In Defense Of…Jay-Z’s ‘American Gangster’

It’s the 20th anniversary of Reasonable Doubt — the best album from an all-time great year in hip-hop — and since everyone else is weighing in with their Jay-Z takes, I thought I’d join the fun.

The following is an excerpt from my 2015 book In Defense Of… Supporting Underappreciated Artists, Athletes, Actors, and Albums, in which I defend and celebrates individuals and projects that were unfairly maligned or misunderstood from the world of music, sports, TV & film. It can be purchased in both paperback and Kindle.

When an artist has more number one albums than Elvis, it’s easy for some of them — even the top-notch ones — to slip through the cracks. Such is the case with American Gangster, Jay-Z’s 2007 concept album that is often overlooked.

American Gangster is impressive, particularly when considering what came before it. On his comeback album released the year prior, Kingdom Come, Jay came across as content with what he had accomplished, yet bitter that he hadn’t received enough credit for it. Worst of all, he sounded out of touch, referencing brands most listeners had never heard of and rapping about things and experiences to which even fewer could relate. It appeared as if age and success had caught up to him and he had finally fallen off.

However, an advance screening of the Ridley Scott-directed film American Gangster transported him back to his pre-mogul days, when he was just Shawn Carter, the young man standing on the street corner, looking out for cops and rivals, and dreaming of something bigger. It is a mind frame that he had not had since Reasonable Doubt a decade before, and it clearly energized him. It ripped “Jay out of the royal materialistic old-man haze that ruined Kingdom Come and recalls the titanic, invincible snarl that made him great in the first place.”[1]

The narrative begins with the young man without many options fantasizing about getting into the game (“Pray,” “American Dreamin’”), then, once he’s there, celebrating his triumphs (“Roc Boys [And the Winner Is…],” “Party Life”), before quickly becoming paranoid and uncertain (“Success,” which features Nas playing a rival in a brilliant turn of art imitating life), and ultimately receiving his comeuppance (“Fallin’”).

It’s a concept album about the rise and fall of a drug kingpin, but it’s a loose-knit one, allowing Jay to shift between recalling his own drug-dealing days and commenting on events occurring within the current culture. It is “a reflection of the emotions the film evoked…tapping into his vintage Marcy Projects days but avoiding a period-piece vibe by dropping current touchstones and terminology, a sop to up-and-coming criminals.”[2]

Musically, the album is a lush soundscape that harkens back to the sounds of ’70s and its Blaxploitation era, at once soulful, funky, and gritty. “The sampled voices of Al Green and Marvin Gaye float through the record like ghosts of Jay’s past, sweetly offering encouragement like benevolent angels.”[3] Each instrumental is cinematic, giving Jay the backdrop he needs depending on where in the story arc the song falls. Diddy and The Hitmen handled the bulk of the first half of the album — when the vibe is ambitious, then celebratory — while the second half — when the mood turns dark — comes via The Neptunes, Jermaine Dupri, No I.D., and others. “The CD’s primarily live instrumentation not only sounds better, but the warm, deep grooves, Latin sway, and sensual soulfulness are tailor-made for the ’70s theme. It’s a blaxploitation, blue-lights-in-the-basement sexiness, a lushness born of the Dramatics, the Delfonics, Barry White. Shades of Marvin Curtis, too, as Jay takes you back without being shamelessly retro.”[4]