G.O.A.T. Featuring James T. Smith: The Greatest of All Time (2000)

LL Cool J might have been an institution as the 1990s came to an end. But as his hardcore image began to recede in time, and he continued to advance in age in a genre obsessed with youth, his loverman persona and his penchant for rapping over pop-oriented beats made him a target—again. Otherwise, it’s doubtful that Canibus would have assailed LL with the vicious diss song that was “Second Round K.O.” And to make matters worse, Canibus responded to this lyric:

LL Cool J, n****, the greatest of all time

…with this retort:

The greatest rapper of all time died on March 9th!

This was in March 1998. By then, the Notorious B.I.G., the rapper that Canibus references, had been dead for a year. His chief rival and West Coast counterpart, 2Pac, had been dead for six months longer. Both men were already being mythologized even beyond their actual talent and output as the greatest to ever do it. And in their permanent absence, fans thrust Jay-Z and Nas in their stead as the foremost rappers of the moment.

Jay-Z, in particular, was now associated with LL’s record label, which was by now at the peak of its powers; he’d struck a 50/50 partnership and distribution deal the year before as the co-founder of Roc-A-Fella Records. As respected as LL Cool J was, hardly anyone was placing him in the league of those guys.

So, LL must have felt that he needed to prove two things: that 1.) he will regain that edge that characterized the raps of his youth; and 2.) he is the G.O.A.T., the Greatest of All Time. LL came up with that acronym due to being inspired by streetball legend, Earl “the Goat” Manigault, as well as a certain boxing legend:

MUHAMMED ALI.

However, just like Muhammed Ali beating George Foreman, it was going to be a tall order for LL Cool J to convince anyone why he should be considered the G.O.A.T.

By 1999, LL Cool J was a bigger star than he’d ever been before. His latest album, 1997’s Phenomenon, was now certified Platinum. His memoir, I Make My Own Rules, was a New York Times bestseller. And he was now nailing those beefier Hollywood roles he desired. But musically, there was the general perception that he’d lost a step or two due to his success and extracurricular activities.

A recalibration was needed. LL revisited the very basement where his grandmother had said the same words that inspired Mama Said Knock You Out. And he visited inmates at Rikers Island. Those actions were meant to give LL more grit, return him to the days when he rocked the bells. Of course, that wasn’t going to happen, but the re-orientation wasn’t a complete washout. Fans got excited when they heard a rejuvenated LL over DJ Scratch’s soulful bed in “Ill Bomb”, which was one of the tracks on The Tunnel, a collaborative album involving Funkmaster Flex and DJ Big Kap, in December 1999. When LL’s eighth album, G.O.A.T. Featuring James T. Smith: The Greatest of All Time, finally dropped on September 12th, 2000, the “Intro” almost immediately hits the listener with LL ravaging the mic at a lightning pace over the ‘70s-styled strings and horns as he makes his case for the “G.O.A.T.” title, or rather, why he owns it:

Why named the Greatest Of All Times?
Because for fifteen years, I kept y'all standing in line!

Of course, he prefaces this with a slipped-in line or two for you-know-who:

Ain’t a rapper dead or alive f*****' with me
Ask the last b!tch that tried to come and get me!

…while rapping over the same Mad Lads sample that you-know-who flowed over in a DJ Clue mixtape.

But here’s the general problem with the boisterously-titled G.O.A.T.— it belies LL’s legend, and it fails to make a compelling argument as a result. It’s more likely that if LL had given this album title to, say, Mama Said Knock You Out, not many people would have dared to bat an eye. But…this?

Let’s start with the obvious: LL tries too hard to be…well, hard. That brings to mind the 14 Shots to the Dome days. But at least back then, he wasn’t visiting Rikers. “U Can’t Fuck With Me”—featuring Snoop Dogg, Jayo Felony and Xzibit—is amusingly riddled with so many rap cliches. And LL immaturely goes off at Jamie Foxx, undoubtedly provoked by the brawl they had on the set of the 1999 movie Any Given Sunday.

Once and for all, what's my opinion on Jamie Foxx?
He p****, plus he ain't funny as Chris Rock!

Speaking of immaturity, more of it can be found in “Back Where I Belong,” where LL makes himself look bad when he claims that he sabotaged Canibus’ career by conspiring with Wyclef Jean, the executive producer of Canibus’ debut album. And speaking of Canibus, his absence is felt in “Fuhgidabowdit,” in which there’s a “4,3,2,1” reunion—and where LL drops embarrassing lines like “You say I’m souped up, well, soup is good food.”

In “Farmers,” he turns the street he grew up on into a corny acronym. And in the Mobb Deep-featured “Queens Is,” LL drops so many disoriented and impotent lines…

I blow through your clique like Hurricane Floyd
Keep rappers paranoid, kept your bodies in the game
[…]
Sh!t get tricky like Siegfried and Roy!

…it is quite unbelievable that this was the same guy who once had a hat like a shark’s fin.

LL Cool J does sound more convincing when the production manages to be interesting enough to alleviate his burden, like Adam F’s union of vibrant synths and a pulsating drum beat in the “The G.O.A.T.” As the last track before the bonuses of “Ill Bomb” and “M.I.S.S. I” kick in, this should have been the grand finale. Instead, “The G.O.A.T,” like the previously mentioned tracks, expose LL as a shadow of his battling self, his constant cursing, his occasional tendency to flow off-beat with crammed lines, and his rudimentary boasts hardly ever sounding the least bit convincing.

So, with most of the brag raps being underwhelming, does the ballad staple fare any better? Meh. LeShaun shows up for a third time in “Imagine That.” But now she’s restricted to singing in the choral background. And by this time, LL has gone from the beauty of sexual implicitness of “Doin’ It” to the ugliness of sexual crassness.

I come up to your job and handcuff your boss
Throw that n**** in the closet and turn the lights off
Then sit you up on the copy machine
Make copies of your kitten with my chin in between
[…]
Then we can take it to the ladies’ bathroom
Make your mascara run 'til you look like a raccoon
Touch yourself, baby, tell me it's wet
Squeeze tight so I'll never forget

“Doin’ It,” this isn’t. And by now, the glory days of pure innocence of “I Need Love,” the clever mischief of “I’m That Type of Guy,” “Big Ole Butt,” and “Hey Lover,” the cryptic pride of “Around the Way Girl” and the enthralling suggestiveness of “Back Seat” and even “Pink Cookies…” are long gone. Instead, G.O.A.T. is stuffed with second-tier romance material like the generic flossing of “Take It Off”; the drone of the Carl Thomas-featured “This Is Us”; and the Casio-keyboard sounding “Hello,” where LL is joined by the helium-voiced Amil.

Hello, hello...

Granted, there are some good songs in G.O.A.T. For instance, Kelly Price is enlisted for the hook of the nice ’80s disco vibe of DJ Scratch’s “You and Me,” and LL spits semi-interesting lines about being a woman’s knight in shining armor. “Can’t Think” is a sinister piano- and string-driven beat from Ty Fyffe that pumps more life in LL’s hybrid of boisterous and conscious lines. And “Homicide” manages to be considerably convincing, with LL going autobiographical to point, a year after the massacre at Columbine High School, at the inequity of paid attention between shootings in inner cities and those in well-to-do areas.  “I don’t mean this in a disrespectful way/But Columbine happens in the ghetto every day.”

Between the liner notes and some of the songs, it’s apparent that LL Cool J had enough fuel to get going. He even took time to thank Canibus. Unfortunately, that didn’t stop the engine from knocking and sputtering. Based on the album’s premise, a handful of good and average songs doesn’t cut it. Because if LL Cool J has the pure temerity to name his album The Greatest of All Time, the album better reflect that. It better not be just good; it better be bangin’. Unfortunately, G.O.A.T. is basically LL sounding like the average mainstream rapper circa 2000: dissing, cursing, screwing, flossing, boasting, the whole nine—with a few nuggets of introspection thrown in there to show that he has a soul.

But look on the bright side: At least this is the album that introduced the term “G.O.A.T.” into the American lexicon.

And it was his first #1.