The Shmingles Shmukebox: Shpop to Shtwo Shmecimal Shpaces…
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[6.33]
Thomas Inskeep: “Hot Nigga” is the kinda straightforward hip-hop I like. A simple beat – could’ve been made in ’88, frankly, or ’98, or ’00, and that’s to its credit ’cause it’s pretty damn timeless. And some basic (but not simple) rhymes from a young lion with even bigger things ahead of him.
[6]
Micha Cavaseno: Let’s get it out of the way right now: Bobby Shmurda is not an excellent rapper; he’s about average when it comes to skill and gets by on loads of charisma (for those raising an eyebrow, I direct you to his guest appearance on partner Rowdy Rebel’s “Shmoney Dance” video. Keep your eyes out for Bobby as he dances, struts, pivots, squirms, flails, gallivants, scales friends, rides atop cars like flying carpets, palls around with old-heads and emphasizes his stash of drugs by slapping on a kitchen cupboard he mislabels as a drawer like his life depends on it. Of course this kid was going to be a star.). “Hot Nigga” is basically an average freestyle that wouldn’t have raised too many eyebrows if it’d been on the various mixtapes that flooded the NYC markets a decade ago in the post-50 Cent mania of “YOU CAN WIN IF THE STREETS LEARN TO LOVE YOU!” Yes, Shmurda vaguely recalls Chief Keef, but he also is reminiscent of fellow Brooklyn native snarler Uncle Murda (who’s already collaborated with his adoptive nephew! So adorably menacing!), and that generic quality is a damning sign that his rise may peak really fast. After all, his and Rowdy’s follow-up “Computers” is kind of unremarkable minus Bobby’s adlib of “TOMCRUISETOMCRUISE”. But after years of terrible Renn-Faire Rap from Joey Bada$$ and co., a sloppy Estonian Fat Joe derivative, and a male model from New Jersey being all that represents NYC rap, this is VITAL. So yes, the critic in me is giving this song a charitable 6, but the youth who copped retrospectively terrible Papoose mixtapes on Jamaica Ave. in me is giving this a fanatical 10 while tossing my hat in the air and doesn’t give a goddamn. Do the math. #SQUAD
[8]
John Seroff: In which your humble narrator fears that he may be aging out of hip hop, links to a vine, flips off his cap and shmoney dances past the graveyard.
[5]
Will Adams: The constant pulse of the organ and choir brews up the necessary drama that Bobby Shmurda isn’t committed to delivering himself.
[5]
Brad Shoup: I dunno what’s better, the catwalk turn that put this song on the map, or that it’s basically one big verse. There’s no flourish, just a four-note line as monotonous as a clock tower at noon. Shmurda has fun detailing the ins and outs of his intelligence network and putting specific friends on blast. But there’s nothing as free as a dude tossing his cap and turning his back.
[6]
Crystal Leww: This is bad drill music, but I guess I really like drill music.
[8]