MC Wildcat – Not Everyone Makes It In The Industry (2002)
a review by Edward J. Sneed
Word up rap fans, the ever-reliable Edward J. Sneed here, still bringing you the most brutally honest rap critiques in cyberspace today.
I’ll cut right to the chase, homies—I’ve got good news and bad news. The latter being that Dundas’ most prolific white boy joke rapper MC Wildcat is, unfortunately, back with another “album” as his shameless musical shit-show continues, but no need to get vexed—the saving grace is, he’s also finally retiring. That’s right ladies and gentlemen, straight from the Cat’s mouth—Not Everyone Makes It In the Industry officially marks the last “record” we’ll ever hear from this depraved, shameless hooligan.
For the record, I’ve been advising Wildcat to quit rapping since his debut Pullin’ More Than Pranks, and evidently the uncivilized feline has finally read the proverbial writing on the wall. And as much as I’d like to delight in his retirement, and cry “I told you so!” into a megaphone from the peak of the highest hill I can find, rather, I will refrain from any such gloating, and not because of my gentlemanly nature, either.
No, the real reason why I will not revel in MC Wildcat’s retirement, or boast about having predicted this inevitability since he first emerged in 2000, is for the simple reason that Industry, believe it or not, marks Wildcat’s best album to date. I attribute this small miracle largely to Industry being Cat’s most down-to-Earth, (relatively) accessible, and sonically harmonious offering yet. That said, it’s still a far cry from professional industry standards, and he’s still making the absolute right decision by retiring.
Several drastic differences between Industry and the Cat-Man-Don’ts previous efforts were made quite clear from the first tune, “Once Upon A Rhyme.”
For one, word on the street is that Fry has finally upgraded his production software, resulting in an uncanny improvement in overall music quality. The lanky, curly-haired beat-maker has finally abandoned Melody Assistant in exchange for a real production program, Fruity Loops. Though this still ranks several levels below industry standards, it’s at least a step in the right direction, albeit a small, and desperately needed one.
That said, though a few beats on Industry still sound somewhat amateurish, overall each beat has a distinct vibe and direction, sounding more like the result of a calculated vision, and less like a mish-mash of randomly chosen instruments clashing against one another.
I will even acknowledge that the tunes “Girls Come, Girls Go,” “RV Love,” and “The Banger” all come close to being head-boppers, and actually reflect a sliver of potential. Another new addition to the Fry N’Em duo is that they have apparently expanded their roster to include singers, as “Joe L.” paints a compelling lyrical picture on “Girls Come, Girls Go.” But in stark contrast to Cat’s choppy, offbeat flow, this young talent explores puppy love with a mature, angelic voice:
“I wanted to get up, and talk to her and flirt
she was eating a ripe mango, juice dripping down her shirt
teasing me and tempting me, and driving me wild
lighting up the whole damn room when she smiled
she had a baseball hat, ponytail sticking out the back
nice teeth, no signs of any plaque
sheeeeee was far from being waaaaaack...”
Another significant improvement to Industry is that, at a modest 10 songs, it’s about half the length of WC’s previous “albums.” Both Pullin’ More Than Pranks and Straight Outta Dundas could have benefited from extensive song cutting, as the idea is to showcase one’s absolute best work on their album, not release every single song they record. I admit I’m making somewhat of an educated guess, but given the atrociously shabby quality of Pranks and Dundas, it’s hard to imagine that any songs were cut at all, as that would suggest that the ones on these “albums” were the cream of the crop—a downright unfathomable notion.
In any case, it seems that Fry N’Em are finally beginning to understand this concept of quality over quantity, or perhaps Cat just got lazy this year with Industry being his swan song.
Though not every tune on Industry is a hit either, I will say that each is more or less listenable, which is hands down the highest praise I can give this oddball poet thus far. In fact, a few tunes on this album even have something resembling replay value, though personally I’ll never listen to Wildcat outside of my work obligations.
But don’t get it twisted, rap fans—Wildcat is still the Wildcat, so despite these noticeable improvements in production and sequencing, he will never be able to maximize the benefits of such progress until he normalizes his content, at least to some degree, which he seems either completely unwilling, or incapable of doing. Any individual as mentally disturbed as Cat needs a far more powerful form of therapy than rapping to exile their demons, as this self-deluded “fake thug” continues to display a shockingly high level of emotional immaturity for a 19 year old. Take the following lyrics from “Stairwell Boogie:”
“Took her to the bathroom stall, she was rubbing my balls
yo, I’m ’bout to bust like Niagara Falls
her roommate was sleeping, bedroom’s outta the question
took me back to the stairwell, taught me a mu’fuckn’ lesson;
she said ‘That’s disgusting, your cock is gnarled and mangled!’
but I took off with my pants around my ankles...”
Need I quote more?
Whether “Stairwell Boogie” is truly based on Mr. Cat’s personal experience or not is irrelevant. If this Wild Man’s member is genuinely “gnarled and mangled,” then perhaps he ought to visit a medical clinic and have it checked out by professionals, as opposed to rapping about it? Just a thought, now. I realize that “artists” are highly emotional creatures who need to get deeply personal at times, which is of course fine, but there should still be some tact exercised when doing so, as some things are simply better left unsaid. Of course, it’s not as if the Wild One has ever been a shining example of sensibility, so why am I surprised?
However if “Stairwell Boogie” is simply a work of fiction, this nonetheless reflects a disturbingly warped sense of humour, as Mr. Cat is clearly presuming that others will be amused by his graphic descriptions such as “gnarled and mangled.” This presumption further reflects his profound immaturity and poor judgment, as, despite what Wildcat may think, most 19 year olds have long outgrown out their laugh-at-any-sex-related-joke phase. Except Mr. Cat himself, obviously.
What’s next buddy, a rap about pissing your pants? Grow up, you screwball hack.
Or at least consult a doctor, you inept, depraved sicko, but for the love of all things sacred just stop trying to share your filthy, debauched tales with a non-existent fanbase through amateurish rhyming poetry over your friend’s beats! It’s just not working, and I’m sorry to say it never will; no career, nor even the slightest modicum of success will ever result from this perversion you call “music.”
Fortunately, I think Wildcat finally understands this, and is at last ready to throw in the towel. Good call, old chum—you’ve proved yourself a worthy opponent, but we both know you’ve dragged this silly shtick on long enough, and it’s time to take this sick old horse out to pasture.
In fact Mr. Cat, believe it or not, I actually commend you for recognizing that your failed little experiment has run its course, and for quitting while you’re, well, though not exactly ahead, at least before you completely embarrass yourself. But hey, you gave it a shot, which is more than most socially inept, tone-def, emotionally stunted, mentally unstable white “wanna-be thugs” can say for themselves.
And look on the bright side—at least now there’s no risk of you getting sued by Tupac’s estate for rapping your “We On Da Run (Remix)” over the late Machiavelli’s “Changes” beat. No indeed, you’ll sure dodge that bullet.
At the end of the day, the music business is, was, and always will be “a hard fucking dollar,” as the saying goes. And just as Wildcat’s “album” title itself states, Not Everyone Makes It In the Industry. Ain’t that the Lord’s honest truth.
Glad you finally saw the light, you poor bastard.
TOTAL SCORE: 4.3/10