When news first leaked that erstwhile Harlem bard Cameron "Killa" Giles was returning from his mysterious three-year sabbatical to grace the world with new music, Internet rap nerds, particularly New York ones, seemed almost pathetically eager to welcome him back into the fold. Shit's been mausoleum-quiet on the New York hip-hop front these days, inspiring a certain misguided nostalgia for the extremely recent past—2005, to be exact, when Cam and his Diplomats crew were still very much "moving the movement." The yearning for something New York–based to latch onto has gotten so bad that even Max B, with his sub–Jim Jones rhyme skills, stupid coonskin cap, and stupider nicknames ("Wavy Crockett"? Is shit like this really acceptable now?) started looking good for a minute. But then Cam'ron emerged from his self-imposed exile as inexplicably as he'd gone into it, announcing that somewhere in between shooting videos of himself standing around in his boxers in front of a sunken pool and prank-calling Hot 97, he had recorded a new album. And just like that, it was Killa Season again on the blogs, which went about rolling out the pink carpet for... More >>>