The What

Clifford "Tip" "T.I." Harris is tops for me. I loved him from his first hit single, the sort of wacky (near wack) "Rubberband Man." And I know that we've mentioned our L.O.V.E. for Chris Robinson's film ATL, in which he played right-side-of-the-law dreamboat Rashad in 2006 (directly after viewing in the theater, Pillow and I went on a shopping tear for velour and gold). The single released concurrently, "What You Know," was a great success of a song that presented a sound befitting the kingly Southern rapper, all trumpets and Baroque ease and bouncing Impalas. I recollect a televised performance from that moment; lean, pretty T.I. came on stage in an oversized black hoodie, the back of which was encrusted with crystals that spelled out the phrase "GRAND HUSTLE" (the name of his Atlanta-based record label). I wanted so badly to steal it from him (and have all of the thrills and closeness that the act implies). Admittedly, I ignored whole albums, aware of him only through his own and others' singles and media (there was a particularly serious Federal case to do with arms dealing).

On my recent trip back South, I noted that Pillow was listening to his most recent album, Paper Trail, released this past Fall. I was so impressed with its full measure, finding each track an uplifting standout. I have since bought a copy myself and have only become more rhapsodic in the process. The first single, "No Matter What" (produced by my beloved Danja), and his collaboration with Justin Timberlake, "Dead and Gone," have proven to be favorites (I'm also pretty nuts about his hit with Rihanna, which samples "Dragostea din tei," a warmly remembered Romanian dance hit of 2004), but, as I said, I am enamored of the whole. It sounds so damn good; it's rich and layered and playful. Paper Trail is distinctly Southern, displaying that aforementioned "Baroque ease," generous and wise noise.

Tip's rhymes are almost exclusively about money, about work, making money without shame. One might imagine that, in these economic environs, a record about money-making would be sour-making. But T.I. builds a perfect balance. Half of the tracks address hard work; they are supremely motivational tunes about individuality and faith and discipline. The other half are wry, bubbly club-tableaux, songs of the spoils of work; these serve to transport us, like a Fred and Ginger movie, a lark about International hotel living for dark, down 1933. There is something really transportative, Psychedelic even, about the House-meets-Hip-hop production of recent years. I have gotten into the habit of mistakenly calling this album Paper Trails. The plural visually describes the glittery, blissed out sensation of these sorts of songs, rap music passed through "The Doors of Perception." Evidently, the title refers to (among other things) the process of writing lyrics on paper, a sweet, rootsy habit that T.I. has returned to.

All in all, I've found a swell, addictive album of push and promise and handsome swagger. And if a record is read as a document of the recording of a record, then this one illustrates a group of people having a fabulous time (read: his collaboration with Ludacris, "On Top of the World"). I'm not so interested in crowning one king of Southern Hip-hop (though many seem to be, including him). T.I is nothing like the others; he's slicker than my Memphis locals, crisper than anything out of Houston, calm when Lil' Wayne is manic, sexy when Ludacris is silly. But his product and accent are undeniably of the region and, in his his words, "divine."