As far as personalities, Ghostface Killah has to be one of the most interesting emcees in hip-hop. With a menacing moniker ripped from "Ninja Checkmate"'s (1979) lethal villain and an often brutally punishing flow, it would seem easy to pigeonhole the Ironman as a rough-and-tumble rapper, a gritty, salty vet that you wouldn't want to piss off.
At the same time, though, and perhaps unintentionally, he is one of the funniest rappers around. His voice, basically a high-register bray, is so goofy that it undermines his tough-guy handle, and his dress, including his ridiculous hand-dyed Wallaby sneakers, is more Borat than Tony Soprano. As if this hardcore goofball dichotomy wasn't complex enough, GFK happens to be one of the most unique and eloquent wordsmiths to ever lift a microphone. Not only do you want to avoid him in alleys, and not only does he appear on cover art wreathed in dead fish, but he is also a virtuosic artist the likes of which hip-hop has yet to reproduce.
For over 10 years, GFK has been perfecting his trifurcated persona, and on "More Fish," his sixth solo release, it starts to feel a little bit stale. It could be the lack of exciting guest spots, the underwhelming production, or the fact that he already released one of the year's hip-hop records with March's "Fishscale." Of course it could be that his singular personality is actually getting boring, but ultimately, "More Fish" doesn't hit the spot.
Every GFK album has at least two tracks that shine as singularly incredible one-man performances. While Ghost never mails it in on "More Fish," nothing stands out as an objectively great display of microphone skills. Sure there are some technically wowing rhymes (from "Street Opera," "In my PO/ She had Creole/ I move from Philly to Dallas with true talent/Like my name's T.O."), but there's no "Shakey Dog" from "Fishscale" or "Beat the Clock" from 2004's "The Pretty Toney Album." On "Fish," nowhere does Ghost cross into wack MC territory, but nowhere does he display the kind of sustained vocal heroism that has rightly earned him status as an icon.
Though sequel albums like this one probably weren't intended to draw new listeners, a couple tracks do offer some well produced beats with pop sensibility. Opening gambit "Ghost is Back" introduces the album with an old school beat and a fast driving bass line over turntable scratches that draw some attention away from his underwhelming lyrics. After the song ends, he introduces his first guest artist, his 17-year-old son, for the track "Miguel Sanchez."
The lyrics here are a run-of-the-mill mix of a street drama and, as Ghost Jr. puts it, "some James Bond sh-t." The background on the song has some of the best pop sensibility in Killah's career, the clever incorporation of the one brass note somehow perfecting this brilliantly simple beat. Considering that Ghostface is better known for his storytelling and stream-of-consciousness ranting, it is interesting to think that this track works just as well on the dance floor as in the headphones.
There are times on the album where it simply seems like GFK has run out of inspiration, underscoring the fact that the album is considered "leftovers" from, rather than a sequel to, "Fishscale." In "Pokerface," for example, he continues on the "James Bond sh-t," mirroring the new movie's indulgence into the poker world. After a boring intro, quotes from the film "Rounders" (1998) dominate the lyrics, leaving the track so corny that listeners are prone to skip over it like the other interludes. But it isn't an interlude-- it's almost three minutes long.
It's pretty easy to distinguish the killah tracks from the fillah tracks, and the chef is offering up plenty of both. Ghostface Killah serves up "More Fish," but the only viable response is "Yes, Mr. Killah, sir we love your fish, but we're pretty full, and take it easy on those side dishes."
