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Rick Ross, Meet Cutting Crew: Great Uncleared Samples in Hip-hop

Photo: David Redfern/1987 David Redfern
Photo: David Redfern/1987 David Redfern

There are plenty of things to like about hip-hop mixtapes: They’re free. There’s a large variety from which to choose. They are often illustrated with unintentionally hilarious covers. But, indisputably, the greatest thing about hip-hop mixtapes is the fact that, because they’re not being officially released for sale, they allow rappers to use all manner of insane samples they’d never be able to clear for a real album. From Wiz Khalifa rapping over Joni Mitchell to Talib Kweli going in over the Beatles to Rick Ross straight killing Cutting Crew’s “(I Just) Died in Your Arms,” Vulture pays tribute to great uncleared samples in hip-hop. As always, let us know what we missed.

Let’s start off slowly. John Mayer is so rapper-friendly — having recorded with Kanye, shared a stage with Jay-Z, and made hilarious skits with Questlove — he famously once felt comfortable telling the world he had a “hood pass.” That means it’s not surprising the ascendant New York–via-Ohio rapper Stalley thought to sample Mayer’s “Assasin” on his recent mixtape Lincoln Way Nights. More of note, then: The combination works so well it’s one of those things that, in hindsight, seems obvious.
On the best song from Pusha’s excellent new mixtape Fear of God, the producer Nottz somehow figured out how to sample Queen’s “Bohemian Rhapsody” without having it completely dominate the track. He does so by isolating the couplet “open your eyes / look up to the skies,” then subtly tucking the somber melody underneath Pusha’s verses. The end result, you’ll be relieved to know, upholds the proud legacy of the classic.
Raw Dizzy is an obscure rapper who was very briefly affiliated with Lil Wayne. And if he is never heard of again, he can rest easy knowing his one contribution to the world — an against-all-odds successful reimagining of Vanessa Carlton’s 2000 piano-pop smash “A Thousand Miles,” in which Dizzy spends his time talking about scars and ironing his shirts and general hood activity — will be with us forever.
In Big K.R.I.T.’s hands, Adele’s “Hometown Glory” — a pensive, ambivalent slow-burn ballad — gets bent into something much brasher. Yelawolf, in his guest verse, sums it up nicely: “Alabama on me, I wear it like a hat / I’m a small town boy, I’m so proud of that.”
The last song on the 2006 mixtape Dedication 2 — in many people’s opinion (including ours) the best thing Lil Wayne has ever done — is a focused, post-Katrina attack on President Bush. The titular turn of phrase is admittedly juvenile, but since it gives Wayne a reason to go in over Ray Charle’s gorgeous “Georgia on My Mind,” that’s easy to excuse. And the end result — “I know people that died in that pool / I know people that died in them schools” — is blistering.
The part where Das Racist actually rap over Enigma’s early nineties New Age standby (“Underrated in the game like Mark Ruffalo / I Rockwell like Sam and people love it, yo”) is surprisingly effective. What really seals the deal here, though, is the bit at the end, where the duo spend a few minutes making nonsense noises over the track’s original vocal loop. (By the way: There is no amusing Photoshop here because Enigma proved to be so enigmatic that we could not even find a photo on the Internet.)
With the assistance of reggae stars Smitty and Junior Reid, Rick Ross and T-Pain completely take down Cutting Crew’s heartbreak epic “(I Just) Died in Your Arms.” Ross spends his time, as always, creatively talking about how rich he is, which, considering the source material for the beat, is both incongruous and wonderful.
Talib isn’t being a ton of fun here, utilizing the hook on “Eleanor Rigby” to make a statement on the empty inner lives of so many of our young people, obsessed with shopping and clubbing. At least people will show up to their funerals, Talib!
Jones tacks a few fast-life verses onto MGMT’s early hit, and the result is once again surprisingly sensible; the breezy feel of the original production locks right in with Jones’s tossed-off flow. Also, it gives Jones ample opportunity to attempt metaphors revolving around the concept of electricity, which is always nice.
Joni Mitchell, it turns out, makes perfect hip-hop fodder. Or, at least, one line from “River” — namely, “I’m going to make a lot of money / Then I’m going to quit this crazy scene” — does. The hook spurs B.o.B. into a rare head space that finds him questioning his motives, his goals, and everyone around him. Wiz just swags it out, and that works too.
Rick Ross, Meet Cutting Crew: Great Uncleared Samples in Hip-hop