An artist whose oversized persona threatens to draw more attention than his music, Mac Lethal is a drinkin’, druggin’, and womanizin’ rapper from the heartland of America.
His hometown of Kansas City will never be mistaken for a hip-hop hotbed, but Lethal (a.k.a. David McCleary Sheldon) wears his outsider status proudly, rapping about his love of Wilco and Wu-Tang, his hate of hipsters and vegans, and his fearless confidence in his skills on the mic.
On the last count, he’s more than justified, as 11:11 is a musically complex, thematically diverse, and emotionally exhausting exploration of a fascinatingly paradoxical character. With a flow that ranges from rapid-fire to repetitive, he favors massive beats and glistening hooks, his clever and self-effacing rhymes leading the way through a series of tracks that reveal an artist who wiggles away right before you have him cornered.
Given that he’s an angry white rapper from the Midwest, there is a temptation to see Lethal as the underground equivalent of Eminem, and his self-loathing and pop instincts make that comparison hold true. From the swirling Middle Eastern horns of the anti-religion, anti-corporate screed in “Jihad!” to the ominous piano groove of “Tell Me Goodbye,” his samples are crisp and his beats are dark and thick.
Despite its massive sing-along hook, casual-kissing anthem “Makeout Bandit” does not provide much lyrical depth. Neither does the frat-boy chest thumper “Pound That Beer,” another track that indulges his worst instincts. And though he proudly presents himself as anti-intellectual, references to literary figures Marcel Proust and Kilgore Trout prove that he doesn’t have a purely unfettered id.
As much as Lethal is looking at a world that merely inspires him to load up his bong, there is an innate morality in his writing. He covers his paean and his hometown in the soulful “Sun Storm,” and makes a disarmingly sincere tribute to unspoiled beauty in “Lithium Lips.”
With that said, Lethal is too eager to present himself as a damaged artist, a young man cramming down the bitter pill of his pain and fear with a 40-ounce chaser, and he could have been a lot more effective had he not been so transparent. In the end, the innate contradictions of the man and his music are most of his charm, and 11:11 is a startlingly immediate exploration of a troubled conscience.
– Matt Fink
Mac Lethal: www.lethalville.com
Rhymesayers: www.rhymesayers.com