​I'm as guilty as any other rap stan of extolling hip-hop that finds new and innovative ways of glorifying misogyny, conspicuous consumption, and violence, but there's a lot to be said for pop-rap that just wants to have fun, spin some tall tales, rap that gives not a whit for being taken too seriously. And lately I've been craving out-to-lunch rappers like QuESt and (yeah, I know) Asher Roth, spitters who delight in the daft, in using language like jungle gyms or chalked paralell bars; the former and his ilk want me to snap out of my workaday coma and actually think, while the latter and his ilk are working overtime to make me spray milk out of my nose. (Rapdragons! And the Cool Kids, too. When is that album gonna drop, guys?) More >>

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Here's what we know about Harlem rapper Charlie Clips, a priori. Like pre-fame Eminem, he's built a formidable battle-rap rep. He's the newest member of the U.N., Cam'ron's post-Diplomats crew, who will have a posse disc out this spring. (Supposedly. Never hold your breath waiting for rap albums to drop.) He rolls with rappers, singers, and producers whose nicknames are as unfortunate as his is, dudes with bargain-basement b-boy handles like Ice Pig, Hash, Amen, Papers, Max Dollaz, Sev Da Producerr, and, um, Fred the Godson. (That last one is especially regrettable; I suspect he'll change it to something less asinine after explaining dozens of times that his moniker either means "God's son" or "god son," as in "You know Ethyl? I'm Ethyl's god son.")

Here's what we learn from Fully Loaded Clips, his new mixtape: he's not known as "Charlie Clips" because he was made employee of the months running at the local Hair Cuttery. (Also, Chuck? If your iPhone starts blowing up soon, it might not be A&Rs, fiends, or chicken heads; legal reps for Malice and Pusha T may want a word.) He's seen Juice way, way too many times, or, at least, he just won't stop talking about it. His boisterous, hammering-tacks-deep-into-every-last-syllable flow snaps and shanks, hyper-kinetic and hungry, laden with
grotesque, black comedic punchlines that he chuckles at (but not in a stoned-hyena Weezy way).

In short, he easily, effortlessly bests every last forgettable, weedcarrying MC to darken the doorway of Cam's last couple albums and mixtapes, and given his sheer intensity and unbound panache, it's sometimes hard to grasp why, say, Ghostface or Juelz Santana -- whose bellicose, belligerant styles Clips must have studied coming up -- aren't his primary mentors. He does share Cam's golden ear for beats, selecting sweet, soulful bangers full of songbird trills he can riff off of; you'll swear you've heard some of these productions before, though you probably haven't. More >>