It took being on the road promoting his 2002 album, 10, for LL Cool J to realize that he wanted to make music that was, according to him, fun. Granted, 10 has plenty of sonic fun, primarily thanks to The Neptunes. But LL must have felt that he could be a lot more intentional with that aspect; he needed that undeniable thumping, party-starting music. And at that moment, no one could do that better than Timbaland.
Known for his distinctively irregular rhythmic style, Timbaland first gained fame producing most of the hits and album tracks for artists such as Aaliyah, Ginuwine, and Missy Elliott in the mid- to late-‘90s. But he truly came into his own in the early 2000s, forming the vanguard of hip hop and R&B production that included The Neptunes.
So, Timbaland was not the one to be worried about going into LL Cool J’s tenth studio album, The DEFinition, which was released on August 31st, 2004. LL was clearly past his prime when he hooked up with Timbo, as evidenced by virtually every album post-Mr. Smith. Uncle L needed some youth serum, and Timbaland was on board to provide it.
They call me Big L-llay
Big Sill-ay
Big Mon-ay
Big Bill-ay
Yeah, that’s a LL Cool J lyric. The man who once rocked the bells, wore a hat shaped like a shark’s fin, and obeyed his grandmother by knocking you out. But there it is, the very first words uttered in The DEFinition. Almost immediately, Timbaland’s trademark syncopated boom-bap, married to thin slabs of slap bass, hits the ear with the force of a battering ram. It’s so powerful and addictive that it successfully camouflages LL’s pedestrian lyric construction while amplifying its club-oriented content. Granted, “Luv U Better,” “Paradise,” and “All I Have” are fine Top 40 hits, just like “Headsprung.” What “Headsprung,” however, had over those other three singles was cultural impact. The Neptunes and Timbaland may share the same Virginian roots, but it’s the latter that truly merges that down South thwomp with LL’s New York swag.
Indeed, one might as well proclaim Timbaland (who produced seven out the album’s eleven tracks), N.O. Joe (he of Geto Boys fame), and 7 Aurelius as the true stars of The DEFinition. Although Timbaland’s work begins to feel rather standard in some parts, such as “Rub My Back” and “Apple Cobbler,” at least he keeps things interesting overall, including deviating from his style every now and then, just like the tranquil, breezy feel of “Can’t Explain It.” “Apple Cobbler” is a cute metaphor for a woman’s behind, which brings back memories of the Apple Bottom jeans brand that Nelly founded a year before The DEFinition was released. And “Feel the Beat,” thanks to the interpolation of Spoonie Gee’s “Love Rap” and a spliced drum sample from the Lafayette Afro Rock Band’s “Hihache,” has a nice sparse throwback feel for LL to deservedly flaunt his credentials. N.O. Joe challenges Timbo for the album’s booty-shaker title with the jungle-esque drums and an assortment of electronic bleeps in “Move Somethin’”, and he provides that Houston flavor in “Shake It Baby.” And 7 Aurelius throws in a mix of light guitar plucks and keyboard notes to LL’s romantic words in “Hush.”
But LL Cool J is merely a shadow of his former dominating self. Strip the “Headsprung” instrumental away, and you have some of the most vapid and incoherent bars in LL’s career.
Lord have mercy
If the broad is thirsty
I'll have her man reimburse me
And it doesn’t get any better with tracks like the R. Kelly-featuring “I’m About to Get Her”, where he boasts that he’s “been platinum so long, [his] skin’s turning grey,” and Teddy Riley thinks it clever to recycle Kells’ Spanish guitar-laced “Fiesta” beat.
Regarding the romantic numbers, “Hush,” which celebrates unconditional romantic love, is the only one that manages to be even half-way interesting. “Every Sip,” which is a Miami fantasy with a Brazilian blond; and “Can’t Explain It,” which traces its bloodline to songs such as “Doin’ It” and “Pink Cookies…,” are okay but unremarkable. And all three are third-tier entries at best in LL’s romantic canon.
And as for being the “hard-as-hell” brother that he was in the ‘80s, forget it, LL’s done. At this point in his life and career, it would be unrealistic to expect that from him. Unfortunately, his mellowing is accompanied by the further atrophy of his lyrical muscles, which is painfully evident in the last track, the brag rap-oriented “1 in the Morning,” in which he unfortunately comes off as Muhammed Ali about to face Larry Holmes.
The realest brother, you Nicole Kidman: one of The Others
Watch your mouth, go earn your little salary
I'm a classic like Nike Airs and Wallabees
You could catch it like the flu, homie, follow me
So, once again, LL Cool J relies on avant-garde producers to extend his career’s lifeline, and who wouldn’t? Now solidly in decade number 3, at a career point where his peers and some of his juniors have either hit the retirement home or been relegated to nostalgia tours, he at least delivered yet another borderline passable Gold-certified album, with two Top 40 hits. But when he says in “Feel the Beat,” that there’s “[n]o reason for ghostwriters / Every year [he gets] tighter!,” all that any reasonable listener can do is scoff at that line and wish that he keeps it at just being the cool uncle in the club.
