Sticky Fingaz: Decade

Onyx screamed its way into hip-hop history, only to fall by the wayside once its intensity and mosh-pit-friendly anger lost their novelty. Group sparkplug Sticky Fingaz segued into acting and appeared on Eminem's The Marshall Mathers LP before unleashing his solo debut, 2001's Black Trash: The Autobiography Of Kirk Jones, a wild, demented blaxploitation movie of a concept album that ranks as one of rap's best-kept secrets. In spite of rave reviews, production by DJ Scratch and Rockwilder, and guest appearances by Eminem, Redman, and Rah Digga, the album was ignored by a hip-hop world that only vaguely remembered Fingaz as that yelling guy from the early '90s. Universal dropped him following that commercial failure, so he signed with D3, the independent label best known for releasing widely derided albums from an incarcerated Ol' Dirty Bastard and a self-destructing Canibus. Fingaz reconnected with Onyx for last year's Bacdafucup Part II, a so-so would-be-comeback album whose title and first single ("Slam Harder") testified to just how desperately the group wanted to return to its glory days. A similar air of desperation hangs heavy over his second solo album, Decade, which eschews its predecessor's superstar guests, conceptual ambitions, and manic energy while introducing a more subdued Fingaz and a few desperate stabs at radio play. On Kirk Jones, the rapper maintained his trademark intensity while exploring a diverse range of subject matter. But he seems to work through most of his anger on Decade's intro, and after that, he sounds like somebody slipped him a handful of Valium just before he laid down his vocals. That and a lack of big-name guests wouldn't be such a problem if the album retained the black humor and frenzied charisma that made Fingaz's debut so compelling. Unfortunately, he seems to have left his sense of humor and personal magnetism back at Universal. Without the visceral wallop of Onyx's early work or the conceptual strength of Kirk Jones, Decade feels depressingly generic, the work of just another raspy-voiced hoodlum pontificating on the streets, the game, and other subjects beloved by the originality-impaired.