Goldie Lookin' Chain - 'Greatest Hits' (Atlantic)
4/5
By: Toby L
No, GLC aren't advocates for taste. Nor would we want them to be. Track-two on the band's debut, self-styled 'Greatest Hits' LP assesses the merits of 'Self Suicide' ('I'm gonna do a Jimi Hendrix/I'm gonna be sick in my sleep') in order to create and sustain 'legendary' status.
It's advice that the eight-strong collective could be wise to take following this first record. Their album is f**king sensational - a defiantly, truly witty revolt to the trite, hackneyed hip-hop themes that plague the genre. Yet, while label-mates The Darkness' future hovers in light of a lack of convincing new material, there's a good case for the notion that humour-based musical produce has a distinct shelf-life, and that impact is arguably more substantial when delivered in a one-off, controlled and meteoric dose. After all, just how long can a joke, and the subsequent laughs, last?
With 'Greatest Hits', at least, the answer is 'some time'. It's a record whose crossover zeal will see barely-teens through to stoner thirty-somethings alike grinding and grinning with glee to the likes of 'Your Mother's Got A Penis' and the mock-ballad 'You Knows I Loves You', 'wittily' impersonating the numerous catchphrases and intermingling band banter that segues each composition to the next; potentially iconic are these Newport rappers, GLC.
Lyrically, it falters never - references to B&Q, Bristol Zoo, BBC2 (and all in one track - their top-three staple, 'Guns Don't Kill People, Rappers Do') keep it admirably, shamelessly close to home, while a satirical reworking of So Solid Crew's '21 Seconds' in the shape of chronic doper anthem '21 Ounces' is a wicked laugh.
Anyone unable to keep up with the subjects' pace, meanwhile, will revel in the tunes themselves - mildly tongue-in-cheek refrains and poorly patched-together samples are hook-based and infectious: particularly the riff-raff poetry of 'Roller Disco' and 'Soap Bar', each diatribe backed by soundtracks that don't actually fit at all (only adding to the hilarity), let alone the band's touching ode to group-member 'The Maggot' (he's a 'bastard', apparently).
One of the pop/cannabis-endorsing sensations of 2004, as the octet bellow, 'WEMBLEY ARENA! COME ON, WEMBLEY ARENA!', it's quite challenging to envisage such cavernous environs not being seduced by their ascending star, for now. And just imagine hotbox-ing that vast space. F**king safe.
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