RIP Craig Mack

Craig Mack’s flava (and the subsequent delivery into ya ear) emanated mainly from his flow. It was an unorthodox stream of slowly enunciated vowels and consonants that funneled toward  his non-sequitur punchlines in a dat-dat-dat scamper. Paired with his trusty Suffolk County, Long Island lisp and sing-songy baritone, that flow helped Mack create his trademark robotic futuristic style. Today he’d be a RapCaviar favorite or a SoundCloud hero. When his 1994 breakout, “Flava in Ya Ear” arrived, however, there wasn’t a frequency invented yet to calibrate his sound.

After a cursory listen, you’d be forgiven if you thought his single was a DJ blend, a mix of his vocals with an indiscriminate beat underneath. Easy Mo Bee provided rollicking production, but Mack took less of a straight road down the funky soundscape. It made all the difference.

“Just. Like. Uniblaaaab/Robotic kicking flab/ My flavor bidder badder, chitter-chatter Madder than the Mad Hatter!”

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Each intricate metered set of rhymes sounded like something ripped from a comic strip panel. They were packed with eye-wink references, nods to nostalgia and full stories in just two lines. He left you woozy nodding to his words instead of the beat.

His later releases never recaptured that magic (save, perhaps, his song-stealing verse on “Special Delivery” where he played Biggie’s to G.Dep’s Craig Mack), but the original Bad Boy’s legacy is secure. His early success set the course for Bad Boy Records eponymous run of hits and traces of his style can be found in the Lil Yachty’s and A$AP Ferg’s of today.

He won’t be around next year, but his flava will always remain brand new.

Return of the Mac: 2011 Prodigy feature (The Source)

Forward: One of my favorite features that I wrote in my career was on Prodigy (below); he was fresh from doing a bid. (I was also at his going away show.) P was upbeat and changed in the way that doing a stretch can do to one’s self. He was monitoring his diet more than I’d ever see him doing in the past (something that ebbed and flowed, and would continue to do so through the remainder of his life). And he was working with a vengeance. I met with him in the Financial District just days after his release and he was recording his audio book. It was a small, cramped studio. It was so bugged out to hear that voice, animated, reciting passages from his book. In conversation P could be short and full of uknowhatimsayin’s. Yet, here, he was reading his book like he rapped. Full of verve, enunciated, punching in. At that point, he had maybe 10 songs finished, from only being out like three days. Then, a week, maybe 10 days, tops, passed. I went out to Ozone Park in Queens, where he was recording music. Now this place was more familiar, in terms of the Mobb Deep vibe: crew, smoke, drink and P in his glory. I asked how many records he had at that point and the number surged past 30. That was completed songs. Prodigy had half songs also available just ready for Havoc to add rhymes to. Hav couldn’t keep pace! Ha. P played me “Dog Shit” featuring Nas. Ahhh, man, so New York. And with the dunn language all in the mix. Later, I asked him why he didn’t record with Nas as much. P then told me a story about Nas–how he always thought Nas was the coolest dude. He then cracked a half-cocked smile and said he’d be happy just hanging out with Nas more. I’m glad I got to build with P time and time again. He was as real as it gets, for bettor or worse. And he’ll be missed.

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