Thirty years ago, Common looked back ruefully at his favorite genre in “I Used to Love H.E.R.,” his classic riff on hip-hop as a wayward ex-girlfriend. “She was really the realest before she got into showbiz,” he lamented. The couple patched things up after that, and Common grew from a prematurely scolding young man to a genial elder statesman, upholding what he sees as rap’s traditional values with a smile and a serious commitment to his craft. It’s been a happy marriage, for the most part.
Now, in 2024, he’s eager to renew his vows. Common has found rewarding grooves in the past by teaming up with producers who both share and expand his vision, whether that was No ID on his early releases, J Dilla on 2000’s Soulquarian-era masterpiece Like Water for Chocolate, or a young Kanye West on 2005’s Be. His partner this time is Pete Rock, who did as much as anyone to formalize the qualities that sparked Common’s love affair with hip-hop back in the Nineties by producing canonically great songs like “They Reminisce Over You (T.R.O.Y.)” and Nas’ “The World Is Yours.” Pete Rock also produced Common’s 1996 single “The Bitch in Yoo,” a merciless attack on what the midwestern MC viewed as Ice Cube’s hypocrisy. It’s one of the coldest diss tracks ever made, and you’d have to imagine that the now-middle-aged guys behind it have lots of thoughts on the state of hip-hop today. But you won’t find any of that contemptuous pride or shit-starting attitude on The Auditorium, Vol. 1. This is an easygoing, respectful tribute to hip-hop’s essence and realness, full of affectionate references to the music that’s still close to Common’s heart after all these years.
Flowing deliberately over a luxurious spread of prime Pete Rock beats, the griot from Chicago raps with wisdom and patience. “The more I grow older, the more I be sober/Minded what rhyme did — it defined culture,” he pronounces on “Stellar,” built on a flip of an old Main Source song. On “All Kinds of Ideas,” he compares himself to NFL linebacker Micah Parsons (“Any subject I tackle/And grapple with wack dudes”) and notes that “cash rules everything around me/Except my mind.” The critique of overly commercial music is still in there, but it’s delivered more gently these days. And if his punchlines can verge on dad-joke territory (“The way I pass words/You don’t have to log in”), more often they’re genuinely sharp and entertaining. “The road gets rocky, you ain’t my Adrian, brodie!” he cracks on “Now and Then,” having fun seeing how many Hollywood puns he can pack into one bar. “The lord sent my mental to be more than sentimental/The ventricles that I vent through are temples of what I been through,” he spits on “Wise Up,” matching the energy of his producer’s boom-bap acrobatics.
The duo’s musical chemistry peaks on tracks like the soulful mid-album highlight “We’re on Our Way.” While Pete Rock spins a sample of Curtis Mayfield covering the Carpenters, Common waxes eloquent about his hometown’s rich history: “I walk through the Chi like I was brother Harold/Washington, I got me tons of votes that’s mayoral/Kisses for luck for Black businesses and such/On our Dame dollars, yeah, we getting bucks.” Take a minute to unroll the layers of wordplay there — you probably won’t regret it. As hip-hop matures into its sixth decade, it’s nice to have someone as skilled as Common practicing what’s not quite a lost art yet.
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