MC Wildcat – Straight Outta Dundas (2001)

a review by Edward J. Sneed

Straight Outta Dundas

I suppose certain individuals only ever learn the hard way, and clearly goofball Toronto rapper MC Wildcat is one of them. Evidently, the 18 year old musical misfit has disregarded the advice I offered him last year, and rather than writing off his debut “album” Pullin’ More Than Pranks as a learning experience and moving on with his young life, Mr. Cat has instead returned, in this blessed year of our Lord 2001, with his sophomore release Straight Outta Dundas.

I must say, ladies and gentlemen, that I really don’t know where to begin with this rascal’s second straight musical anomaly. This sub-par “lyricist” from the mean streets of “Dundas” (wherever that is) is still delivering the same choppy, frequently off-beat flows we first heard on Pranks, on top of which Fry’s production software doesn’t sound like it’s been upgraded, either.

The beats are still hyper-fast and seemingly video game inspired, proving to be Fry’s trademark style, and though it’s wise to develop a signature sound, how beneficial is this really when that sound is musically displeasing, and your rapper can’t even ride your beats effectively?

The truth is that Wildcat would need a Twista-esque flow to do Fry’s beats any justice, given their sheer manic rapidity, which, along with countless other qualities required to succeed as a rapper, Wildcat simply doesn’t have. The fact that he seems to lack any natural sense of timing and rhythm doesn’t help his cause, either—a “newbie” to the rap game like Mr. Cat here desperately needs slow, simple beats to start off with, yet his producer bombards him with just the opposite. The worst part about their misguided union is that both Cat and Fry seem too busy patting each other on the back to notice this massive hole in their collective game.

What we have here, I’m afraid, is nothing more than a textbook case of the blind leading the blind—but at least when double virgins fornicate there’s no victim, unlike all the poor listeners whom Mr. Cat swindled into buying this schlock.

The one difference in production since Pranks is that Dundas welcomes a new addition to this gong-show, “Star.” Though branching out with new producers doesn’t seem like a bad idea for Cat in theory, sadly the one Star-produced tune “Raise Dem Children” is quite forgettable, and adds little to the album overall. Furthermore, it also seems a contradictory message coming from Wildcat, whose delight in petty crimes, flippant attitude, and frequently outrageous antics all paint a picture of a hugely flawed, deviant individual, who clearly is in no place to offer advice on any issue, let alone child-rearing.

On Dundas his concepts range from not cutting his hair for over a year to save up money for an ice cream machine, to dissing “nerds” at his high school, to stealing Blockbuster Video cards in order to fraudulently rent video games. Cat elaborates on this morally reprehensible process in “Bandit:”

“I’m a lazy mutherfucker, I don’t like to work hard
if I need money, I’ll just teef your video card
don’t matter to me if it’s Rogers, or Jumbo
ya dumbo, when Wildcat’s on the prowl, I be gung-ho
Video 99, or Blockbuster
I’m a teef ya card with all the sneaky doo-wop I can muster
one way or another, video store gon’ call your mother...”

Seriously folks, does such material really speak to anyone out there, expect perhaps this “Bandit’s” inner circle? Not bloody likely. Frankly, I really don’t have the foggiest idea what Cat and Fry are trying to prove with this follow-up “album,” as the sad fact remains that Dundas proves absolutely nothing that wasn’t already made abundantly clear on Pranks—namely, that these two wayward souls simply aren’t cut out for making rap music.

Though they certainly seem to get a good laugh out of their material, it remains indisputable that both Cat’s lyrical content and Fry’s production style are both so drastically outside the norms of standard rap, that I have a hard time believing this “music” will appeal to even the most open-minded, accessible hip-hop fans.

Though obscure, subversive music does have a history of finding its niche and building its own cult following, for that to happen there must be at least some material that a fringe minority can connect with, which I don’t detect even the faintest hint of anywhere on Dundas.

It is painfully clear to me now that this tone-def prankster lacks both the maturity and general artistic savvy to produce any “work” of emotional resonance. I am also left with no options but to conclude that Wildcat and his cohorts are all mentally ill, after hearing the deeply disturbing “Kidnap Rap,” featuring guests “Fo-Sho” and “C-Cautious” of the “Fosta Brovaz.”

In the “Kidnap Rap” Mr. Cat plays a primary school janitor named “Garnet,” who kidnaps twin brothers “Skyler” and “Tyler” while playing a game of Red Ass during recess one afternoon. Now, considering that so many elements of this song are Just Plain Evil & Disgusting it would require a Dickensian-length critique to justly analyze each one, I’ll do my best to save us all the horror, and merely touch on the most disturbing (though even the least would still warrant Cat being institutionalized for life).

This entire tale is absolutely horrific from beginning to end. Though Garnet never overtly raps about molesting poor Skyler and Tyler, he consistently bombards us with a barrage of innuendoes implying everything but—from taking the terrified twins to a Blue Jays game where they eat helmets full of ice cream while sitting on this depraved janitor’s lap, before resigning to his apartment for a bubble bath where Garnet insists on wearing his clothes, yet aggressively suggests the twins remove theirs. This disturbing scene is then followed by the unholy trio watching the god-awful 1990 Arnold Schwarzenegger film Kindergarten Cop, while all snuggling under a blanket together, eating popcorn and sipping orange Crush.

On top of all this wildly inappropriate perversity, the beat changes literally seven times, while Garnet and the twins drift from disturbing event, to somehow even-more-disturbing-event. To wit:

Skyler: “Where is the ball?”
Garnet: “Get it yourself, it’s on my lap”
Tyler: “Don’t do it Skyler, it’s probably a trap!
Hey Mister, why’s your zipper down?”
Garnet: “Shut your trap, and simmer down!
The twins jumped in, and I locked the door…”
Skyler: “Hey, where we going?”
Garnet: “To the dollar store!”
Tyler: “Are you pulling our chain? The dollar store’s lame!”
Garnet: “Got a better idea?”
Skyler & Tyler in unison: “You bet we do...the Jays game!”

Just typing that disconcerting sequence sends chills up my spine. If Wildcat ever finds himself wondering why he’s not being taken seriously as a rapper, he need only play “The Kidnap Rap,” and I’m certain all the fog will fade away.

Though Cat’s lyrics do indeed rhyme, it still remains very difficult to consider these twisted offerings rap songs, or even music at all. A more apt designation would be something like, oh, I don’t know—a hopelessly failed attempt at lyrical poetry by a socially retarded young scoundrel, delivered in the fewest possible takes over the cheapest beats he could scrounge up. If I am at all mistaken in this assessment then by all means, Mr. Wildcat, you’re more than welcome to attempt to prove me wrong.

After having the displeasure of hearing both Pullin’ More Than Pranks and Straight Outta Dundas, my personal and professional opinion is that MC Wildcat retire immediately. There is absolutely no future whatsoever in his perverted shtick, and the sooner Mr. Cat comes to terms with this harsh fact, the better off everyone involved will be.

In fact, if there is any true justice in this world, then someday this tragically debauched character will meet a fate much worse than musical obscurity. Really this sick bastard deserves to be arrested immediately, committed to a mental health facility for extensive observation, and castrated promptly, so he can never procreate.

Straight Outta Dundas, are you, Mr. Wildcat? Well, after the right people hear this heinous debacle of an “album,” it’ll be more like straight to CAM-H for your quasi-pedophilic, predatory, hopelessly lost soul. Frankly Cat, you’re just too damn wild for your own good, and the 2001 rap game is not, nor has ever been, the appropriate outlet for your dirty little thoughts.

Rap music is a beautiful art form, whose pioneers have struggled tooth and nail to reach the level of global acceptance we’re at today. Countless hard-working, innovative, gifted groups and individuals such as Run DMC, NWA, Kool G. Rap, KRS-ONE and Flava Flav just to name a few, have taken tremendous risks and made enormous sacrifices in order for rap to become respected as a legitimate musical genre, and not merely a destructive cancer from the ghetto that promotes drug trafficking, violence and misogyny.

Frankly, rap music has simply come too damn far for some spaced-out white boy to just pop up and start making a mockery of it for his own personal amusement, intentional or not. Wildcat’s worthless schlock completely misrepresents the true essence of hip-hop, and wholly detracts from it all the uplifting, educational, and inspirational qualities that rap music can deliver at its finest.

So Mr. Cat, please put down your little Fisher-Price microphone, stop peddling your rubbish excuse for art, and find a new hobby, you reprehensible joker!

Should you ignore my sage advice and continue pursing rap, I don’t wish to see your “albums” appear on my desk ever again. I’ve got real artists to review, and frankly Mr. Cat, you aren’t worth any more ink from my cartridge!

Good day to you, sir!

LYRICISM: 3.8/10



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