interview TOO SHORT - Chase The Cat | Review By: Westcoast2K


Man I’m checkin’ the handbook… what did I do wrong? My $hort never stalled on me in all these years. I never changed the oil or had the breaks checked. I rolled around in my $hort with young ladies in the ‘80’s and all the way into the new millennium, and never popped X or popped the clutch. Way after I first trucked it out in gold, I trucked it out to the ATL – “Yeah we ship our cars to the Freaknik!” My $hort still sounded good; it sputtered more than usual last year, but never in my freakiest tales did I imagine it would roll over and die on me.

I mean, it looked so fresh and so clean! Even tho Chase the Cat is $hort’s third album in as many years, when it rolled out it looked like it wuz detailed flawless. Nineteen cuts deep and loaded up with most all of $hort Dog’s career collaborators: MC Breed, Eric Sermon, E-40, UGK, Eightball and Trick Daddy.

Right out the driveway it made sum dinky noises (“Can I Get It Real Quick”), but that had happened before. Be cool, fool. When it finally warmed up, it belched fire – “I Luv”, a crunk bounce beat with Trick and the DPGz backseat’n it in a freaknasty orgy. $hort tearin’ up backwoods backdoors. After taking it there it’s only right that he break out his own version of the blueprint on “Rap Dirty”, for all the niggas in the Town steppin’ on Chevy pedals.

But the alignment iz off throughout Chase the Cat, arguably the weakest album of $hort’s Toyota-thon career. I don’t expect new tricks outta my old $hort, and I ain’t fazed by bumps in the road; my $hort gon’ backfire every now and then. But when the performance becomes a joke (“Just Keep Fuckin’ Me”, “Chase the Cat”) I gosta consider if the engine ain’t shot, or beggin’ to be: on “Pimpin’ Won’t Die”, the tone is so morose that I almost feel my $hort wanna be put out his misery.

I’ma pull a Shaggy – it wasn’t me. This breakdown is hard to figga. $hort burned rubbers thru the South and mid-West, but didn’t forget to bring it home by 11. He pimped, but he didn’t do it to death. After the final lugubrious notes of his second collaboration with George Clinton, the album’s closer “You Stank”, I could imagine the pair standing around like Midas technicians, faced with a stink that Sir Nose D’Void would cross traffic to avoid. The heartless observer sez, Scrap it. The sentimental fan sez, It’ll run smooth again. Only one thing’s fa sho: for now, I’m getting’ my stroll on instead of my roll on


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