The story goes, 38-year-old Michael Jordan looked like the old Mike during his private 2001 training sessions in Chicago. He was killing young NBA players — and supposedly a high school phenom named LeBron James, as well — and letting them hear about it every step of the way. Allegedly, it all came to a screeching halt when MJ shit-talked the wrong guy: a young Bulls forward by the name of Ron Artest.
Depending on which story you believe, Ron either broke Jordan’s ribs in a fight, or just through regular basketball contact. Whatever happened, the damage was done. The Jordan that fans got to watch for two years as a member of the Washington Wizards wasn’t the guy we remembered, and he certainty wasn’t the guy who dogged Artest so bad that Artest responded by breaking his ribs.
There were fleeting moments in Mike’s comeback where you could see remnants of the Michael Jordan. He dropped 51 on the Hornets late in 2001 in a dazzling display of tongue-waving mid-range jumpers and shit-talking. There’s also the storybook should-have-been game-winner in the 2003 All-Star Game.
But, there were dismal moments, as well, including Mike snapping his 866-game streak of scoring 10 points or more in a game. In December of 2002, Mike played 40 minutes against the Raptors, but could only manage a meager two points. Those two points tied his career low from an abbreviated 12-minute outing against the Lakers a year earlier. He might have looked the same, but Mike wasn’t Mike.
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In many ways, Mike and Jay Z have always felt synonymous with each other to me, not only because Jay constantly reminds us with his own comparisons, but also because of the arcs of their careers and the status they hold in their perspective arenas. Their comebacks from retirement echo each other, as well, and, if Kingdom Come was Jay’s two-point game, then his 51-pointer was undoubtedly American Gangster.
Much like Mike’s secret Chicago training sessions, American Gangster has a legend of its own. Supposedly, Jay was so moved by the Denzel Washington film of the same name that he took to the studio and conjured up an album while the movie played on a loop at all times. Eventually, he pitched to the studio behind the film that this album should be the soundtrack, but they turned him down. Within weeks of that denial, a HD-quality version of the movie leaked online, and Jay released the album on his own.
It was a return to glory for the then, ironically, 38-year-old rapper. Armed with the necessary inspiration to return to his drug-dealing past, he delivered a conceptual album about the story of an innocent boy turned drug kingpin, and grabbed the listener’s hand and guided them along every step of the way.
Sonically, thanks in large part to Diddy and The Hitmen, American Gangster sounds like Blueprint crossed with Reasonable Doubt, the two albums that undoubtedly stand atop his discography, and that results in Jay Z delivering his last classic. Yes, American Gangster is a classic. The album is a tight, cohesive and rich narrative that makes slight allusions to the movie (“Front row, fight night, see how clear my tube is? F*ck HD, n*gga, see how clear my view is?”), but is clearly rooted in Jay’s own life.
The album’s best track is undeniably “American Dreamin’,” and I simply will not debate this. Armed with a Marvin Gaye sample, inspiration and the power of recollection Jay floats all over the soulful production. The first two verses are part social commentary with Jay explaining how he was turned to a life of hustling by a desire to live enormous. There’s some clever wordplay (“We need a place to pitch, we need a mound” and “Like Tony La Russa on how you play your Cards”), some double-entendres (“At all costs, better avoid these bars”), and Hov’s eventual entry into “the life.”
In the end, however, those verses only exist to set up the magnificent final stanza. It’s there Hov drops so many gems that he has to pause, literally, to double-take. It starts off with something familiar, the ambitious story you may have heard a thousand times from your boy who was thinking about slinging a few packs to get his money right, tightly wrapped into a mere six bars.
“Step one in this process: Scramble up in your projects
And head to the heights where big coke is processed
You gotta convince them that you’re not from the precinct
Please speak slow cause he no speaky no English
If he takes a liking after a couple of trips
And your money is straight, he’s going to give you consignment”
Then he drops the finest 10-bar sequence of his post-retirement career. He ends the song with a rant that is half-paranoia about entering the game, half-warning about the plight he’s about to enter in pursuit of that American Dream.
Survive the droughts, I wish you well – hold up
Survive the droughts? I wish you well?
How sick am I? I wish you health
I wish you wheels, I wish you wealth
I wish you insight so you could see for yourself
You could see the signs when the jackers is scheming
And the cops is coming, you could read they mind
You could see from behind, you could redefine
The game as we know it, one dream at a time
I’m American dreamin’
You could piratically see Jay pull the Yankee fitted low over his eyes as he crouched down and started doing the familiar hand wave while he delivered those bars. The Jay Z was back. Even at 38, he could fire up the fade away, get to talking that shit and drop 50 at any time.