There’s a trail of evidence that suggests Freddie Gibbs is at his best when he’s beside a producer who’s locked in for the long haul. Alfredo 2 with The Alchemist is the latest bit of proof that this observation stands correct — though it’s not as delectable of an offering as the original Alfredo. The LP arrives five years after the first installment, and it features a Freddie Gibbs who’s morally on the fence, and subsequently, more introspective than ever. He navigates the gray area of uncertainty thanks to growth and a slew of contemplative ALC beats.
On Alfredo 2, Gibbs sounds exhausted, repentant, and invigorated at once. The lead single, “1995,” itself a sequel to Alfredo’s “1985,” sees Gibbs rapping about the lows he’s overcome, as Alchemist’s freewheeling guitar riff wails in the background: “I was in the cell making up a setlist for my next show/ For my next lick, I was suicidal with a death wish.” In the second verse, Gibbs reverts to his old ways: “Buy all the front-row tickets to your show and make that shit disastrous/ Shoot up the front and get them bitches canceled/ Hold your whole career for ransom/ Money call, you scared to answer.”
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Freddie Gibbs is a complicated man. The gangsta rapper’s career has unfurled in spectacular fashion over the past two decades, peaking and plummeting according to his whims and witticisms. The Gary, Indiana native is known, loved, and hated for his wild sense of humor, which has led to fallouts with fellow MCs including Benny the Butcher, who appeared on the first edition of Alfredo, as well as hip-hop bloggers like DJ Akademiks. His feuds and disputes have brought Gibbs just as much attention as his raps, but that hasn’t deterred producers from wanting to collaborate with him; just last week, Gibbs announced his next partner will be the house auteur Kaytranada.
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If you stripped away Gibbs’ technical rapping skills and his cosmic awareness of the things going on around him, the man could still get by on great taste. His current ally, The Alchemist, has long been established as one of the most prolific and dependable beatmakers in hip-hop, producing full-length LPs with Earl Sweatshirt, Boldy James, Larry June, MIKE, and soon, Erykah Badu. Alfredo 2 is ALC’s opportunity to build on the Grammy-nominated foundation of Alfredo, and push his already masterful skills to the brink. He’s exceptionally adept at finding earworm samples, dusting them off, deconstructing the most astonishing elements, and rebuilding them into sumptuous soundscapes for his collaborators to rap over. That’s exactly what he does on Alfredo 2.
The production here is remarkably thrilling, while still maintaining its consistency and gravity. Tracks like “Lemon Pepper Steppers” and “Shangri-La” can best and simply be described as smooth as fuck. On “Empanadas,” ALC’s bassline has a fluid conversation with Gibbs, who flits through the open spaces with his signature hardened lyrics. “Skinny Suge II” is one of the most compelling songs, a continuation of “Skinny Suge” from the first Alfredo. It’s a rousing production compared to the rest of the album, thanks to a high-pitched scream of sound and heavy knocks of reverberating bass. “Black, bald-headed Jesus, I hang on the cross,” Freddie raps without a hint of irony. “In the street, crucify me, but I stay bouncing off it.”
On the twinkling, yet shadowy “Mar-A-Lago,” Gibbs acknowledges the trauma that comes with his line of work: “Walked away from multiple crashes, but it ain’t wreck my status.” There’s a weight to the bar, especially because Gibbs pauses for a beat to allow the reflection to sink in, while Alchemist’s production expands behind him. Singer/rapper/drummer Anderson .Paak shows up for Gibbs on “Ensalada,” his percussive skills just as present as his vocal contributions: “Help me get away from this God-forsaken place I’m in/ You should run away if you ain’t really ready for the way I live/ It makes my heart break when I see gangstas turn to angels/ Yet I’m still grateful and I would never ever wanna trade it.”
Thematically, Freddie Gibbs uses this album to pull on threads of emotion that he’s been unraveling in recent years. In a conversation with students at the University of California, Berkeley last November, Gibbs became emotional when discussing his rap career. “I’ma tell you the truth, man, I wish that I could get up and rap about some other shit,” he said. “I wish that I would’ve made a career of rapping about some funny shit or girls or comedic or any fucking thing but this shit. Every day I think about that. I wish I had a rap career… that was not gangsta. I don’t want this shit for myself. I don’t want this shit for my son. I rap about this shit because it consumed me, it’s where I’m from, it’s what I was doing on the daily for two decades.”
Despite the financial rewards of rapping, Gibbs felt he couldn’t escape the downside. “It’s also brought me a lot of pain, it’s brought me a lot of bullshit,” he said. “The rap game has brought me just as many enemies as the streets. I’ve had to fight people doing this job, shoot at muthafuckas, n****s shooting at me. This is a dangerous muthafuckin’ job… You can really get lost in that side of it. I feel like a survivor of that shit.”