Pure ass shakin' goodness, Budden has that commanding rap voice that flits in and out of 50 Cent-styled laid back aloofness and keeps riding the beat like an imported leather driving glove fits the nimble fingers of a street racer. After the laidback density of Shawnna and Kardinal O, Def Jam's new MC on the corner Joe Budden brings it all back to the hands-in-the-air party vibe. "Block Reincarnated" shifts the groove slightly to a darker, more bass driven, down tempo slink that had Kardinal Offishall doing a mock dancehall verbal volley that provides a cool contrast to Shawnna's commanding persona. Additionally there's a silky R&B chorus that offsets the shadowy vibe of the track "Gettin' It" by Chingy unveils more of that pulsing synth chug that has adorned the previous songs. 8 Ball's "Hands In The Air" once again returns to the dark, ominous production that the bulk of the tracks on the album seem to favor synthesized bass lines, plinking horror film soundtrack piano snippets, faux strings. The track is simply infectious and will have you herkin' and jerkin' with the quickness. The film's star, Tyrese, flexes a nice rap that sounds like a younger, leaner LL flexing with a pimp drawl, while Kelly delivers a slick and savory R&B intro. While the first three tracks do an ample job of getting you worked up into a sweaty frenzy, it's the fourth track that literally grabs the ears and rattles the brain with this bugged futuro Egyptian keyboard riff produced and arranged by lady-killer R. It's got that bounce bump, you know the deep South roll out that sounds like some vintage Miami Bass given the 2003 retrofit that plays out like a strobe light converted into aural energy. The Southern feel keeps rolling, albeit pickin' up a few BPMs, on "Slum," which is delivered in lightening quickness from 1-20 featuring Shawna and Tity Boi. But despite the beat similarity, the track is still bumpin' and will definitely elicit hip swayin' and fist wavin' from party minded people. Trick Daddy flips in with "Represent," which although produced by somebody entirely different than Luda's track, sounds suspiciously similar: thunder beats and a rolling synth churgle that keeps it dark and tight.
Luda does a sweet job of relating the whole act of being a fool to both street thugs and suburban geeks alike, all the while rumbling over a dark, thunderous beat of minimalized primality. I found the song to be rousingly infectious, especially since I'm always acting like a fool and anybody who knows me would attest to this without hesitation. The album kicks off with the Ludacris jammy "Act A Fool," which will no doubt supply the rallying call for the summer.
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