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“So Many Diamonds” is the same flex-y bassline from “ASAP” (not surprisingly, T.I. But there are plenty of concessions to outsiders. Of course the old Swishahouse production mode-slowing down the drums to accentuate a particular musical loop-holds most of the record down. The music on The People’s Champ isn’t the typical fare heard on other nimble, singular Swishouse releases. If you’ve heard his Chick Magnet album (the original home of this album’s “They Don’t Know”), you know what you’re getting yourself into. He’s a sugary slick lyricist, stringing together shout-outs to the past (Pimp C and DJ Screw) and spending the rest of the time focusing on his Cecil Rhodes teeth and parking lot seductions. Identity, Wall’s at least, becomes the secondary goal. Two songs later and he’s paired with Philadelphia’s Freeway, trying to get as roughneck as possible over a Swisha-A-Fella swampy horn section. Wall takes the backseat on the album opening “I’m A Playa,” letting Three 6 Mafia not only guest but also produce the song’s chorale of street chants, sputtering (and trademark) hi-hats and obese, slithering bass. It’s a half shame, because as The People’s Champ attests, Wall will work with just about anyone, and more often than not he’ll make a fruitful partner. One hypothetical: If Paul Wall had moved one foot towards a national scope at any other time but this summer, he’d be unfairly ignored, laughed and just plain forgotten. Even then it took Doggystyle and a second platter of effortless Parliament melodies to get past the New York state of mind that had lambasted the west coast as a mere gimmick. No distinct regional scene has managed to remold the musical scope of popular rap music since Dr. Astral Weeks slowed down to 10 mph crawling speed in the left lane? Van the Man saying “you breathe in, you breathe out” for roughly 21 minutes? What about Joy Division? Ian Curtis telling everyone to dance, dance, dance, to the radio over a bass line so slow and deep it becomes a rock formation? Did I really drink the syrup? Now the capital letters in those last two words and the absurd nature of this discussion point to two very important points: the Houston scene is making a bid for national music permanence in 2005, and they may actually do it. Ver the past few weeks my friends and I have begun one of the freshest debates I’ve been apart of in years: which of the truly great records in pop music history need to be Screwed & Chopped?