Kid Cudi blazes into stratosphere with Man on the Moon

By Casey Michel     9/24/09 7:00pm

Kid Cudi does not have Drew Carey's gut. He doesn't have King LeBron's chalk-covered hands, nor does he have the city's penchant for exporting crippling depression.He has nothing, and is nothing, you would associate with Cleveland.

And he's about to change that.

Cudi's major-label debut, Man on the Moon: The End of Day, puts the Rust Belt on the rap map. Cudi stretches Lupe Fiasco and Common's Chicago lyricism, that of the street-corner poets, and adds a slice of West Coast weed-loving to craft an opening salvo the likes of which haven't been seen since Eminem's The Slim Shady LP. Disdaining the lung-crushing bass of Southern hip hop and forgoing the requisite put-downs that comprise most modern joints, Cudi joins the new pop starlets (Lady Gaga, Katy Perry) and electronica rockers (3OH!3, Cobra Starship) in cracking open the musical tics that Generation Y has to offer.

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And what an offering it is. Born Scott Ramon Segring Mescudi, Cudi's songs are as eclectic as his Mexican-African-Native American heritage. Throughout the album, Cudi blends his lethargic, viscous voice with Ratatat, enlists Gaga, Kanye and Common to remix and re-imagine one of the Lady's hits and lets his true passion shine through in an anthem to all those who enjoy a hearty wake-n'-bake.

Most of Cudi's songs are an ode to "flying for freedom," absconding menial life with the aid of marijuana. Cudi's first hit, "Day 'N' Nite," reminds listeners that he's a "lonely stoner [freeing] his mind at night." The 25-year-old does not hesitate to share his love of the green with the audience, and only the most dedicated of dope-ophiles would try to tally the number of times he says "roll," "smoke" and/or "joint."

Despite appearances, Cudi is an atypical rapper whose need for weed ascends the flash-and-party scene. He's not smoking for the image or lighting up for superficiality. He simply needs to escape, a sentiment even the most anti-reefer crusaders can share. On "Up, Up & Away," Cudi flips that image-consciousness on its head: "In the end they'll judge me anyway, so whatever." It doesn't matter if he's accepted or if he's exiled - he's going to do it, so get out of his way.

But that doesn't mean he's necessarily going to enjoy it. With Cudi, there is a deeper, darker desire for feeling like "Peter Pan minus the tights." When the rapper was 11, his father died of cancer, leaving a hole in Cudi's psyche that's as wide as the array of his stylings. "Soundtrack 2 My Life" begins with a five-years-too-late turn-of-phrase, "I've got 99 problems, and they all bitches," but the chorus puts all humor to the side: "I've got some issues that nobody can see/ And all of these emotions are pouring out of me/ I bring them to the light for you, it's only right/ This is the soundtrack to my life."

If the listener has lingering questions about the epicenter of Cudi's issues, the rapper follows with, "I'm super paranoid like a sixth sense/ Since my father died, I ain't been right since." Even in his swaying, teetering narration of drunk driving, "Pursuit of Happiness (Nightmare)," Cudi sees his trip turn awry: "What do you know about night terrors?" he asks, turning Ratatat's guitar moaning into cries of help, the song into a eulogy for a life he chose to live.

In the album's most poignant, and arguably successful, moments, Cudi's thesis, as it were, shines through. "Soaring, is this allowed? Sure hope I made my daddy proud." In an instant, Cudi is transformed into his 11-year-old self, above Cleveland's grime and backward through time.

Cudi emotes his despair, his heavy, visceral ache, and it makes you hurt. And that's what provides Cudi the starkest separation: He shuns twisting rhymes for raw emotions, turns Man on the Moon into his lyrical LiveJournal. Cudi masterfully shapes this heartache into thumping, focused reassurance, both for himself and for us.

A few tracks are a little too far out there, a little too disjointed, to warrant a second listen. But those empty slots crumple under the weight of Cudi's classics. The 25-year-old takes us to the moon and back, baring his weed-laced wounds and showing us that soaring doesn't always need to be about getting high. And he shows us that Cleveland doesn't always have to rock - now, it can rap.

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