Week's Worst: Sam Adams

By Chris Parker
Add Comment Add Comment | Comments: 0 | Posted Nov. 24, 2010

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It’s difficult to imagine a sadder amalgam than this Frapper’s (frat rapper) offering—soulless R&B and anemic electro with rapping whose intelligence and fluidity suggest he takes the short bus to his English as a second language class. (He’s from Boston.) Adams follows Mike Posner out of this particular stylistic clown car, and there’s nothing worse than their acts: a lyrical cripple bragging about his game. Adams talks about jets and resorts whose name ought to be “Last,” thanks to his See Spot Run rhymes (trippin-hittin-written-flippin) and flow that makes Apu Nahasapeemapetilon sound like Teflon. It was bad enough when rappers were trying to get over on this synthetic club soul, now we’ve got aphasic fatheads giving it a go? No.

Sun., Nov. 28, 8pm.
With L.A. Riots.
Theater of Living Arts,
334 South St.

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