Ice Cube

Before writing the first post for this blog, my mind was occupied by two important questions—different in scale, but both fundamental. Strangely enough, the most fundamental question turned out to be the easiest. Who should be the subject of the first post? After decades of internal struggle, I made my decision—Ice Cube, damn it!

Even though it felt obvious, it was still kind of weird considering he’s not my favorite artist in the genre. Sure, he’s in the top tier of my virtual ranking, playing in the big leagues, sipping champagne on the podium. But if, sometime in the distant past—like 100 years ago—I’d thought about writing a few words about rap for a wider audience, it probably would’ve been about 2Pac or Nasty Nas.

The second, less significant issue was picking an album from Cube’s extensive discography (though, given the length of his career, it doesn’t sound quite as impressive anymore). Three options were in the running—three gems created between 1991 and 1993. I’m talking, of course, about Death Certificate, The Predator, and Lethal Injection (please, don’t ask what happened to his debut). I don’t have a specific ranking for these three albums. Each one is a masterpiece, each has a set of tracks I could play on repeat for weeks. Seriously, ask my girlfriend, who’s been dragged through his discography like a storm (but don’t ask if she enjoyed it).

For me, Lethal Injection takes the crown because Ice Cube—the predator with a vibe as cold as absolute zero—chilled out a little. The brutal, rage-filled voice from South Central was also a husband and father. He was older, wiser. The album is more melodically cohesive. You can feel the influence of what Dre and Snoop did on The Chronic. You can feel the funk! G-funk, baby.

These were the days of Rodney King and a burning LA. The work of Ice Cube—accused of racism and inciting violence—was full of aggression, outrage, and criticism of a system that maintained the status quo of inequality. It reflected the anger and frustration of the Black community toward police brutality. A community that was the victim of racial prejudice and discrimination in all aspects of life—from education to the justice system. His voice raised social and political awareness of the injustices faced by Los Angeles and other parts of the United States.

A little side note. Not too long ago—just last year—was the 30th anniversary of those events, in which over 60 people lost their lives. There’s a ton of material out there about those riots. Koreatown and South Central were hit hardest. Two years before those tragic events, Ice Cube gave us a miniaturized version of them with the track "Black Korea," which became, in a way, a prophecy of what was to come. But let’s get back to the topic.

The more brutal he was, the bigger his star grew. The more people he dragged through the mud, the more loyal fans he gained. The Predator skyrocketed Ice Cube to an unbelievable level. A dude from the ghetto scored two number ones on the Billboard charts and became a Hollywood actor. And it was on this album that "It Was a Good Day" appeared. Probably the most well-known track of his career—a legend now, a part of pop culture history, sung by aging (brilliant) grandpas in bad movies. The track also marked a slight change in the winds. The rap star, the voice of South Central, the former N.W.A. member, whether he liked it or not, had become a pop star.

Lethal Injection continues the socio-political themes but also takes on a more personal and introspective tone. It represents artistic maturity and growth, both technically and thematically. It feels more focused on self-awareness, diving into deeper reflections on the artist's position in the music and film industries and the struggles he’s faced. You’ve got those heavy beats, top-notch G-funk, and samples from various musical genres, giving the album greater sonic diversity and a unique musical atmosphere. This speaks to Ice Cube’s artistic courage and willingness to explore new musical directions.

I really value this album. To me, it’s the best in his discography (I prefer lighter vibes—it’s no coincidence that I skipped over AmeriKKKa’s Most Wanted back in paragraph three). As usual, I have a few favorite tracks. I’m not going to be particularly original here. My top picks are "You Know How We Do It" and "Bop Gun (One Nation)." The first one won me over with its brilliant sample from Kool & The Gang’s "Summer Madness" and its similarity to "It Was a Good Day." Whenever I hear it, I want to take a little trip back to those days and immerse myself in productions from the early ’90s: The Chronic, Doggystyle, Regulate... Smooth flows, catchy Nate Dogg hooks, Cadillacs, and LBC palm trees. The same goes for "Bop Gun (One Nation)," featuring George Clinton and his iconic 1978 hit "One Nation Under a Groove." Eleven minutes of unforgettable fun. Eleven minutes you’ll play at least eleven more times.

I also really dig "Make It Ruff, Make It Smooth," featuring a buddy from C.I.A. and Da Lench Mob. Now, I wouldn’t say the rappers hit their lyrical peak here, but it’s a track where you can feel the energy and Ice Cube’s masterful flow. Then there’s the atmospheric "Cave Bitch," which stirred up a lot of controversy back in the day (I’m not here to judge whether it was justified) among the hypocritical white portion of the audience. Ice Cube delivers a blunt critique of "the flaws of white women." Funny enough, that same segment of white listeners had no issue with Black women being disrespected by Black rappers. Ice Cube was a racist. A racist surrounded by other racists holding power.

Finally, I’ve got to mention the slow, atmospheric, G-funk-infused "Down For What" and other great tracks like "Enemy," "When I Get To Heaven," and, of course, "Ghetto Bird." Wait—did I just name almost the whole album?

Lethal Injection isn’t without its flaws. You could argue it’s a bit uneven, especially when it comes to its lyrical content. But it’s an album you can listen to from start to finish. It’s a turning point in Ice Cube’s career, in a way. It’s tough to balance being the voice of Black ghettos with having millions in the bank, a growing acting career, and a growing family. Ice Cube’s life changed—just like most of ours do. Staying authentic in that situation is no small feat. I think he pulled it off brilliantly. Don’t stand still. Evolve.

"Lethal Injection" likely has a few flaws, and one can notice that it's somewhat uneven, especially when considering its content. However, it's an album that you can listen to from beginning to end. It's somewhat of a breakthrough in Ice Cube's career. It's challenging to reconcile being the voice of black ghettos with having millions in the bank, a growing acting career, and an expanding family. Ice Cube's life has changed, just as the lives of most of us change. It's difficult to remain authentic in such a situation. I think he has succeeded remarkably. Don't stand still, evolve.