organs, synths, pianos and steel drums are sparingly splashed over trademark intricate drum patterns, creating eerie conversations between no more than two or three elements on each track. The result is an awkward masterpiece.
The unsettling beats lend themselves perfectly to the outlandish worldClipse create for themselves. Hell Hath No Fury is a nihilistic fantasy where cocaine deals are mythically heroic and clothes, cars and women are the ultimate end game. Remorse, compassion and salvation don't exist—just two brothers and their conviction.
""All I want to do is ride around shinin' while I can afford it,"" chants Pusha on a spine-tingling chorus. He's audacious and brazen but also stylish, clever and charismatic, strutting over everything sacred throughout the whole album.
He throws metaphors around like it's nothing. ""The Black Martha Stewart, let me show you how to do it / Break down pies to pieces, make cocaine quiches / Money piles high as my nieces.""
On ""Momma I'm So Sorry,"" they regret nothing and fear no one, declaring, ""my only accomplice is my conscience."" Malice is the anchor, a withdrawn older brother whose manifestos are concerned more with honor and respect. On the album-closing ballad ""Nightmares,"" he's humble and realistic, yet unflinching. Over understated organs and a soulful guest appearance from singer Bilal, the track seems like the pair's first concession. That is, until Pusha bursts in with a kid-in-a-candy-store verse. He can't even act modest on a song about paranoia. But really, what's to be paranoid about when you sound this good?
