Lil Wayne

Nonbelievers turned off by Weezy's wild style called his verbal nonsense, no better than nursery rhymes. Some of those who turned up their noses, in fact, couldn't deal with the nonconformity. They couldn't handle Wayne's rebirth. They weren't ready for rap's first rock star. It was a shame, really, because more than ever, rap (and rock too) desperately needed someone like Weezy, who could be witty and unpredictable; someone who could shake up the establishment and live life without fear of consequences; someone who could stretch the parameters of artistic possibilities. Rappers who thought outside the box had become endangered species. But mostly there was negativity lots of it. Disillusioned rap fanatics were angry that Wayne wasn't the savior they were searching for in the middle of a Hip Hop crisis. The common complaint, that he "makes no sense," was never thrown at Das EFX, whose diggidy linguistics were deemed certified dope back in the day, Wu-Tang's phenomenal scriptures were complex riddles to the highest degree. Jay-Z hated T-Pain's human Cylon vocals, but he had no problem changing up his pitch the natural way. Yet Wayne got hated on. The criterion for Best Rapper Alive had become "saving" Hip Hop. If a rapper couldn't do that, he (or she) was a false prophet. But the Young Moola leader didn't get caught up in the negative, especially when he was making profits. He no longer saw the work as a grind; he saw it as a way of life. And what a life it's been. He had adapted to the strain of the entertainment business as a kid and managed to make the transition from teenaged rapper to a full-grown rapper. Undaunted by the music's holy trinity (2Pac, The Notorious B.I.G., and That Year's Hottest MC), the loyal Son of the South has stirred things up with his bold attempt at a takeover. The competition heated up because to claim the top spot, a rapper can't just be hot, he or she must be fire. The Louisiana Fireman was not only representing himself but also his much-maligned home front, which has been scapegoated as the crunkafied harbinger of the art form's demise. With the cries of "Hip Hop is dead" growing louder, he's let the resurrection build one verse at a time. He's hustled hard with no plans to quit. At any time he could escape to his own world, leaving behind rhymes a million here, a million there. And no matter what the future holds, Wayne can rest easy, knowing he's done it his way.