The A&E documentary Ol’ Dirty Bastard: A Tale of Two Dirtys revisits an oft-told tragedy. Ghostface Killah calls him “the soul of Wu-Tang Clan,” but one can’t help but notice that he and Raekwon are the only members of the group to appear on camera. RZA’s absence is palpable – he and Dirty’s widow, Icelene Jones, have had a contentious relationship since the rapper’s death in 2004. Mariah Carey shows up with her considerable star power to describe how she and Dirty made the classic single “Sweet Fantasy.” Damon Dash, who is far removed from his Roc-a-Fella glory years, bravely addresses why he signed Dirty to a million-dollar deal despite the rapper displaying troubling signs of schizophrenia while in prison, and clearly needing therapy upon release. There’s a lot of great camcorder home videos from Icelene that gives the documentary a poignant intimacy. But too much of Dirty’s work after Return to the 36 Chambers: The Dirty Version is cast in a negative light. An Elektra Records executive claims that his second album, 1999’s Nigga Please, sold poorly because of his increasing drug use. That’s clearly wrong: it earned a RIAA gold certification and yielded a major club hit in the Neptunes-produced “Got Your Money.” A Tale of Two Dirtys strains to show us that Dirty was a creative musician, not a holy fool. Unfortunately, A&E doesn’t do artistry. It specializes in celebrity dirt. There’s endless scenes of Dirty wandering some anonymous hallway, presumably in a drug-induced daze. Under such conditions, one doesn’t know if they should take commentator’s Byronn Bain’s comment that “this country has had a love affair with Black pain and suffering since its beginning” as an ironic or a cautionary statement. A Tale of Two Dirtys was directed by Jason and Sam Pollard. Four Screens, Pulse Films, and the Ol’ Dirty Bastard Estate produced it.
Boldy James & Conductor Williams, Across the Tracks
Across the Tracks is Boldy James’ second release this year. The first, Penalty of Leadership, found the Detroit rapper collaborating with Nicolas Craven as he explored the consequences of a near-fatal car accident. The project sounded revelatory as James subtly pushed beyond his comfort zone of street pharmaceuticals and male power dynamics. Across the Tracks finds him reverting to form. He calls himself “Brick James” on “The Ol’ Switcheroo,” and claims on “Off-White Lumberjacks” that he’s “been trapping through The Wire just like Wee-Bey.” It’s an environment where “good writing” — to use an oft-abused music critic cliché — consists of illustrating a drug hustler’s lifestyle in colorful language, not thematic exposition or narrative tension. A sole example of the latter is “Flying Trapeze Act,” where James tells a story about being criminally investigated: “Tightroping in the street, this shit is death defying/When your man’s a witness in your case testifying.” Conductor Williams offers fantastic loops, as always, but it’s unclear whether James truly elevates them or simply settles into the beats like comfortable shoes. The 26-minute excursion feels too easy, like lightwork. Near Mint released Across the Tracks.