Too Short "No Love From Oakland"

After giving Too Short’s new record Blow the Whistle a few listens, I came to the realization that, no matter how many Rick Ross cameos he boasts, he’s just never going to approach the quality level of his ‘88-’93 prime. That’s been blatantly obvious since Cocktails actually, but it doesn’t make it any less disappointing when he releases yet another album of soulless, trend-following porn-rap. On the other hand, “No Love From Oakland” (mp3), from 1992’s Shorty the Pimp, is one of the clear highpoints of Short’s career, an eight minute cautionary tale of the dreary, existential quandary of life in Oakland. Producer/collaborator Ant Banks provides his trademark late-period Parliament funk on the track, but it starts off by channeling a horror soundtrack, the shrill pizzicato synth strings suggesting the unholy alliance of George Clinton and Bernard Hermann before changing into a slickly minimal, highly repetitious vamp, not unlike Parliament’s “Night of the Thumpasaurus Peoples.” Short’s not a virtuosic rhymer by any measure—he made his reputation on uncensored subject matter—and here, he merely doubles Banks’ backdrop by rapping right on top of the beat, never varying his cadence or inflection even slightly. But it’s perfectly suited for his subject matter—the cyclical, boxed-in nature of life as an undereducated black kid living in lower-class Oakland. It’s the same sort of lifestyle that countless rappers have glamourized, but for Short it’s a double-edged sword. Sure, it leads to a drop SL and an endless supply of sticky weed, but there’s also the omnipresent dread associated with the possibility of life suddenly ending with a gunshot or a flashing blue light. He starts with the lament: “Now it’s a shame I can’t be saved by John the Pope. I got to be a pimp or sellin’ dope,” introducing what will turn into a stream-of-consciousness performance that threatens descent into wretchedness if it weren’t for Short’s incessant (and depressing) pragmatism. There’s nothing he can do to change his life, so he just lives it. The no-frills approach to autobiography is refreshing, especially in the middle of the “golden age” of West Coast gangsta rap. Like a true addict, Short follows every moment of self-congratulation with one of regret: “Money won’t talk, but it looks right back/ Everytime I dip into my stack/I’m buyin cars, jewelries, and mobile phones/Things I couldn’t get with a high school diploma/It’s alright, cause I just help myself/You should know, cause I can’t do nothin else.” Sure, these sorts of tales have been told in rap songs hundreds of times—but never quite in this fashion. Too Short doesn’t rap well on this song, because he’s being too honest; instead of performing, he’s confessing.

Buy Shorty the Pimp here.