![]() They’re either so long winded and clumsy you don’t even realize its supposed to be the hook until it shows up the second time (“Last Words”) or hilariously inept (“Shoot em up, just shoot em up, what!? Kill kill kill, murder murder murder”) It doesn’t help that every beat on the album sounds like a preset loop on a Casio keyboard. ![]() If Nastradamus serves any purpose, it should serve as a handbook on how to not make a chorus. Then when the song crumples to the ground gasping for air, the hooks stomp its crotch over and over, puts its cigarette out in its eye, then spits on it. The hooks on Nastradamus punch every song straight in the stomach. They didn’t feel like label mandated attempts to placate the radio, actual time and effort were put into a few simple phrases (“Yo, its halftime” “One love, one love”) that managed to keep heads nodding and be catchy. They grew organically out of the beat, working with the song instead of against of it. ![]() The most overlooked aspect of Illmatic is also one of its most important. Review Summary: “I would talk about killin’ more, but that was the 16th bar and we gotta go to the chorus now.
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