My Gut Reaction: Fat Joe & Remy Ma - Plata O Plomo (February 17, 2017)

So real quick, for the folks who may be newer to the blog or might have returned to it after I finally remembered my Facebook password: Joseph “Fat Joe” Cartagena is one of many artists whose career I’m following here on Hip Hop Isn’t Dead. However, unlike nearly everyone else in the sidebar, I’m looking at his body of work in reverse chronological order. I’m mostly doing this as a lark: I think it’s kind of funny to review someone’s catalog this way, as though I’ll be able to pinpoint the exact moment where his career went off the rails. The problem is that Fat Joe’s still actively making music, so while I may be going backwards in time, he keeps dropping new stuff that I have to eventually work in if I plan on ever crossing him off of my project list.

Which brings us to the subject of today’s post, Plata o Plomo.

Plata o Plomo (“Silver or Lead” in Spanish, signifying the decision the listener must make, in writing, prior to pressing ‘play’ on Spotify or Apple Music, choosing either “money” or “bullets” as their preference) is a collaborative effort between Large Joseph and his former Terror Squad employee Reminisce “Remy Ma” Mackie. Both artists are inexplicably linked due to their respective connections to the late Big Pun: Joey Crack is the guy who discovered Pun, while Pun went out and found Remy Ma on his own. It’s obvious that these two wouldn’t ever run in the same circles had it not been for Big Pun, so this partnership is questionable at best.

And yet, there’s obviously some seed or spark there, because when they’ve joined forces, Fat Joe and Remy Ma have managed to create actual, legitimate hit records. In 2004, back when Joe’s old crew, the Terror Squad, still existed, the duo teamed up to release “Lean Back”, a club banger that led to another career peak for Joseph, moving over five hundred thousand units and spawning multiple remixes. This was a high point in Remy’s musical career, as well, but not one she was able to capitalize on right away, because while she did manage to release her solo debut, There’s Something About Remy, in 2006 (six years to the day after the passing of Big Pun), she turned herself in to authorities in 2007 to serve a prison bid for charges of assault, possession of an illegal weapon, and coercion. Upon her release in 2014, she jumped right back in to the public eye, signing on for reality television shows and releasing her eventual comeback single, “All The Way Up”, alongside Joe in 2016. “All The Way Up” eventually sold the equivalent of two million units, folks. Two million.

Plata o Plomo exists purely as a business decision: Fat Joe’s solo career was, at this point, careening toward irrelevance, but even he wasn’t immune to realizing that his two duets with Remy Ma were torching Billboard charts. So an entire album filled with these collaborations should be a no-brainer, right? Plata o Plomo was intended to fulfill two separate goals: (a) throwing Remy Ma back into the rap game with enough buzz to earn her another shot at a solo career, and (b) give Jose Grande another successful project, with the additional bonus of favorable press received for sharing the spotlight for the first time in his catalog, and with a woman, no less.

Plata o Plomo has yet to live up to the standards set by those two preceding, more-than-a-decade-apart singles, however. In fact, it’s likely you had completely forgotten this album even existed on this plane of existence. But it’s here, and it’s today’s subject, so get in, losers, we’re going shopping.

1. WARNING (FEAT. KAT DAHLIA)

Let’s kick off this review with a positive note, shall we? I quite enjoyed the minimalist approach from Cool & Dre (and Eric Kovacs), whom I’ve dismissed in the past as Trackmasters-lite. (That description doesn’t make any goddamn sense, though, because (a) I don’t recall much of their production work that would cause me to align the two camps in the first place; and (b) the Trackmasters had some fucking heat in their heyday.) So that was unexpected. Vocalist Kat Dahlia’s hook also fit the beat fairly well: it was grating at first, but it grew on me as the song progressed along its merry way. Now to the bad shit: both Large Joseph and Remy Ma suck on here. Crack at least gets off one corny Robin Leach Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous gag, but his flow sounds like he’s the second or third guy to be assigned the nickname “Fat Joe” throughout the years: in no way does he sound like the rapper who, apparently, still runs with the Diggin’ In The Crates crew. Remy Ma fares the absolute worst, though: foreshadowed by an absolutely terrible interjection during Joey’s verse, her extended unsubtle dis aimed at Nicki Minaj (but in a manner interchangeable with any other female emcee, up to and including if Remy work up one morning and raged against her own reflection in the mirror) is delivered in a rote manner, her threats unconvincing and her aggressive flow reminding me of, just follow me here, Zach De La Rocha’s cameo on Run The Jewels’ “Close Your Eyes (and Count to Fuck)”, and that isn’t a look that suits her. And her final line, “I’m shittin’ on bitches, where the fuck is the bathroom” – what? Why? That’s Chuck Lorre CBS sitcom-level humor, Rem – you can do better.

2. SWEAR TO GOD (FEAT. KENT JONES)

The beat isn’t bad. It won’t rank as a favorite anytime soon, nor will I ever feel the need to recommend it to any other rapper to use and/or abuse, but it was fine. And in that way, Cool & Dre are two for two. Their artist Kent Jones, who sing-raps the hook on “Swear To God”, doesn’t do all that well, honestly, but he does manage to set up the whole “run off with that dough / I put that bread on your head” metaphor, which Remy Ma runs into the ground at the end of her verse with Marshall Mathers-level aplomb, at least regarding the multiple dad jokes presented within four bars. At least she seemed to find inspiration in the song, though: Paunch Cartagena sticks with empty boasts-n-bullshit, liberally borrowing from Ma$e’s “Lookin’ At Me” and unveiling this diamond: “That’s why I call you Jose / ‘Cause you do whatever these hos say.” Yep, that’s a thing that really happens during “Swear To God”, and you can put that on the deity of your choosing. Between that and Remy’s run at Birdman references, you can’t help but laugh your ass off at the insanity present. This song was not good at all, obviously, but I can’t say I wasn’t briefly entertained by this, the Neil Breen of Fat Joe efforts.

3. SPAGHETTI (FEAT. KENT JONES)

Jose Grande is using Plata O Plomo to remind listeners of how hip hop sounded in the 1990’s, but only lyrically thus far (see: the allusion to the late Big Punisher’s performance from “Twinz (Deep Cover ’98)” during the (shitty) chorus; Joe himself swiping Dr. Dre’s highly-biographical and incredibly specific claims of career longevity from “Still D.R.E.” for his own use, which might work out chronologically but is still a dick move). For the most part I’m okay with this: Fat Joe thrived in the 1990’s, so he can feel reflective whenever he chooses. Why that sense of nostalgia didn’t extend to the beats on Plata O Plomo is a mystery, though: this project likely would have garnered a bit more interest if names such as DJ Premier, The Alchemist, or literally anyone from the D.I.T.C. crew had helped with the musical backing. Pitchfork and HHID may have given more of a shit, anyway. Instead, we’re stuck with what is likely an hour’s worth of beats that will expend all of their collective energy chasing whatever trends were prevalent on radio airwaves or on Spotify playlists at the time. Anyway, Joey’s verse sucked. Remy Ma takes another shot at Nicki, that being her modus operandi at the time of recording (her actual dis tracks, “ShEther” and “Another One”, saw release after this project hit virtual store shelves), although she sweetly includes her husband, the rapper Papoose, on a list of what she loves (alongside “my raps… my son, [and] my weed”), while guest Kent Jones sing-raps his way through Drake-esque threats and shit-talking, spending a little bit too much time with the “Spaghetti” comparisons but otherwise sounding alright. Anyway, Joey’s verse sucked.

4. ALL THE WAY UP (FEAT. FRENCH MONTANA & INFRARED)

In an admirable show of restraint, Fat Joe and Remy Ma held off until the fourth track to unleash “All The Way Up”, the ubiquitous celebratory 2016 hit that not only marked the reunion of our two hosts after infighting (and, on her part, prison) kept them apart for several years, it also begat this very album. It was a hot song, and it’s still a hot song, one where everything sounds so engaging and distracting that you don’t notice or care that Joe’s verse is… not that good: the man is washed by Remy Ma fairly severely. (If “All The Way Up” ends up being the best song on Plata O Plomo, that wouldn’t be surprising in the least bit.) Cool & Dre and Edsclusive’s instrumental is catchy and radio-ready, and including French Montana on the chorus only adds to the overall fun mood our hosts weren’t necessarily reaching for, but are more than satisfied settling with. (Guest Infrared also contributes during the hook, reciting the title, but that’s roughly all.) “All The Way Up” was proof that the chemistry between Large Joseph and Remy Martin during the Terror Squad jam “Lean Back” wasn’t a fluke, which caused Joey (and his label – let’s be real, probably more the label) to abandon whatever solo project he may have recorded this for in favor of a joint effort with Remy that could capitalize on its popularity. Curiously, though, Plata O Plomo doesn’t abuse the obvious tactic of affixing the official remix of “All The Way Up” onto the end of the program, although it may not be for a lack of trying: on Nicki Minaj’s clapback “No Frauds”, she posits the theory that the remix’s big name get of a guest star, Jay-Z, declined to clear his appearance for anything outside of a single release, which is a bummer if true, since (a) Hov is the head of his own goddamn label, so choosing not to allow the verse to appear is both a sign of no faith and a slight against both Remy and Joe, and (b) Jay’s verse was kind of great, if a tad bit awkward (“Lemonade was a popular drink and it still is,” he rapped at one point, trying to reference both his wife Beyonce’s then-new Lemonade album and a classic bar from the late Guru, but coming across as the living embodiment of the Steve Buscemi in 30 Rock “How do you do, fellow kids?” meme). (The remix also brushed aside whatever grievances Fat Joe and Jay-Z had with one another.) Eh, no matter, I still enjoyed this song, so. Now to continue with the rest of this write-up with increased expectations of enjoyment and entertainment…

5. HOW CAN I FORGET (FEAT. KENT JONES)

My main takeaway, as it’ll be one we’ll share together as a family, is that Kent Jones pronounces the word “forget” in a very, um, unique manner. He also says it in the “normal” way during his chorus on “How Can I Forget”, too, so he’s obviously just doing it for exaggerated effect, but still, yeesh. (I cannot confirm nor deny that Fat Joe is exercising the same right during his own verse, when he apes the guest’s affectations.) Illa’s instrumental aims for dark and majestic, but lands on “bumper music for playing during broadcasts of previously-aired NFL exhibition games”, and Joe and Remy’s respective stanzas, each about always keeping the most dire of circumstances they’ve respectively lived through (prison, mostly) in the front of their mind at all times as they elbow their way into a successful career, are delivered in awkward, halting fashion, which doesn’t suit either rapper. So this wasn’t a very good song. But once again, my main takeaway is Kent Jones sing-rapping the word, “for-GET”.

6. HOW LONG

This is the only track on Plata O Plomo that doesn’t feature a guest in any capacity. Jose Grande and Remy Ma both obviously miss their friend Big Pin, as his presence looms large over Plata O Plomo, a project that likely wouldn’t have ever existed had the man not passed, since Pun and Remy probably would have released their own version of these shenanigans themselves (without Joey Crack’s guidance, assistance, or even well-wishes, let’s be honest). This time around Remy cribs from Pun’s rhyme book, specifically some select bars from Joey’s own “John Blaze”. There’s but one other notable aspect of “How Long”, a Streetrunner and Tarik Azzouz production that otherwise blows: immediately after Fat Joe says, “Bitch, just bring some slut friends’” (he’s a real keeper, that one), Remy Ma chimes in with, “Yeah, walk it out, bitch,”, indirectly condoning her album partner’s misogynistic behavior and selling out her own gender in the process. For a song ostensibly about how our hosts have lost the ability to count how many years they’ve been rich up to this point, this shit was just unnecessary. But so was the song itself, so.

7. GO CRAZY (FEAT. SEVYN STREETER & BJ THE CHICAGO KID)

The 1990’s renaissance continues on “Go Crazy”, on which guest vocalist Sevyn Streeter (and, to a  far lesser extent, BJ the Chicago Kid) interpolates BlackSTREET’s “Don’t Leave Me” during the hook. Which was an… interesting choice, given the skit that precedes this track (at the end of “How Long” – it’s okay, you wouldn’t have stuck with that song long enough to ever hear of it, that’s what I’m here for) features a Fat Joe so desperate to fuck some anonymous woman that he’s already thinking of giving her the world, a storyline that’s carried on the backs of 808-Ray and Cool & Dre’s meh production on here. Am I to believe that he hasn’t even properly introduced himself to this woman as of yet, and he’s already thinking about how he’s going to beg her to stay when she threatens to walk away? Continuity is important, people.  Joey Crack’s style of wooing involved materialism and promises of travel to exotic lands such as the Bronx, obviously, so right off the bat you know “Go Crazy” won’t be breaking any new ground. Remy Ma, who Large Joseph is not trying to date on this song but it could have added at least two degrees of intrigue to the proceedings, name-drops a Fat Joe nickname but mostly looks out for her own self-interests, meaning that she’s found her own guy to sleep with and to buy her designer garments, because true lust can only be expressed in these terms when it comes to our chosen genre. At least this wasn’t another episode of boasts-n-bullshit, I suppose?

8. HEARTBREAK (FEAT. THE-DREAM)

This was also kind of weird. Times to jump on the current wave of reggaeton/moombahton tracks topping the Billboard and Spotify charts in the United States, the Vindata-produced “Heartbreak” essentially masters that sound, playing as an amalgam of Bad Bunny’s “Mia” and Justin Bieber’s “Sorry” (or, to my ears, N.O.R.E.’s “Uno Mas”, a song I kind of love, stop hating). But the problem with a beat such as this is that it requires a vocalist to harmonize all over the more brash, jarring musical peaks in order to keep the peace (see: Bieber, Drake on “Mia”, Pharrell Williams on “Uno Mas”), so Fat Joe and Remy Ma cede most of their screen time to The-Dream, and, well, “Heartbreak” turns into a fucking Dream song that barely features either of our hosts. They’re obviously around, but neither contributes all that much, leaving The-Dream with an unexpected showcase on Plata O Plomo. Pity this wasn’t a better song overall. The Vindata beat is fine (and could have possibly taken off, had the circumstances been different), and The-Dream is okay, but neither Remy nor Paunch Cartagena seem to be having any fun on here. Joe, especially, is all over the fucking place, beginning the track trying to convince someone to leave a relationship where they feel neglected by their partner, but quickly pivoting to hardly-impressive boasts about watching Kanye West live during the Saint Pablo tour while sitting with the Kardashian family. Is it too late to start a Change.org petition for The-Dream to have an opportunity to re-record and release “Heartbreak” as his own song?

9. COOKIN (FEAT. FRENCH MONTANA & RYSOVALID)

As this was the follow-up single to the unexpectedly hyper-successful “All The Way Up”, it makes sense that Large Joseph and Remy Ma would try their darnedest to recreate the formula, utilizing another bombastic instrumental (this time provided by producer Illa) and even recalling French Montana back to the factory to perform the hook. Shockingly, or more accurately, not shockingly, “Cookin” fails on nearly every conceivable level: the beat in no way matches up with what these guys are even talking about (which is quite the feat, since there’s no real thematic thread on this song), and the contrast is stark. Joey’s son RySoValid (what a stupid stage name) performs the half of the chorus Frenchy skips out on, repeating the same sentence multiple times (I stopped counting at four hundred-and-fifty-two) in a game effort to create a chant, but instead daring the listener to not be driven insane instead. (He was wasted on here, is what I’m saying. Maybe if he’d have gotten a better spot on here, people would give a shit that he’s Joey Crack’s kid.) Joe himself pulls off the mask to reveal himself as the unimaginative gangsta rapper he’s been for more than a decade at this point, the artist so in need of career resuscitation that he’s willing to jump onto any and all bandwagons to make that happen, forever chasing that dragon of one more hit, man, just one more hit, that’s all, one more hit (on the radio). Only Remy manages to brush herself off on “Cookin”: she says nothing of import, but the flow is as cocky as it was on “All The Way Up”, so at least she sounded good.

10. MONEY SHOWERS (FEAT. TY DOLLA $IGN)

Alright, I just remembered why I may have lumped Cool & Dre in with the Trackmasters in the past: their beat for “Money Showers”, the Ty Dolla $ign-featuring third single, loops a sample lifted from Ralph Tresvant’s “Do What I Gotta Do” (and not just the music: Tresvant’s vocals can be heard throughout the instrumental), and it… well, it kind of fucking slaps, really. It’s catchy as hell, and it keeps with Fat Joe’s unintelligible need to bring the 1990’s back on Plata O Plomo, but on here it’s fully welcomed, as it sounds like Poke and Tone, Puff Daddy, or even Jermaine Dupri at the height of their respective powers, and I intend that as a wholehearted compliment. The song itself is silly and damn near unlistenable, aside from the guest’s chorus, which is as contagious as it is unnecessary. I mean, the track is literally about “Money Showers”, throwing money at strippers so as to “make it rain”, a title Large Joseph almost certainly would have ran with had he not already done so back in 2006. Joseph Cracketh sounds fucking awful and kind of pervy (when has a rapper not sounded like a freak when talking about strippers, am I right?), while Remy Ma, who is not playing the role of “stripper Fat Joe is speaking with”, talks about how she “ain’t had love for a n---a since what happened to Pun”, which, poor Papoose. And it can’t even be argued that she’s portraying a fictional character on here, since the Big Pun reference is so goddamn specific. Oh well, the beat’s good?

11. TOO QUICK (FEAT. KINGSTON)

Meh.

12, DREAMIN’ (FEAT. STEPHANIE MILLS)

I suppose I should mention that Fat Joe made a Game of Thrones reference in the previous song, pandering to the masses for Plata O Plomo in a way that is more shameless than usual. (It could be said that every artist panders to the masses with every album, as music is made to be heard, not locked in a vault, and I don’t give a shit what Cilvaringz has been trying to tell you – art can be appreciated in both the singular and the whole, and if he really wanted to accomplish turning what is most likely a shitty Wu-Tang product into an art exhibition piece, they could have easily done so. He just wanted his name in the news, and by gum he fucking got it.) But the less said about the altogether shitty “Too Quick”, the better. The finale, the Cool & Dre-produced “Dreamin’”, features vocalist Stephanie Mills for no other reason than as a power move, Paunch Cartagena and Remy Mother showing off the depth of their iPhone contacts. But Mills is ultimately wasted on a lazy song, rendered as such my a seeming lack of communication between the two hosts: Remy Ma, who Has Something To Say, tries to go a bit deeper than expected with how she’s handling life on the outside, but Joey Crack is back on his bullshit, so her points are moot. And then the shit just… ends. No outro, no extended instrumental, no warning. Which is the greatest gift Jose Grande has ever given me, to be honest.

THE LAST WORD: Plata o Plomo doesn’t feel rushed, which was a concern when the existence of thius project was teased back when “All The Way Up” triggered a career-best resurgence for both Fat Joe and Remy Ma. (Wikipedia implies that “All The Way Up” dropped at the exact same time that the album was announced, but that’s not how my memory’s working.) But it also isn’t very good, which isn’t surprising, given Jose Grande’s commercial tendencies and how they have never truly clicked with his thugged-out persona. Inviting guests to contribute to eleven out of twelve tracks wasn’t really the best idea, but as most of them only turn in hooks, it isn’t as intrusive as you’d think. Still, neither Fat Joe nor Remy Ma receive a proper platform to thrive with Plata o Plomo: neither artists sounds fully formed, both simply regurgitating banal threats and random bullshit in an effort to complete rhymes and move on to the next one. (This is more permissible coming from Remy, given that she was still adjusting to life outside of prison, but Fat Joe had no such excuse to lean back on, and yes, I see what I did there.) The music, surprisingly, is the best aspect of the entire evening: primarily handled by production team Cool & Dre, Plata o Plomo successfully recreates how radio sounded back in 2017, with some of the beats working better today than they likely did a couple of years ago. (“Money Showers” is pure queso, but the music is fantastic, and as I mentioned above, “Heartbreak” could have been a contender had it not been saddled with the baggage that comes with being credited to Fat Joe and Remy Ma.)

But I can’t honestly say that Plata o Plomo contains anything a hip hop head would miss if they, say, walked right past it on a crowded subway platform. “All The Way Up” is the best this platter has to offer, so if you enjoyed that track, you’ll likely find something else on here you’ll like, but not love, and if you weren’t a fan of “All The Way Up”, well, I think you’ve already decided how you feel about this project, so just know that your gut reaction? Dead on.

-Max

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Catch up with the previous entries in the Fat Joe experiment by clicking here.