ip-hop itself to me is very funny," enthused Prince Paul, hip-hop's primetime satirist in an interview on The Sound of Young America. "Like in New York, people are wearing these really big hats with the rim really flat, and a lot of times a really good wind will just blow it down the block. You're like 150 lbs., but you got like a XXXXXL shirt on, your pants are down to your knees... that's not funny??" he exclaimed. Hardly oblivious to his humor's selective audience though, Paul conceded: "[But] it's so commonplace, people are like, 'So what's the joke?'" So, when Paul subsequently sent up hip-hop's commodified qualities by emulating said qualities on his 2003 album Politics of the Business, it was no surprise that consumers weren't trying to clown what they'd already been buyin'. The joke flew over most heads. But the record really never had a chance, because Paul's guest MCs were on a different page; Tash on Politics sounded no different than Tash on, well, everything else Tash has touched. Certainly, inconsistent quality dampened the record's reception. However, the point was seemingly made again: "Some people take hip-hop very, very serious."

So, if the Godfather of Skits has had such mixed results having fun with hip-hop, what makes Hot Karl think he has a better shot?

Wait, Hot Who?

Hot Karl's story is not Source standard: drug slangin', gangbangin', and welfare checks. Born in the San Fernando suburbs of Los Angeles, Jensen Karp first experienced hip-hop through those increasingly familiar mediums: wax slangin', radio bangin', and TV sets. Being a white hip-hop fan in those Def Jam days made Karp stand out, but he quickly proved himself to be more than just another Jane. At age 13, he opened for Ice-T and even earned his tasty nom-de-rhyme from Mr. Marrow. School occupied the lull of his teen years, but he jumped back into exercising his gift of wit while attending college. Now fully embracing the Hot Karl title, he always kept it classy with quips like, "I have a 20-inch dick on par with Dirk Diggler's." The public story really begins in 1999 when he won for 45 consecutive days on "The Roll Call," a mainstream hip-hop radio segment that allows callers to 'battle' head-to-head. The unprecedented winning streak garnered major label interest, a deal with Interscope, and a high-budget album (over a half million dollars) that featured guest spots from Redman, Fabolous, Mya, Mark McGrath (Sugar Ray) and DJs Quik and Clue. However, Karl found himself in constant disagreement with his label over his music and image as 'the' white rapper. Even rumors sprang up suggesting HK had earned the ire of a certain labelmate/rapper-actor. Subsequently, his album, Your Housekeeper Hates You (much of which is available on his site as the re-titled I Like to Read), was shelved at the last minute and he was released from his deal.

Undeterred, HK returns with The Great Escape, a reintroduction of himself and a response to his experiences in the industry. Karl inverts the 'white rapper' mold (trailer ghetto, wigger, or otherwise) by throwing race in the face of listeners and getting busy with the silly. Over an eclectic mix of synthetic club fare, Miami mitzvah bass, and sugar (ray) pop rock, HK parodies club life ("Suburban Superstar"), machismo ("Back/Forth"), and home sweet home ("Home Sweet Home"). It's all meant to be fun: both the kind where you laugh at ("He was done and I hadn't even pulled out my vagina yet!") and laugh with ("You heard the new Mookie Wilson mixtape?") the host. However, the album also includes critiques ("Dreamin'") and confessionals ("I've Heard") to add dramatic leverage; it's not all MC Paul Barman-type giggles. Threaded together with skits that track the progression of the album's recording, GE reads like a day in the life of...

While seemingly satisfactory and complete to the artist (note the loving liner notes courtesy of the author), to the listener GE is a scattershot affair: inconsistent quality, ineffective production, and a vision in need of focus. The album has its highlights, but for every strong track there is an equal and opposite weak one. Label head (MC Serch) and creative talent (HK) mash it up on "Let's Talk", a successful send-up of biznasty tactics that combines capmaster specialties ("I'd rather quit rap than have an R&B joint with Tyrese!") with careful observations ("We should talk about my thoughts and ideas, give me the chance to / We should talk about that money we just advanced you"). However, the 7th grade humor of "Butterface" erases that fresh aftertaste. The braggart track is for ya-yas, but in the context of the album is four unnecessary minutes of substandard misogyny—"Tits and ass out the game, but with a German Shepherd face."

Furthermore, Karl appears to be countering the "pigeonholing" by "keeping it real" in his Caucasian key of life. The approach works on "Kerk Gybson" where he calls upon suburban loves and celebrates Brat Pack nostalgia in a Big Gay Al sorta way. While Say Anything references buoy GE briefly, the sound of sinking practically splooges out of the speakers on the Weird Al booty "Back/Forth." A predictable parody of the man show, Karl plays the male shrew ("Out the door, I'm gone whore / I got what I came for") to Boobie Poquito's tamer ("You couldn't find my g-spot if you had a map") in a conventional plot complete with spoilers ("Hey, is that my ex-girlfriend...? Does she have a mic in her hand?"). In an inadvertently stereotypical standoff, Karl becomes the stolid conservative calling out freakniks of the game. Really, if HK can joke about treating girls "like Ari from Entourage", why can't others "throw the p***y like Elway?" While "Kerk" wins by adding a new toast to the art of boasting, "Back" is just reactionary and out-of-touch. Topped off with production that rarely succeeds in meeting the aspirations of each song (HK throws Fred Durst the gasface on "Home Sweet Home," but who really wants to listen to a Mraz-type track?), GE is a bumpy listen.

What is most frustrating—and why so many lines have been devoted to a guy whose name literally sounds like shit—is that Hot Karl can meet his goals. Concrete proof comes on "I've Heard," a frank tour through the artist's mind. 9th Wonder laces sweeping strings to a tortured vocal that has Karl whispering each fear and anxiety he has faced since getting signed. The track is self-critical almost to the point of neurosis—"I heard a lotta compliments about my different style / But I'm convinced that they're lying, so I'm nervous all the while"—but engaging as a lurid and personal monologue. Karl finally takes a step away from race politics by setting himself apart with lines like, "I've heard in this game there's only room for one white / Although ninety percent of all rappers are virtually alike." Instead of being fixated on All-American ideals, he finally follows the footsteps of his childhood heroes and just rhymes fo' sef'.

Unfortunately, the highlights of GE come too little and too late. The uneven humor is off-putting and detracts from Karl's obvious potential. If he had just given the record a sense of consistent direction, its quality would not have been as compromised. Perhaps when Karl begins to take himself seriously and straightens out what he wants from the industry, then he can move past just being "that funny, white rapper."

Oh, and by the way, Mya a butterface? C'mon...