"Lucifer In A New Suit" finds Slim battle-rapping over Kanye West's "Devil In A New Dress" while "While I'm From" is a gritty ode to D.C. over Jay-Z's song of the same name. On "Exhibit A," which borrows Jay Electronica's standout 2009 track, Slim gets spacey: "You can tell by my wave pattern/So out of this world, I can wave at Saturn."

2dopeboyz has the mixtape. The Beam Up 3 is scheduled for a spring release.

Is “Otis” a terrible song?

I thought so. It’s a lazy, looped beat that is trampled on by weak punch-lines, and is just about impossible to consume. But three songs into Thursday night’s Monsters of Rap summit, the track felt central to whatever cultural unifiers linger in the middle class’ societal fabric. An extended intro turned the Verizon Center into “Try a Little Tenderness” karaoke in the dark, then a big fucking American flag adorned the biggest of the three platforms Jay-Z and Kanye West would go on to occupy; lasers and fire came next.

Just like the $300,000 Maybach the duo carelessly destroys in the "Otis" video, Jay and ‘Ye proceeded to carve into an untouchable standard because they could afford to clear the Otis Redding sample. Wealth is just stuff and the '60s were just things that happened 50 years ago. The united reciprocity from attendees was unguarded catharsis, building up ever since Keith Richards told my generation that Puff Daddy’s “Come With Me” wasn’t real music. And about those attendees: Generation X played cool older sibling, representing the Tunnel Banger era in Timbalands and puffy Gore-Tex winter-fresh vests; white students bobbed along politely, harmless with hoods up; pre-teens who couldn’t discern “Jigga What, Jigga Who” from “Nigga What, Nigga Who” waited patiently for Watch the Throne cuts; and the crowd’s backbone of area African-Americans dressed up for a night at the lounge made everything fun.

It was my fourth time seeing these artists dating back to September 2010 at Yankee Stadium. That show was a brandishing of status fueled by a king’s court of guest stars. March’s undone-by-probing-Tweets South By Southwest mess was about a feigned egalitarian spirit that failed because it turned into a Darwinian model of exclusivity. The summer festival performances by West were theater: inventive and brilliant, led by structured queues. Thursday night was a loose, celebratory rap concert.

After emerging from dueling, elevated blocks on what amounts to opposite ends of where Javale McGee rolls out his “just dunks” offensive philosophy, our heroes stacked two-minute versions of hits for more than two hours. There were nearly 40 songs that took it back to Volume II—a token Reasonable Doubt bone would have been sweet—with a booming parade of muscular tracks everyone knows: “Run This Town” and then “Monster,” “Empire State of Mind” and then “Runaway,” “Big Pimpin’” and then “Gold Digger.”

Collectively, Jay-Z and West have released hugely popular, memorable albums every year since 1996. Extrapolate the smash singles and the night’s playlist was crowded with songs that have big-budget music videos. Under all of the lights, folks knew all of the words.

The same experience happens at Celine Dion or Paul McCartney concerts. But two non-singles brought rare vitality to the traveling arena spectacle. Both of Watch the Throne’s excellent Frank Ocean hooks became reflective bits about where, exactly, a certain class of people sits in society. Leading up to “No Church in the Wild,” a stirring short film of gruesome highlights in American history—race riots, children in KKK outfits, atom bomb tests—compelled even the night’s protagonists to gawk at the screens. During “Made in America,” montage footage of Dr. Martin Luther King played in slow motion; it was another fish- in-a-barrel move that nonetheless stopped everyone in their tracks because of the circumstances surrounding its presentation. Even the club promoters had to breathe it in before eagerly littering 7th Street with glossy invites to exclusive afterparties.

Photos by Ramon Ramirez

This Guy: Huffington Post DC blogger Ben E. Kessler is back with another silly missive about the rock scene, this time something to do with geographic origins of bands. Apparently, if you're from Bronxville or Binghamton, you're not allowed to tell people you're from New York. (Which means I grew up in Albany, um, Canada?) Also, "the last globally recognized music scene was Manchester, England in the mid-to-late 1990s"? So, now he's holding out for that never-gonna-happen Oasis reunion?

In Which the Authenticity of Punching an Old Lady in the Face is Discussed: Their setup, not mine. DCist's Michelle Nail interviewed comedian Brian Posehn, that lumbering, bearded fellow from The Sarah Silverman Program. On the definition of being "metal": "It is possible to punch a lady in the face and be false. ... but first if you have Metallica “Ride the Lightning” on your headphones and you're just walking around.....if you're just walking around and you're just, like, "YEAH!" You feel it then it's real. Then go ahead and punch her." OK, then. Oh, this was just Part 1 of the interview?

Today on Arts Desk: Lots of Louis Jacobson reviews. Ramon Ramirez watches the throne.

Watch the Throne is often noisy, gutless, and absurd: like every time a limping Jay-Z grabs the mic and raps about his American Express Black Card over techno. Lyrics skate by on familiar vocal timbres that rehash classic lines from more fruitful years, like “I’m from the murder capital/where they murder for capital.”

But how often do you get to see the world's two biggest rappers live, with ludicrous production budgets? I'd be there, but I'll be too busy jet-setting tonight. 7:30 p.m. at the Verizon Center. $59.50-$250.

MUSIC

The Ives Project kicks off at Strathmore—read Mike Paarlberg's interview with the pianist leading the program, the very quotable Jeremy Denk.

ESL Music is hosting a low-to-the-ground show at Montserrat House starring lounge bohos AM & Shawn Lee. $10, and you should probably buy ahead of time. 10 p.m. Wear a vest, probably.

THEATER

The Occupy D.C. protests don't end at McPherson Square, it seems. In Keegan Theatre's thoughtful take of The Crucible, religious anxieties give way to class tensions—and it's no accident,Rebecca J. Ritzel writes, that the production has some 99 percent vibes on offer: "Not only are these text-grounded interpretive twists timely, they make The Crucible more than an allegorical tale about revenge, paranoia, and religion. And given that themes of paranoia, inspired by the 1950s Red Scare, established The Crucible as an American classic, that’s high praise. Credit director Susan Marie Rhea with closely reading Miller’s text, and honoring it with a production worth seeing."

STORYTELLING

In a furniture store.

One year later, X.O. sounds restless on Monumental II, a 17-track mixtape of familiar soul samples, reflective anecdotes, and aggressive lyricism released today. Monumental II is the follow-up to his acclaimed Monumental mixtape from 2009. We review Monumental II in this week's paper. In addition, I spoke with X.O. about the new project, his push for more collaboration among local MCs, and the restructuring of the once-formidable Studio 43 record label, which once had Wale on its roster.

Washington City Paper: I've been following your music for some time now, and on this release, you sound very edgy and determined. Is there any reason why you had a different tone on this one?

X.O.: The difference in tone on this one, I would have to say it's the anxiousness to take things to the next level, as far as my skill, overall music career, overall sound and energy.

WCP: It's been two years since the release of the first Monumental mixtape, so describe in detail some of the personal and professional challenges you've endured since then.

X.O.: I'm just trying to stay focused on this plan. Sometimes, we have a plan or we want something so bad, we get anxious and that anxiousness turns into impatience, and that impatience turns into frustration. It's all a cycle, so that frustration goes back into the music. With Monumental II, I actually recorded over 70 records. In the last month, a lot of things were going on. I had a lot of things I was going through, but I finally got it together. I learned that I have to keep going and not get distracted by things, and keep people around me that are like-minded. Through certain trials and tribulations, I slowly solved a lot of problems.

I've long wanted to put out Monumental II, but I had to work out some things. I'm not with Studio 43 anymore. It was no beef with those guys. In my natural spirit, I started asking myself a lot of questions and that's when the answers came. I don't wanna be just an artist; I wanna be an entrepreneur. That's really my true passion, and if you look at KRS-ONE and Boogie Down Productions, Jay-Z and Roc-A-Fella Records, these are artists with the mindset of businessmen. Artists with more control end up being innovative.

WCP: From what I'm hearing, you don't just want to be an MC, you want to be your own brand.

X.O.: Exactly, so I had to detach myself from certain things to make myself stronger. And with this Secret Society movement I created, it's mainly people in my clique. It's a movement. It's the people who know that we are some of the best and some of the nicest MCs, and we are getting overshadowed. We're not getting acknowledged because of politics, ya know? AB the Producer, his beats? Hearing the production on [Monumental II], it's some of the best from this area, hands down. Period.

WCP: Anybody else in the Secret Society?

X.O.: Yeah—Benji, Gordo Brega, Tony Night, D.O.E. C.I.G.A.P.O.M, Tragic, and my extended friends like Phil Da Future and Fat Trel. They don't even know about the Secret Society, but that's the movement I'm starting. I consider them to be a part of it because we're nice and we're not getting acknowledged. We're not in the forefront yet. It's like the most known unknown. People know that we're not right in front of people's faces with it. The Secret Society is really like an analogy. We're making silent moves. When you look at the real Secret Society—like Illuminati and all that—they move the same way. We're gonna unite. That's what I want to do with all the hot D.C. artists. You already know it's strength in numbers. We've got to come together.

WCP: When you mention people like AB The Pro and Gordo Brega, did you pick people for Secret Society who used to be on Studio 43? Are they still on the label?

X.O.: Studio 43 is not a label anymore, it's like a marketing company or something like that. I don't think they had what it takes to give the artists what they needed. It was definitely a great stepping stone. But as far as going further than that, with certain people who were involved with it, it couldn't go to the next level. So I had to put on this entrepreneurial hat, which I already had on doing the [Club] Pure open mics.

WCP: What are the differences between X.O., the solo rapper, and X.O., one-third of the Diamond District?

X.O.: Not too much of a difference. I'm my own entity. That's like, for instance, me being a good basketball player on the level of Lebron [James] or Mike Beasley. I used to watch Mike Beasley at Barry Farms. He already had a reputation for playing basketball here or there on his own, but when he got on a team, he just played his part. Same thing with me. I went around the city and had my own thing going. When I'm with [Oddisee and yU], I just play my part. On the next joint, it's gonna be a whole new sound because my mind is in a different place when I'm laying those tracks. I know that when I make music with them, it's a totally different sound and demographic. I may talk about different things because I know a different type of person will be listening. When I'm alone, I get to go into that mode, but I get to do a lot of other things that Oddisee and yU would never do. I do that on purpose. When I put out stuff by myself, I want to keep that separate sound, so you'll know what I bring to the table when I come to that group.

WCP: Growing up, what were some of your musical influences?

X.O.: My mother and father were my first musical influences. My father used to play with Gil Scott-Heron. I never grew up around him; we weren't close until later in life. But, just hearing the story and knowing why I like certain things, or why I'm attracted to certain things, is because my family had me around that. My mother is also a musician. I didn't get into rap until elementary school. Coming up in the late '80s and early '90s, we mainly listened to R&B. My folks used to listen to Earth, Wind & Fire. Then when rap came along, L.L. [Cool J] was one of the first dudes I was rocking with. After that, it was Biggie Smalls. Then it was over from there [laughs]. After that, it was DMX and Jay-Z, when I started getting into the streets and was able to relate to the things that he was talking about. I heard the Jay records, but I wasn't hustling in 1996. He brought a lot of lyricism to the table. It was that 'hit home' feeling that I got from him. But I listen to all music, not just rap.

WCP: I compared Monumental to Monumental II, and it seems like you were really honest about the things you used to do. Was that done on purpose?

X.O.: When I was younger, and my mother was struggling, I would pay bills in my house. At 16, 17, 18, I was helping my mother pay bills. It came to a point where we discussed what I was doing in the street, and she OK'd it. She was like, "We gotta do what we gotta do!" It wasn't always like that, only when our backs were against the wall. She ended up kicking me out for selling drugs.

WCP:  So what are your plans for Monumental II? Where do you want it to go?

X.O.: I want Monumental II to set a new tone for me, what I have to bring to the table, and our Secret Society movement. This is the first installment of consistency and great music representing this area. I want it to be heard all around the world.

He's survived hype and changed teams, joining Rick Ross' Maybach Music along with Philly underground ace Meek Mill and southern bro Pill. The Eleven One Eleven Theory is an important litmus test: What sort of niche is Wale aiming for? How well does he carry a solo release when he's playing Memphis Bleek to Ross' Jay-Z? What is Wale's emotional state after an already long list of career ups and downs? How does Wale feel about college athletics?

Seeking answers, we gave that new mixtape a track-by-track dissection. Marcus J. Moore took the odd numbers, Ramon Ramirez the evens. Spoiler alert: The Wale tape is aight.

1. "Theory 11.1.11"
Leading by a Tupac interview clip, Wale uses spoken-word poetry to chastise his haters and critique his artistic progression. "I give my heart to an unforgiving genre where passion is frowned upon, where the muzzle's 'round them all," Wale says over a sparse piano solo that swells as he speaks. He sounds conflicted, if not broken, but that doesn't mean he's lost confidence: "I'm only but a man, but man enough to challenge y'all."

2. “Fuck You”
Wale compares his penis to a gavel, over a well-produced soul banger. He also tells us why he enjoys arguing on Twitter: “It’s just simply my interest to intricately riddle niggas.”

3. "Drums and Shit"
A battle-ready, raucous break beat with record scratches and distorted drum cymbals. On this quick stream of consciousness, Wale flexes his lyricism, addresses D.C. gentrification, and shouts out a hood near my Landover hometown. "Smoking loud, enjoying my youth/Take you out Kentland and show you a zoo." With this song, Wale shows he's not all flash, and that he still has an ear for old-school hip-hop.

4. “Chain Music”
Bottle service music: a club track about nothing wherein the beat is driven by four repetitious synth notes. Rick Ross’ sampled hook comes away with the best line (“chain so big can’t pop my collar”), and that’s unfortunate.

5. "Lace Frontin"
What's a Wale record without a call-and-response track for the ladies? Continuing the break-beat theme, the artist uses layered percussion and a DMX vocal sample to quickly celebrate real women, while criticizing the fake ones: "Fake eyes, fake bitches, fake bras, and you ask Twitter why you gettin' fake guys." He also admits his misogyny, even if he's trying to improve ("I say bitch a lot, though I'm proud of my sisters.") If nothing else, at least the music sounds good.

6. “Mother Nature”
DMV producer BuBu brings it: a well-placed Screw hook, a quiet-storm beat on the right side of corny, great background singers. Wale does not (“We the shit, no Metamucil,” a dig at the Sacramento Kings).

7. "Barry Sanders"
It's no secret that Wale loves sports. With a long intro and blaring horns, this triumphant track punctuates that love, saturated with plenty of references for enthusiasts: Hail Mary passes, the NBA D-League, and local basketball legend Len Bias. Here, Wale raps: "With this recording, I'm as sick as Jordan before Game 6." Well played.

8. “That Way”
A Curtis Mayfield sample, nice drums when they finally kick in—this beat is lavish. Jeremih’s lover-man hook serves its purpose. Again, Rick Ross is three times more interesting than Wale with his super-coked-out love raps: “She my Billie Jean, we ménage with Mary Jane.” Ross has always been up front about the fact that the honies didn’t start returning his inappropriate texts until he got famous, so when he raps about doin’ it, he does so with an appreciated hunger and wonder.

9. "Passive Aggres-Her"
With filtered drums and a midtempo R&B groove, this dark record adds an unexpected twist to an otherwise upbeat project. Here, Wale discusses his love for crazy women and rocky, if not abusive, relationships. "You bite me and I bite back, and call it love," a woman's voice sings on the chorus. Still, the song works, no matter how sadomasochistic.

10. “Fairy Tales”
The "Black Girl Lost" track, with a modern aspiring-model twist. Wale does his thing, but the second half has singer Lil Duval oscillating between guttural singing and slangin’ observational humor about female hygiene. It’s terrible, whether or not Duval laid down those vocals in a three-piece purple suit.

11. "Ocean Drive"
Possibly influenced by Wale's Ross affiliation, this track is rooted in Caribbean sounds and references fun times in South Beach. "Ocean Drive" is much its inspiration—light and breezy—but it isn't lyrically captivating. More suited for the dance hall than the block.

12. “Samples and Shit”
Two minutes of loosely structured rapping over a skeletal disco croon, with minimal percussion. Wale is effective in conveying his strong anti-hater message.

13. "Ambitious Girl"
Strings and light drums play the background as Wale pays homage to professional women with their own goals. The song comes together well, with Wale's filtered voice shouting out different colleges on the hook.

14. “Let’s Chill”
Wale is ready to find his Mrs. Folarin. Sucka for love music. Every facet of this joint burns smoothly, which is kind of a bummer because I was hoping to just type “let’s not” and move forward.

15. "Pick Six"
A football reference in which a defensive player intercepts a pass and runs it in for a touchdown. I mean, this is a Wale project, right? The song is go-go influenced, and discusses women and references sports yet again: "I'm Air Jordan, you Ron Harper just fittin' in." Notice a trend?

16. “Varsity Blues”
Wale should drop more sports zingers. This song is about the exploitation of the African-American youth athlete who can’t accept meals from Deion Sanders, but whose host university makes millions off his likeness. The samples are a little off, though—while Reggie Bush and Cam Newton work as sympathetic figures, Maurice Clarrett, JaMarcus Russell, and Pacman Jones are universally recognized as horrible failures and terrible people. Couple Wale’s Twitter career lifeblood with athletes’ recent taste for social networking, “Varsity Blues” could be an unofficial anthem. Also if you don’t think college athletes should be paid in 2011, you’re a fool.

17. "Underdog"
An aggressive yet contradictory tale about being underrated as a rapper. As self-effacing as it begins, Wale quickly shrugs off the humility and compares himself to a young Jay-Z. "I ain't sayin' I don't fuck with all these other niggas, I'm just sayin' I'm above all these other niggas." On one hand, he's frustrated about being overlooked. In the next breath, he's on the throne. Confusing.

18. “Podium”
Starts with a canned Jay-Z interview, segues into distorted raps over Top Gun blues guitar. At first it’s a major eye-roll, but Wale is aggressive, succinct, and this flow drops the exhausting drag his more laid back styles weigh down many songs with. I like the Phillip Rivers line. I like “out in the District they sellin’ water and buyin’ pistols,” too. Can we get that on a campaign poster?

19. "Globetrotter"
A bouncy, Southern-influenced beat with church bells. Wale takes a backseat as 2 Chainz rhymes about ballin' and traveling the globe. Still, the DMV native quickly addresses his place atop the local scene.

Downward Facing Degas: Last week's edition of Phillips After 5 was all about—wait for it—yoga! What? Kimberly Wilson, a D.C.-based yoga instructor and tranquility specialist (OK, we'll just go with it), led a couple of "chair yoga" classes in the Phillips' main foyer. There were beverages supplied by Silence Tea. The whole somnambulant evening was designed to celebrate—quietly and demurely, no doubt—the 100th anniversary of Wassily Kandinsky's treatise Concerning the Spiritual in Art.

This Week in Zaklash: Karaoke cab? Way more interesting than Curtis Sliwa's wannabe cops. Also, not a poem!

Today on Arts Desk: New Windian releases! The latest at the Hillyer! And the wondrous filth of The Aristocrats!

This is the spotty tenure as president of Def Jam during which Jay pissed off colleagues like Redman and Joe Budden; the time Jay had Chris Brown booted from a BET awards bill; the anti-Autotune rant that put serious dents in the prospects of the harmless and charming T-Pain; and most recently when the pair jacked buzz from up-and-comers at the annual South By Southwest music conference with an exclusive, Vevo-sponsored clusterfuck gig.

More importantly, Watch the Throne is often noisy, gutless, and absurd: like every time a limping Jay-Z grabs the mic and raps about his American Express Black Card over techno. Lyrics skate by on familiar vocal timbres that rehash classic lines from more fruitful years, like “I’m from the murder capital/where they murder for capital.”

On “Made in America,” Kanye raps about ignoring critics, except that lead single and album teaser “H.A.M.” got nipped from the final tracklisting because of lukewarm reception upon its January release. With a constant ear to the digital streets, Jay and Ye’s ability to create feels compromised, and that's the album’s most cancerous problem. Rappers often name their album before it exists, and while the practice nets cool and unifying moods (there’s a great moment on The Blueprint III when guest rapper Young Jeezy snarls, “This is that Blueprint III shit!”), here the self-inflicted pressure to forge an important, forward-thinking album from royalty—that is simultaneously for the peasants—proves to be a suffocating M.O. We don't get "I started this gangsta shit and this the motherfucking thanks I get?" but instead "I took care of these niggas’ lawyer fees, and this is how they rewarded me?"

It’s not as easy as playlisting the gems and avoiding the blemishes, because every track has dumbfounding chunks propped up by sweeping highs. On “Who Gon Stop Me,” Kanye compares the rap game to the holocaust, drops Pig Latin, and compares himself to Oprah; Jay-Z brags about wearing all white, with no socks. But then there’s a great one-liner about being racist because you only like green faces.

It's why that Will Ferrell clip dropped into "Niggas in Paris" actually works: "What does that even mean?” “Nothing it's just provocative. It gets the people going!"

Justin Vernon—the women’s studies major and Wisconsin indie-folk hero—co-writes a song called “That’s My Bitch” on which Jay-Z directly addresses Beyonce’s oglers. Island Def Jam ex-pat Frank Ocean puts aside his public label battles and crushes a hook on Def Jam’s most valuable release of the year. Jay and Kanye compare themselves to LeBron James and Dwayne Wade, instantly retract the boast, and likewise mock Wade and James’ inability to seal the deal with a verse that ends in, “oh wait…”

On “Otis,” we’re to believe our protagonists are back to drop gutter rhymes like it’s 10 years ago. The beat is purposefully entry-level: a D+ sample from an Otis Redding classic, looped over and over like it was made with a pirated copy of Fruityloops in a Howard dorm room circa 2002. But the rapping isn’t vital and the song is a complete failure. I think it’s because Kanye is perpetually starstruck by Jay and this doesn’t allow him to be like, “Yo Jigga, that last take was pretty wack.” Think back to the colossal verses Kanye coaxed from Rick Ross (“Devil in a New Dress”), and Pusha T (“Runaway”) as a producer, and then look at the lazy Jay-Z rhymes he fails to filter:

Ball so hard, this shit crazy

Ball so hard, let's get faded

Ball so hard, motherfuckers wanna find me

None of this connects, and the result is a rap album you can multitask to at work while the experimental and pretty production takes center stage. Beyond standard figures like Nina Simone and the aforementioned Redding, sticky samples from Cassius, Indiggo, Flux Pavillion, Spooky Tooth, and Roxy Music’s Phil Manzanera lay foundations for handfuls of nasty beats.

There are hot moments fans of Jay-Z and Kanye's discographies will subconsciously consume more than they expect to because, well, this is that Watch the Throne shit. But the sonics should never walk away with the most swagger on a Jay-Z record.

Story Time: Tom Story explains himself to the Post. He's starring in Pop! at Studio Theatre this July.

Politics as Usual: Virginia rapper Sketch pays tribute to Jay-Z's debut Reasonable Doubt on the occasion of its 15th anniversary with a reworking of "Can I Live," reports Sarah Godfrey. In related news, that same album's "Can't Knock the Hustle" has been tapped by Republican longshot presidential hopeful Herman Cain as a campaign anthem.

Today on Arts Desk: More new Wale, more Wugazi, more everything.