The sinewy “Kiss Me Thru the Phone” details a particular sort of long-distance relationship (the sort that involves camera phones), and “Shoppin’ Spree” rejects the very idea of recession: “Bought a Lamborghini/Didn’t need a co-signer.”Īdulthood looms, though. Soulja Boy is still a pedestrian lyricist, but to be fair, his concepts generally require little exposition. “Turn My Swag On” is little more than a series of hooks lashed together, held tight by apocalyptic synths and an indestructible self-regard: “I got a question, why they hating on me?/Ain’t did nothing to ’em but count this money.” Compared with much hip-hop, or anything else for that matter, it’s mayhem. Demento, Mele Mel and Lil Jon in which he adopts at least four different voices.
The album’s highlight is “Hey You There,” a spectacular, bizarre, vaudevillian mashup of Dr. He creates thickness from practically nothing skeletal drum patterns, undistinguished arrangements, a couple of catchy phrases looped and layered back on themselves until there’s almost no room to breathe. Soulja Boy’s own productions, which take up half the album, are gurgling and dizzying. The follow-up, “iSouljaBoyTellem,” is sometimes dazzling, sometimes numbing, but no less fascinating. His debut album, “,” was puerile and intoxicating. Parodist? Ingrate? Genius?Ī little of each, maybe. In one of many preposterous videos posted to his YouTube channel, Soulja Boy blows his nose with what appears to be a $100 bill, then drops it, crumpled, into a Gucci-print wastebasket. “Crank That (Soulja Boy),” the song that launched thousands of YouTube dance videos, made him impossible to avoid and also, he would like you to know, impossibly rich. Hip-hop’s leading trickster figure, Soulja Boy, 18, has spent most of the last year and a half titillating teenagers and infuriating purists with minimalist party rap and a gleeful disregard for things as they are usually done.
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