For another, his rhymes-both structurally and in terms of subject-matter-are way too simplistic. For one thing, he lacks the pipes to be considered among the truly great MCs (Chuck D, Guru, Ice Cube, Method Man). But in the devalued hip-hop universe of the late 1990s-where political activism is irrelevant, and entrepreneurial mediocrities like Puff Daddy and Master P hold sway-it's tempting to hail him as a conquering hero. In an earlier age, when the likes of Public Enemy and Gang Starr ruled the roost, Jay-Z would have garnered the same kind of serious attention and respect as, say, the Fresh Prince. Intro/A Million and One Questions/Rhyme No More That song, and the entire album, foreshadows Jay-Z's subsequent ascension to kingpin status. "Brooklyn's Finest," his mic-passing session with his friend Notorious B.I.G., takes on a torch-passing significance in the wake of Biggie's death. The beats on Reasonable Doubt, provided by the likes of DJ Premier & Ski, are as irresistibly slick as his persona. Armed with clever phrasing and sly deadpan wit, Jay-Z navigates indulgent romps ("Can't Knock the Hustle"), thought-provoking introspection ("Regrets"), and devastating street-corner soliloquies ("Friend or Foe") with savvy composure. It's invested with an uncommon complexity and candor that has noticeably faded in his later material. Jay-Z's classic debut is a compelling reflection on his life as a hustler.
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