Atlanta's Gucci Mane is proof that a certain kind of mindlessness—not having much to say about life as people live it, for instance—can free other parts of the brain for genius. In fact, you get the sense from his songs' brightly painted gangster hedonism that anything autobiographical is just coincidence or a reflection of whatever motions he went through (including real jail time) before returning to his healthiest addiction: making free-associative rhymes along various themes, street or otherwise—vampires, the word "gross," the color yellow. In the nine short months since he released his rap smash "Lemonade" (a riff on all things lemony and mustard-colored inspired by sales of the title drink spiked with codeine syrup, with a chorus sung by children to the tune of Flo & Eddie's "Keep It Warm"), Gucci has issued a half-dozen mixtapes, all filled with tracks that are like song-length versions of Lil Wayne verses (so be warned). With a marble-mouthed drawl that could be a hypnotized MF Doom, he's all impossible achievements (a love affair with money that crosses over into the literal, like "Panama" with the Geico cash-with-googly-eyes) and insults ("I don't want your girlfriend, homie, but my b**** might"). He sandwiches this Minneapolis date on his tour itinerary one night after Mobile, Alabama, and one night before New York, two days before the release of his hotly anticipated third... More >>>