Monday

Hotly tipped in rap media and co-signed by none other than Dr. Dre, the Brooklyn-bred spitter was primed for hip-hop greatness even before Slaughterhouse first assembled. Those who know Joell Ortiz primarily from his ties to that infamous and now-fractured group ought not miss out on his stellar run with Mello Music Group. Following his collaborative *Mona Lisa* project with the label’s in-house producer Apollo Brown, the grind-centric *Monday* applies his craft to a range of beats from fellow genre journeymen like The Heatmakerz, J.U.S.T.I.C.E. League, and Nottz. An innately streetwise lyricist, he reminisces about the old days of malt liquor and bodega cigars on “Before Hip-Hop.” Confessional and contrite, the powerful Big K.R.I.T. feature “Learn You” finds a genuinely remorseful Ortiz addressing his failings in ways rarely heard on a rap record.

"I’m back to work. Monday is the start of the week. The grind. Working people normally dread Mondays. Not me though. I embrace them! Feels like another opportunity. Another chance. The beginning of what’s ahead. On “Monday” I talk about life. Old me, new me, and the guy that next Monday may introduce to you all." - Joell Ortiz Joell Ortiz isn't interested in seeming like a superhero. His new album for Mello Music Group, Monday, is an album about keeping your head down and getting back to work; there’s nothing to do other than to persevere.  With his new record, Ortiz pays tribute to the qualities that have allowed him to not only survive, but thrive in an unforgiving industry and era. “Monday refers to the idea that no matter how big you get, the hustle to stay on top is always there,” he says. “Monday is the first day to get out and grind.” That urgency can be felt all over the album, from the swaggering “Champion” to the furious opening cut, “Captain.” Beyond and beneath that unifying theme, Monday is littered with Ortiz’s trademark wordplay and verbal pyrotechnics, once again affirming him as one of the rappers most dedicated to the types of lyricism that marked rap’s golden ages. Ortiz was born in 1980 and grew up in the East Williamsburg section of Brooklyn. When he was just 23 years old, he was highlighted in The Source magazine’s storied Unsigned Hype column, which had predicted the future success of acts like DMX, Common, Cannibal Ox, Eminem, Capone & Noreaga and, perhaps most famously, The Notorious B.I.G. A proud Puerto Rican and unapologetic New Yorker with verve and a rugged intensity to his rhymes, Ortiz seemed perfectly suited to vie for his hometown’s crown in the mid-2000s. His album from 2007, The Brick: Bodega Chronicles, was hailed immediately as a game-changing work that earmarked him as one of his generations unmissable talents. His masterful technique reached no less than the ears of Dr. Dre, who gave him the ultimate co-sign by signing him to his Aftermath Entertainment. A full-length never hit stores, but it helped Ortiz grow as both a rapper, artist and man. It set the stage for him to become one-quarter of the rap olympian supergroup Slaughterhouse, which built a massive cult following and eventually secured a deal with Shady Records, which led to massive commercial success (topping the Billboard Rap Album charts) This decade has seen him transition from brash upstart to legendary veteran as he’s fleshed out a catalog that now includes mature albums like Free Agent, House Slippers, and his full-length collaboration with Apollo Brown, Mona Lisa, released via Mello last year. Even while he’s keeping his nose to the grindstone, Ortiz finds a few moments to exhale and reflect. Monday ends with a pair of such songs: “Momma,” a heartfelt ode to the parent who raised Ortiz, and “Grammy,” which rejects the notion that outside validation is needed to qualify a music career as successful. (The juxtaposition of those titles is, of course, just one more bit of wordplay.) But Ortiz is at his warmest and most charming on “Screens,” a lament about how kids today spend so much time with electronic devices at the expense of time outside. Where other rappers would finish such a song sounding like an old scold, Ortiz uses it as a vehicle to reminisce about getting grass stains on his knees and phone numbers from neighborhood girls scrawled on scraps of paper. It’s rooted in the present but still able to conjure the sounds and smells of an era that’s long gone –– the kind of sharp perspective that can only be honed by years of dedicated work at the craft. Monday is a testament to sharpening one’s skills and approach in the face of immeasurable odds.