As I’ve touched on recently, I have some issues with My Name is Asher Roth. His copping to not really fucking with hip hop until “Vol. 2” here, though, gets points for honesty. Even if it is a little off-putting, homey seems to have done his homework since then, so more power to him.
And on a point that he doesn’t really drive home, for probably obvious self-preservation reasons, he’s right. The OG’s who say you can’t step unless your Walkman ate your “Protect Ya Neck” promo single in ‘92 are on the worst kind of reactionary conservatism you can be on.
I just have one quibble. If, Asher, there actually was a sepia-toned Dodge Caravan ride in which you decided to trade “Wonderwall for “Hard Knock Life,” I’m guessing your roof-of-the-mouth, knowwhatI’msaying speaking style might be a little bit affected. I’m sure that shit can rub off on you when you’re in the studio everyday, chopping it up with dudes who did not grow up in suburban Philly, but you sound like a struggling sketch actor auditioning for Mad TV with a white rapper character. That is not a good look.
