The accepted narrative of Rakim’s solo career—the exacting auteur who couldn’t get out of his own way—makes him an easy scapegoat for his catalog’s shortcomings. Dr. Dre offered the Get Rich or Die Tryin’ beats, but Rakim wasn’t interested; Rakim fled Aftermath with his masters, opting to churn out soggy, unmelodic odes to his own resume. In hindsight, Don’t Sweat the Technique, his final full-length with Queens DJ and producer Eric B., serves as a bookend in more ways than one. The duo dissolved months after its 1992 release, a moment when hip-hop swelled from an underground movement into a global, commercial force. Rakim laid the groundwork, and never quite cashed in.
G.O.D.’S NETWORK (REB7RTH) doesn’t upend that version of the story, but it suggests a few complicating factors. Rakim’s spotty solo run (three albums in 32 years, for those keeping score) is blighted by lumbering dirges credited to no-name producers; G.O.D.’S NETWORK countervails the latter pitfall, at least in theory. Rakim produces everything himself, a quixotic endeavor exposing nearsightedness and structural defects—the metronomic drums are too loud for the mix. It might’ve been a torch-passing exercise, but most of the featured guests are 20 years past their primes. Rakim aims for moguldom, but lands closer to mixtape DJ.
Rakim shoulders the hooks, but only raps three verses across seven tracks, meaning he’s MIA for large swaths of his own album. Still, the posse cuts are pretty good. “Now Is the Time” signals distinctive taste: The transcontinental lineup of B.G., Hus KingPin, and Compton Menace suggests Rakim and his assembly-line A&R are plugged into regional scenes and attuned to stylistic contrasts. What “Love Is the Message” lacks in novelty, it makes up in the magnetism of its contributors. Fresno veteran Planet Asia’s grizzled plea gives way to a double-time showcase from L.A. rapper Louis King; Rakim exhumes an old Nipsey Hussle verse for good measure.
This tape should prompt inquiry into Rakim’s lost decades—he is, after all, an architect of the modern rap album. If he wished to transition into an executive-producer role, mentoring protégés in his image, what stopped him? Somehow, G.O.D.’S NETWORK lays blame at his doorstep. The tempos are plodding and the samples familiar: It’s literate punchline rap for and by middle-aged men, with all that entails. La the Darkman goes full anti-vax on “Pendulum Swing,” seemingly unaware that Fred the Godson, dead of COVID at 35, appears one track prior. “Sign of Se7en” features Sacramento rapper X-Raided, an actual convicted murderer. The curation is prone to hagiography—DMX and Prodigy appear from beyond the grave, along with a voice note from Snoop Dogg that may as well have been purchased via Cameo—without gesturing toward any future.
Projects like this, aimed at a built-in audience of true-school crusaders, tend to be received in hushed, appreciative tones: Rakim’s reputation is hardly at stake. What’s curious is that Rakim can’t find anyone to produce or release his music. It’s no secret that hip-hop, as a genre, fails to look after its elders, and the flipside of the equation is that legends have bills to pay. Common just got an album’s worth of vibrant Pete Rock beats; Buckwild and DJ Muggs are Rakim’s age, and more prolific than ever. G.O.D.’S NETWORK positions Rakim as a passable producer instead of an elite MC, but he did it his way.