Home / Observations / Ralo & Gucci Mane: Ralo LaFlare

Ralo & Gucci Mane: Ralo LaFlare

Gucci Mane has become one of my guilty pleasures when it comes to Rap. All it takes is a little liquor in my system and some Gucci playing in the background and I’m bouncing around the damn house like some sort of trap chicken selling drugs in his head.

Therefore, it goes without saying that I was really looking forward to giving this album some listens and writing a review on it in hopes of giving it as many mics as I could. But unfortunately, my ears wouldn’t let me give out very many.

Here comes the sad face.

Despite the inevitable butchering you are about to read in just a few short moments, there is a little to like about this musical venture. And that is the lyricism.

It’s a healthy reminder that underneath the layers of mediocrity in the beats and engineering and flat out sub-parity, talent does exist, but was not, for whatever reason, properly vetted for this musical project. While I’m sure the average person is going to be able to look past some of the audible flaws in this work, I simply couldn’t let some of these things slide.

For example, there was the annoying ass voice of Ralo.

It’s been a long-ass time since I’ve been annoyed by an album, but I couldn’t wait for this one to finally come to an end. It was like he was trying too damn hard to have a raspy, wheezy trap voice to rap with. The vocals sounded completely unnatural. I almost bled out from the ears five tracks into listening.

Then there’s the fact that every damn song sounded the exact fucking same. And while I get that this is more or less a conceptual work that is more than likely intended for you to ride to or dance in the club to, it still doesn’t make sense that a song dedicated to his mother also sounds like a song about flippin’ kilos and fuckin’ hoes. It just felt so out of place and wack.

Neverthess, finally, there’s the simple ass, boring, basic, Casio-type beats that any ol’ fool with a version of Fruity Loops could make. I swear to gawd if I hear one more cheap ass orchestra hit or strings sample, I’m going to jump off a building and pray Ralo doesn’t exist in the after-life.

Now, I’m probably being slightly more harsh than what’s fair, but this album simply wasn’t for me. There were two many negatives for it to add up to a positive. And for that reason, I gotta give it 3 mics.



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About Halsted Jones

I’m a #Writer not a fighter ■ Joyously kicking down pillow forts on my quest to do the write thing.

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