Last week, I covered a listening party for Ludacris‘ KY jelly-opus, Battle of the Sexes. One of the album’s lone saving graces was the “How Low Remix,” featuring everyone’s favorite grizzly boss, Rick Ross. To fully unpack the power, depth, and semiotic intricacy of his vision, we must study his words.

“I’m so visionary/my women tend to vary.”

Novices might assume that “I’m so visionary” refers to Ross’s oracular ability to seize upon a previously unknown demand for obese, pathological ex-cop rappers. Wrong.  In fact, it subtly alludes to Ross’s past life as the captain of an age of Portuguese Age of Exploration sailing vessel. A rival of Sir Francis Drake (or Sir Francis Drizzy), Ross was commonly known for his flamboyant all-white yachting outfits, his excessive usage of snuff, and for coining the term, “popozao.” At one point, there was a brief feud with Prince Henry the Navigator, who took “El Chefe’s” baby mama shopping for cumin and other spices at the Lisbon farmer’s market.

The latter half of the statement refers to Ross’ love of feminist literature. An aficionado of both cigars and Sontag, Ross’s videos are incisive spoofs of the misogynistic morays plaguing hip-hop culture. Scholars have parsed that his debut album Port of Miami, was loosely based off of Joan Didion’s seminal Miami. He is the biggest Willa Cather fan that you’ve seen thus far.

“Ice Cream Man/My Uncle Ben & Jerry’s”

What the Smoking Gun failed to uncover in their expose about Ross was his genealogical past. Related to Ben Cohen, via their shared relative, lips and hooves magnate, Abraham Ross of Long Island, New York, Ross’s creative sensibilities and prodigious waistline were forged during Burlington summers where he learned the art of manufacturing Cherry Garcia and glass-blowing. In addition to his mastery of the speed boat arts and polo, Ross attended Florida International University on a free-blowing scholarship,  an affection that led to his early single “Blow”and derision from most of the members of Triple C’s.

“So Many Flavors/This Pimping is Hereditary”

A java connoisseur, Ross prefers his beans roasted by a team of Ethiopian indentured servants who live in his backyard, growing organic pesticide-free coffee beans, and feeding him a steady diet of injera and tej. When it comes time to sweeten his coffee, he is a man of flavor and demands a choice among avariety of French Vanilla, Irish Cream, Chocolate Mocha, and the occasional Soy Milk (mainly to add estrogen to balance his dangerously high testosterone levels). By “his pimping,” he’s really referring to his unhealthy amounts of cholesterol, which is hereditary.

Don’t respect me, boy? Respect my military?

Like Homer driven insane from cabin-fever, Ross believes that he has powers, political powers. Known for his Wobblie politics, Ross has well established close ties with the prison guards union. He also may be referring to his extensive collection of G.I. Joe and M.U.S.C.L.E. figurines.

“Squeeze in my lamborghini like Professor Klump”

Rick Ross prefers The Nutty Professor II: The Klumps. While he found the original ponderous and heavy-handed, he empathized with the Sherman’s sequel search for the fountain of youth. As a man forever yearning for the perfect couplet, Ross understood the madness of creation. He also is a major fan of the song “Macho Man.”

“My Pockets Getting Fatter/I Need Liposuction Done”

Another example of Ross’s rapier-sharp wit. Clearly, his buff physique negates the need for liposuction.   He does not need cosmetic surgery; he needs to release a work-out DVD/tattoo interpretation handbook.

“Tummy Tucks Done By My Tommy Gun”

Reductive critics have pegged Ross’s influences as the derivative sum of Suave House, Slip-N-Slide, and No Limit, but a careful examination reveals his identification with the ethos of ‘77 punk rock.  From his close-cropped hair, to his devil-may-care spunk, to his caustic satire of post-Capitalist trappings, Ross pushes a radical agenda, one first broached by his heroes, The Clash. Though he is a bit too sensitive to the song “Police and Thieves.”

“I Never Peel, but My Maserati Run.”

Another sly Anglo-centric reference.  Ross inveighs against the late John Peel.  A master of the double entendre, he also declares his distaste for bananas, a pedestrian fruit unfit for his distinguished crab-craving palette.

I pray I ball forever. just popping my bottles, predicting the weather”

A serious student of meteorology, Ross learned very early on to eschew local weather people and instead rely on a combination of his own balloons and the condition of DJ Khaled’s scalp. On days when Khaled’s cranium is dry and lacking moisture, it will be gorgeous in the port of Miami, full of starched white linen, endless sunshine, and police chases ending in speedboat getaways. On days when Khaled’s scalp is moist and oleaginous, he retreats into his Boca Raton estate to play baccarat, smoke bidis and play Bubble Bobble on the NES.

Conjure cognac, it’s better on ice, but so is my wrist, I got one question tonight?

DJ Khaled and Rick Ross holding the payment for their endorsement of Conjure Cognac.

Download:
MP3: Ludacris ft. Twista & Rick Ross - “How Low Remix”

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This entry was posted on Wednesday, February 3rd, 2010 at 3:00 am and is filed under The Magical Mystery World of Rick Ross. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.