Pastor Troy

It has never been difficult to reconcile my love for hip-hop with my eternal devotion to Gordon Sumner. Like the best rap music, the Police always had funky basslines, rhythm-driven songs, and an oft-maligned intellectual underside. But after the Puffy sob-fest “I’ll Be Missing You,” I figured the party was over.

11 years later, imagine my surprise when a respected Atlanta rap stalwart releases not one, but two tracks prominently featuring samples from the Police on an otherwise “back-to-basics” album. In addition to being a solid post-crunk Southern rap album, Pastor Troy’s “Atittude Adjuster” shines when it takes command of both “Message In A Bottle” and “Shape Of My Heart,” placing these songs of anguish and introspection firmly and successfully in “Thug Life” territory.

Nine solo albums deep, Pastor Troy has finally turned his high-pitched battle cry of a voice from a gimmick into an asset. “UH-HUH!” ad-libs aside (and who could imagine P-Troy without those?), these raps are musically and rhythmically sound, delivered right on the beat and with plenty of nuance. The reference points here are DJ Paul and Ice Cube’s delivery on N.W.A.’s “Dopeman;” he is that on-point, if not as (respectively) terrifying or revolutionary.

Even with the lovely Sting-supplied acoustics of “Street Law” and “For My Soldiers,” the best cut on the album is “My Box Chevy.” A rare triumph of synth over sample, “My Box Chevy” is a low-key anthem to a Caprice bought “from an old white couple.” It transcends the low-budget production and the superficially played-out lyrics to become the rare automotive anthem bereft of corniness (“Throw Some D’s”) or song-saving beats (“Still Tippin”). No song since Devin the Dude’s “Lacville ’79” has done more to convince me that the huge body of Southern rap devoted to rides and rims is not a sign of unoriginality, but that it is genuinely rooted in a culture—and therefore a musical tradition—that absolutely worships cars. This track empowers and enriches the rest of the album—to the point that the unimaginative closer “Put Him on the Scope” sounds a lot better than it actually is.

A closer look at songs like “Scope” reveals the album’s weaknesses. The Jeezy-esque beats are very poorly mixed and don’t bump hard enough for Troy’s forceful swagger. There are no guest appearances to shake up the sound; as consistently strong as he is, Pastor Troy can’t carry an entire album by himself, although he ought to be commended for trying (take note, David Banner).

Finally, the release’s weak link—which, perhaps unsurprisingly, happens to be its single—is particularly weak. “Do You Wanna Dance?” is one of the very few Pastor Troy tracks that suffers from an inability to tastefully handle any song that isn’t about thuggin’, a condition known as Ja-Rule-featuring-Ashanti Syndrome, or JRFAS for short. Perhaps he’s trying to recapture the success of his only true breakout track, 2002’s “Are We Cuttin’.” Problem is, that song wasn’t really all that good to begin with, and Pastor Troy is better off staying true to his hardcore roots.

“Well, I’m Pastor Troy, I got a license to kill / I’ll shove that .50 cal in ya mothafuckin’ grill” doesn’t sound like the hollow boast of a pop-rapper. Nor does it sound like the too-hard attempt of a reactionary gangsta. It sounds like the opening couplet from any old revered ’80s true-school rapper, run through a raw Dirty South filter. Between albums like this, the canonization of Scarface and the late Pimp C, and the rise of rappers like T.I. and Lil’ Wayne, maybe the South will soon get its own pantheon of rap gods. Maybe Pastor Troy will be hovering somewhere nearby, a Spice 1 or MC Shan waiting in the wings.

—Reviewer J. Samuel Abbott can be reached at abbott@fas.harvard.edu.