For all the credit given to Luger-- who, in fairness, has upped the bar for rap producers competing with the post-Tunnel nightclub gangster aesthetic-- it's Waka who gives this record its frenetic intensity.
Flockaveli's flaw is not Waka's coarseness, but his generosity--25 guest verses from anonymous Brick Squad cronies suck up air instead of letting Waka breathe without mentor Gucci Mane's oxygen tank.
Flockaveli is poised to become to the Trap South what Group Home's Livin' Proof means to graduates of NYC's Golden Age: a producer classic littered with verses so whack they become endearing in their special way.
