MC Wildcat – King Of The Jungle (2003)
a review by Edward J. Sneed
Goddamn, is there ever egg on my face. Just when I thought we’d finally seen the last of zany Dundas rapper MC Wildcat, this unpredictable screw-job returns with his fourth “album” King of the Jungle, barely a year removed from his self-professed “retirement.” As usual, I’m not sure what to make of either his content or his persistence; the former being ever impertinent and off-colour, and the latter, well, I still can’t tell if Mr. Cat simply possess an iron will and flat-out refuses to throw in the towel, or if he’s just hopelessly oblivious to the sad inevitability that he will ultimately never go anywhere in the rap game, and merely blindly continuing to chase his wild dream. Whatever the case, this weirdo definitely lives in his own reality, and would strongly benefit from psychiatric assistance.
When I first heard about Wildcat’s return after announcing his retirement on last year’s Not Everyone Makes It In the Industry, I must say I immediately felt duped. I initially assumed that Wildcat’s alleged “retirement” was all an elaborate hoax, until I began to carefully consider this.
“Retiring” then coming back is an age-old stunt that well-known artists have frequently pulled in order to boost dwindling record sales, under the pretense of their “retirement album” being their last ever. Though this move is a fairly well-known trick by now, it still frequently succeeds—even if the artist’s “last album” itself doesn’t receive rave reviews, the majority of their fanbase will still likely purchase their “final” offering under such pretense.
But of course, this strategy only succeeds if an artist has already built a substantial fanbase; because obviously, this fanbase constitutes the very market to whom said artist’s “last album” is targeted.
So if an artist has a pre-existing fanbase of zero, then it makes absolutely no sense whatsoever to fake one’s retirement, only to return the following year to sell zero albums once again to the same non-existent fanbase.
For someone in Wildcat’s position, there would be absolutely no advantage in pulling such a stunt, none whatsoever. Although every move this nut seems to make defies all logic and rationality anyway, I have a hard time believing that even he would go so far as to fake his retirement for absolute zero gain.
Which is why I’m inclined to believe that Wildcat’s retirement was in fact genuine, and not some pointless hoax.
Mr. Cat strikes me as a severely alienated young man with complete lack of common sense, and any basic understanding of the world. Given his unique predicament, there’s no good reason to expect him to have any business savvy, either. If Cat genuinely did retire then return to rapping for no apparent reason, well, that reflects about as much clarity of mind as randomly assaulting bus drivers, kidnapping little boys, and fornicating with young women in public stairwells. In short, it’d be par for the course with the rest of Wildcat’s persona, reflecting just as much lack of foresight, and complete obliviousness to the mechanics of real life.
When it comes to this hapless goofball, I’ve noticed that I constantly find myself speculating on his intentions, and bouncing different theories off the wall in regards to his true motives. And every time I think I’ve got this seemingly clueless bastard figured out, he then goes and plays some wild card that leaves me scratching my head.
So my final conclusion about this maddening conundrum, is this: either MC Wildcat is a calculating mastermind, strategically playing the rap game like a chess board and biding his time until he irrevocably puts us all in checkmate, or: he is a dangerously unstable lunatic with absolutely no clue what he’s doing, who continues to release albums that go double Dundas aluminum year after year for some highly personal, deep-seated, perverted reasons of his own, that perhaps no one else will ever truly understand.
And until Wildcat really shows me something impressive, I’m sticking with the lunatic theory, simply because it seems the more plausible at this stage of his pathetic “career.”
For, quite simply, show me something impressive the “King of the Jungle” did not this year, as usual.
Not much has changed since Industry—Fry remains the project’s sole producer, and I am inclined to believe this has nothing to do with any conscious, artistic decision, but rather is simply because Fry and Cat are friends, as no self-respecting producer would work with any “rapper” so clearly doomed for obscurity for four years straight.
Fry continues to use Fruity Loops production software, and is thus making slightly better beats than those on Industry due to his increasing experience with the program, though he’s still not producing the quality of music I expect he would with professional level software, such as Pro Tools.
As for the Wild One, he has apparently fallen for a “cougar” (a slang word for an older woman), as made disgustingly clear on “Coug Luv:”
“They say the older the berry, the sweeter the juice
well it ain’t no ripe cherry, but I’ll still bless the cooch
yeah, there ain’t no mistakin’ how I had them legs shakin’
next morning, ya showed your appreciation by cookin’ eggs ’n’ bacon
mmmmm…….orange juice and Wonderbread;
and “Don’t talk to strangers” is what my mother said
but if I listened, I wouldn’t be sleeping in an older lover’s bed…”
Lovely, Wildcat. Thanks for sharing.
As usual, I find myself unable to determine whether “Coug Luv” is merely another lame attempt at shock-value, or if it is indeed autobiographical. But either way, it stands as yet another testament to its author’s profoundly poor taste. If the former, I think I speak for everyone when I say we are not amused by Mr. Cat’s ageist “humour,” and if the latter then Wildcat desperately needs to learn to discern between his personal and “professional” lives. There’s never been anything admirable about kissing and telling, as if this story is indeed true, I imagine WC’s lady friend would be quite embarrassed to hear “Coug Luv.”
Perhaps this “cougar” conquest was what inspired the “album’s” title, “King of the Jungle.” Regardless, there is nothing clever or funny or cool or anything remotely redeeming about taking advantage of an older, single woman’s emotional vulnerabilities, especially for one’s personal gain. His majesty should just do everyone in the rap community a huge favour, and disappear back into whatever “Jungle” he crawled out of.
The fact is that his Wildness has released four “albums” thus far, and obviously, were he truly serious about his “career,” he would have made several major adjustments by now. But instead he continues to display a disturbingly carefree comfort with both his terminally inappropriate content, and his irrelevant place in the rap game. Whatever the true motivation behind his twisted rap “Cat-alogue” is, two certainties have now been made indisputably clear about this wild creature: 1)He doesn’t give a hollering hoot about offending anyone on any level, and will rhyme about absolutely any subject under the sun that tickles his fancy, and 2)He is absolutely, completely unconcerned about reaching any level of commercial success, and this whole thing almost seems as if it’s all some big, private joke to him.
All of which is fine and dandy, if one is consciously rapping as a hobby. Yet, oddly, Wildcat makes frequent references to “blowing up,” “killing the game,” and generally living the lifestyle of a famous, successful rapper. Which is what I find most perplexing, for if his lyrics are to be interpreted as sincere, then Cat is clearly not taking any of the right steps to fulfill his rap dream.
This contradiction is brutally evident in “Prankster 2 Rapper:”
“There once was a time when I’d never heard of crack
but when times got tough, had to turn to that
let’s just say I had a bad trip, but yo, I learned from that
got my mind right, burned a sac, and then I turned to rap
blew cheddar, made a record, then I earned it back
always knew better; don’t tell me you never heard of Cat!”
Sorry to burst your bubble, pal, but nobody’s “heard of Cat.” And the allusion to crack-smoking, if true, certainly explains a lot.
Which brings me back to my original conclusion—that the lyrical half of Fry N’EM is a deranged maniac with no absolutely idea what he is doing, who continues to release albums that go nowhere and serve no purpose other than amusing himself, and perhaps his little gang of fellow alienated, middle-class white boys.
The main statement Jungle makes is that this 20-year-old scoundrel is who he is, and though his music may gradually improve at a snail’s pace over time, his morals and character certainly never will—and for all intents and purposes, he’s proud of this.
All things considered, I am through trying to criticize this joker into retirement—if Wildcat insists on making a mockery of both himself and hip-hop as an art form, he can continue to do so at his own cost, for all I care. There’s nothing anyone can seemingly say or do to derail the Wild Express, so let the stubborn little bastard learn the hard way, as each caboose inevitably skids off the tracks, crashes, and burns to shit.
Indeed, I say let the poor, deluded outcast have his little fun and frolic around in his wild fantasy world, while the rest of us go back to appreciating real hip-hop. He’s just not worth wasting any more energy on, and, personally, has already consumed far more of mine than I care to account for.
Wildcat, it’s a shame that you didn’t actually retire, as your latest “album” provides nothing more than further evidence of your social ineptitude, and inability to overcome your own severe limitations, even after four years of pumping out this despicable rubbish.
King of the Jungle you call yourself, Mr. Wildcat? More like an obnoxious pest who will hopefully, in the not-too-distant future, be exterminated once and for all.
TOTAL SCORE: 5.5/10