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"Gucci mane a brilliant lyricist....uh, yeah, ok This guy is a walking minstrel show. I wonder what white major label he's signed to?" — "Shabazz," We Are Respectable Negroes
A few years ago, Gucci Mane was all the rage — and not just on Fulton County's arrest warrant list. Rap critics were up in arms in a debate over the East Atlanta trap rapper's skills on the mic. Bloggers split into two extreme camps — those who thought Gucci Mane was a lyrical savant versus those who thought he was a plain idiot. The protracted war even broke down along color lines, with white writer (Brandon Soderberg) arguing that most white critics were too culturally removed to properly judge Gucci's merit. Black blogger Gordon Gartrelle responded with a mock dissertation-styled critique of his own, satirizing Soderberg's pseudo-intellectual tone to argue that Gucci's sexually explicit come-ons were really "a nod to radical lesbian feminist awakening." The whole thing underscored just how divided a reaction Gucci Mane provokes. Is he a caricature who traffics in, and conjures up, some of the South's oldest racial stereotypes; a street thug whose lawlessness is subsidized by a conspiratorial music industry; or a product of the hood using his gift of gab to pull himself up by any means necessary? However you choose to interpret him probably says a lot more about you than it does Gucci Mane. — Rodney Carmichael
Whether you're among his shrillest detractors or most hawkish supporters — and both camps are packed to capacity — you gotta grant him this: The dude has style. With the ace comedic timing of Cam'ron and a cadence stickier than that bubblegum kush he's always raving about, Gucci can make even the most ham-handed abuse of language sing like a fucking canary. 2009's Writings on the Wall, still his definitive mixtape by many estimates, put on a clinic in showboating finesse: "This Gucci Mane da sosa/And my albino testarossa/'bout the color of the ocean." Unlike stylistic progeny Lil B, whose career has played out like one long audition for some traveling vaudeville trope, Gucci never puts on airs; he's genuine enough that you don't blink when he talks up his "fat hoes in Chicago" or likens his watch to a sliced tomato. At 32, repeat jail stints and the endless glare of blogosphere hype have clearly done him in, but new mixtape I'm Up reveals a man unshorn of his slack-jawed, sleepy-eyed charm. — M.T. Richards
ooooohhhh, I'm so excited!! I can't wait to see them together!
come on man you know you got a bromance. you probably still rock that OutKast…
Yes, 14 is the correct answer. I'll pass your info along to the group's manager,…