Clipse

Hip-hop is a genre that often provokes hand wringing about morality; in the case of Clipse, most of these discussions have reached the (seemingly false) conclusion that Pusha T and Malice don't have any. The only thing more annoying than the prudish condemnation of Clipse's drug-slinging celebrations is the deification of the same material for its "darkness" or "rawness." Hell Hath No Fury doesn't really seem to have a moral ax to grind; it's more interested in finding the quickest path to the loot. Listeners looking for a real paradigm shift in the way they view the drug trade should put down their headphones and rent The Wire.

Hell Hath No Fury, as evidenced by its success in the clubs and on the charts and year-end lists, isn't dark or complicated enough to be unpalatable to the mainstream. But Clipse undoubtedly bring out the nasty streak in The Neptunes, who manned the boards for the entirety of the album. There are a number of giant singles, and the only one that fails to clear the bar is the overcrowded "Trill," with a halting, somewhat robotic chorus ("I'm... trill") that doesn't take off. But The Neptunes bring their A-game for Hell Hath No Fury, which is helped immeasurably by settling with a single production team that shapes the flow of the album from beginning to end, as opposed to having hired guns force-feed one single into the next. Pusha T and Malice have bite behind their bark, and The Neptunes supplement them with tracks that are brash, confrontational, and memorable.

One of the best is "Mr. Me Too," which gives the duo a chance to show off their cutting sense of humor ("Everything I say, I got you sayin' 'Me, too.'"), and also address the music biz drama that made this album one of the more-delayed and most-anticipated of the year. All of it is set on a pretty minimal backdrop of "uh-huh, uh-huh" female vocals and a trunk-rattling bass drop.

Clipse make a few more revolutionary departures from current hip-hop. First, they share the spotlight with guest stars who are given the chance to shine, like Slim Thug's casually menacing chorus on "Wamp Wamp (What It Do)" -- but they never retreat to the shadows and make the album feel like the Various Artists show. Second, they cut and run on the lame, obligatory skit.

The braggadocio ends in "Nightmares," where Bilal takes the mic for a confessional ballad about "running from guilt." It wouldn't exactly make Nancy Reagan proud-- "Just Say No" is a hopelessly naïve sentiment in the world of Hell Hath No Fury -- but it does present an otherwise unseen side of the coin, when the days of living large give way to nights of feeling small. - Adam McKibbin, The Red Alert

It took Clipse over four years to get their second proper album on the shelves. As they were eager to discuss, the lag wasn't their fault. Well documented in print and on the Web, the oil spills and trap doors placed in front of the Thornton brothers were numerous. However, they weren't completely handcuffed. They released a pair of popular mixtapes that only intensified the anticipation for the official follow-up to Lord Willin'. (A talk with Bill Withers might give them an idea of how the music industry can truly paralyze an artist.) If any of the trip-ups played a role in the end result, they could be considered blessings in disguise. Hell Hath No Fury is a lean, furious, cold-blooded album that is vividly to-the-point. As with Lord Willin', all the production work is credited to the Neptunes, though Chad Hugo's name appears nowhere in the credits. A couple exceptions aside, these are some of the sparsest, most off-kilter Neptunes beats. They prod, hiss, dart, and thump -- ideal backdrops to Pusha T's and Malice's blunt-force, if occasionally knotty, rhymes. "Ride Around Shining" is baroque boom-bap, nothing more than a neck-snapping beat, Richard Pryor-sounding grunts, and cascading harp filigrees. "Trill" grinds and slides under a swarm of hungry cyborg mosquitoes. "Mr. Me Too" is nearly as minimal, a slinking bump. Lyrically, coke dealing dominates the subject matter more on this set than on the debut. Clipse survey their operation and reap its rewards, from easy-to-understand quips like "Pyrex stirrers turned into Cavalli furs" to the relatively mind-bending "If you're looking for a couple roosters in the duffle, keep the 'hood screaming 'Cock-a-doodle-doo,' motherf*ckers." Apart from specific elements of the "Mind Playing Tricks on Me"-quoting "Nightmares," as well as a couple other brief instances, the rhymes are guardedly self-congratulatory, like the MCs are wiping the gains in the haters' faces, albeit with the nagging sense that it could all blow up in an instant. The whole thing, including the club-oriented tracks, is magnetically grim. ~ Andy Kellman, All Music Guide