Posts Tagged ‘Album Review’

Game: The R.E.D. Album [Review]

Posted: August 26, 2011 in Album Reviews
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Nothing is promised in this industry. Your previous accolades, no matter how exceptional, don’t guarantee any artist a place of security. Game experienced that firsthand when he began work in 2009 on The R.E.D. Album, a follow-up to his gold-selling 2008 album LAX. Even with a track record of multi-platinum and gold albums, Interscope doubted this project’s commercial viability and subjected it to 10 delays. After three long years, Game has finally delivered an album that while full of shortcomings, is entertaining enough to satisfy fans who’ve been waiting patiently for Game’s self-proclaimed “rededication to Hip-Hop.”

After a short Dr. Dre intro, R.E.D. opens with Cool & Dre’s dramatic production on “The City.” With a movie-like atmosphere set, Game assails the mic with proclamations of the West Coast’s rebirth and his own pedigree of plaque-certified albums. Kendrick Lamar is the show-stealer, supplying a detailed, spoken word-leaning chorus that leads into a thrilling a capella third verse. The heavy production continues with DJ Khalil on “Drug Test,” a song marked immediately by its West Coast melodies. The club chords are short and stabbing, resulting in Dre, Game and Snoop adjusting their verses accordingly. Although Nate Dogg is gone, Sly does a novel imitation on the chorus.

THE GAME X KENDRICK LAMAR “THE CITY”

Dark humor comes into play on “Martians vs. Goblins.” Game does a respectable Odd Future impersonation. As a serial name-dropper, Game has no issues throwing his peers into surreal bars (“Tie Lil B up to a full tank of propane/Swag/ Now watch him cook…”). Although the beat has the murky feel of the Odd Future variety, Tyler the Creator’s offbeat humor doesn’t go too left that it’s not enjoyable for the uninitiated listener (“Fall back like LeBron’s hairline…”).

Game’s first solo song don’t come until deep into the album. Again, DJ Khalil employs a big sound for “Ricky,” a treat for older Hip-Hop fans as it samples Stanley Clarke’s music from Boyz N the Hood.  The jazz elements, Game’s vocal energy, and the movie quotes the punctuate his lyrics make it one of the more enjoyable and engaging songs on the LP.

“RICKY”

As the R.E.D. Album progresses, it’s quite easy to forget your listening to a Game project. His identity is lost when he decides to imitate the cadence and flow of his guests, as he does with Jeezy and Big Boi on their featured tracks. While interesting at first, it wears thin quickly and pales against other collab tracks where Game refrains from the imitation flattery like ”Heavy Artillery” and “Good Girls Go Bad.”

The influence of Game’s major label can be felt in the LP’s second half, which is overrun with radio-friendly, commercial singles with singers Lloyd, Mario, Lu Breeze and Chris Brown. Here the sequencing becomes a glaring issue; having four consecutive songs with this style becomes redundant and totally takes you out of the album. Although Game tries to inject introspective content in the last two, the production style and R&B choruses gives you the same feeling as the first two offerings.

Thankfully, DJ Premier comes to the rescue with “Born in the Trap.” Primo’s sample incorporates a beautiful orchestral loop. Game is equally impressive riding the beat and even changes the normal boom bap format we expect by handling the chorus himself and saving Premier’s trademark scratches for the ending sequence. The scenic production continues via Pharrell on “Mama Knows,” arguably the album’s strongest cut. While it was touched on throughout the album, Game saves this track to go in-depth on his mother’s influence on his life. Nelly Furtado’s airy vocals work perfect on these rhythms and will remind you of Janet Jackson’s preferred singing style.

GAME X NELLY FURTADO “MAMA KNOWS”

While Game still has not completely fixed the tendency overstuff his albums with guest appearances at his own expense, The R.E.D. Album has much better production and more highlights than what was heard on 2008′s LAX. If he accepts the benefits of the “less is more” approach, Compton’s native son will have further improvement on his next album.

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Fat Joe: The Darkside Vol. 1 (Album Review)

Posted: July 26, 2010 in Album Reviews
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 There is much irony in Fat Joe’s above statement. In the 90s, it was Joe criticizing Masta Ace for experimenting with West Coast sounds and “selling out” his fanbase. In recent years, Fat Joe was hearing nearly the exact same accusations over his radio-themed, Southern-styled singles like “Make It Rain.” Whether it’s due to hearing those callouts or simply his progression as an artist, Joe now decided to give more credence to his edgier side with 10th studio album The Darkside Vol. 1 (E1 Music).

Scram Jones “Intro” supplies Joe with a baleful rhythm accentuated with opera vocals and scratches. The tone set is one of controlled chaos, a struggle where Joe challenges the listener to be a prepared for a decadent, violent journey (“The darkside you don’t want to go to this place/Where I got special power/ I could punch a hole through your face…More bitches to beat up/Got lips like Megan Goode and a ass like Vita”). Cool and Dre further the momentum on “Valley of Death,” which utilizes the same Montclairs sample from Prodigy’s “Bang On Em.” It’s a vintage NY sound that has Joe resembling his Jealous One’s Envy and Don Cartagena days.

On “I Am Crack,” Joe personifies himself as the destructive drug. His storyline takes him through the narcotic’s emergence in the 80s to political scandals in the 90s like D.C.’s former mayor Marion Barry. Just Blaze ominous production with remind fans of his work on Game’s “The Remedy.”

 Another sample retread on “Kilo,” this time from Ghostface’s same-titled track, gets new life with the Clipse and Cam’Ron. Each emcee does well, but on the topic of drug no one is outdoing the Clipse’s wordplay and allusions (“I plays it like a cello/I pull them strings/To make the scale thither-totter like balance beams…Smile candid camera/Got us in zoom lenses/Unclaimed taxes sitting in new Benzes”).

The lead single “Slow Down” functions as a transition song for the LP. It’s catchy melody, club rhythms and singing signal the more mainstream R&B guests and sounds of The Darkside’s second half. That doesn’t necessarily have to mean a drop in quality, but it starts off shaky with “If It Ain’t About Money.” Trey Songz’s part is solid, but the repetitive, almost video game like affect that is the song’s centerpiece becomes grating. And Joe himself sounds stilted trying to ride it.

“No Problems” is a serviceable, upbeat track but is ultimately forgettable since Joe follows a generic script lyrically. When he injects personal struggles, like his experiences with family and friends on the R. Kelly featuring “How Did We Get Here,” it engages the listener beyond your average R&B-styled rap songs. “Money Over Bitches” isn’t helped by Raw Uncut’s Murder Inc circa ’02 production, but the song stands out first because Fat Joe channels Tupac’s rhyme scheme for the chorus. And Too $hort is of course at home discussing his favorite word and topic (“If you like me you don’t let nothing get past ya/I’ll make a bitch hoe in the snow in Alaska”).

Joey Crack settles old debts on “Heavenly Father.” Lil Wayne handles the chorus, and Joe launches considerable venom at past nameless associates he frames as being leeches and ungrateful (“I paid niggas rents, I paid niggas bails/Gave niggas jobs so they wouldn’t go to jail/Did so much dirt niggas knew I wouldn’t tell/Paid for some funerals they probably went to hell!”). While he doesn’t endorse the verified spousal abuse the late Big Pun administered to his wife, he accuses her of being unfaithful and not managing a million dollar payment he gave her. The track works because Joe doesn’t hesitate to reveal his own shortcomings by speaking on his regrets for previous illegal activity.

Even so, the most heartfelt track is the DJ Premier produced “I’m Gone.” Written in the immediate aftermath of Guru’s passing, the song has Joe at his most reflective as his ponders his own mortality. He takes the listener from his beginnings as a violent teen to successful rap star, and fighting with his Jekyll and Hyde mentality conceptualized in the phrase “conversating with the Devil rocking diamond Messiahs.” Premier delivers an appropriately somber track highlighted by his trademark vocal scratch, this time from JVC Force’s classic single “Strong Island.”

The only misstep here is not due to Joe or Premier, but whoever decided to not make this the final track. Joe’s ending two minute monologue made it a fitting conclusion, and the additional track detracts from some of its potency.

Thankfully the concluding track “At Last Supremacy” is solid.  Joe acknowledges that he hadn’t been giving the fans what they wanted, and is now refocused (“The streets is missing me they love me in my early days/Damn, has it really been this long/Since I last spit the facts with the gas mask on?”). The entire second verse cleverly incorporates all of Joe’s album titles, symbolizing that his musical journey has now reached a milestone but is far from complete.

The Darkside Vol. 1 is a surprising and strong return to form for Fat Joe. There is still some residue from his pop leanings, but it’s been several albums since Joey Crack has made this much of an effort to pull back his older fans. If he continues down this road, expect even better albums in Fat Joe’s future.

Fat Joe-”I’m Gone”

Janelle Monae: The ArchAndroid (Album Review)

Posted: May 17, 2010 in Album Reviews
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Concept albums are normally tackled by veteran artists years into their career as a means to challenge themselves and shake up the expectations of their audiences. But for Janelle Monae, who attempts to challenge herself on every song, she’s created a driven debut that continues the story of her 2007 EP Metropolis: The Chase (Suite I of IV), based on the seminal 1927 science-fiction film Metropolis. Such compulsive ambition usually results in a masterpiece or a disaster, and in this case Janelle Monae has crafted one of the best major label debuts in recent memory.

Immediately, you are transported to Monae’s vision of Metropolis via the orchestra-only intro “Suite II Overture.” There is applause at the beginning which conveys the intended perspective that the listener is eavesdropping on a conceptual movie or performance rather than a standard album. The track in tone lays out the complexity of the upcoming story with its alternations between assonance and dissonance, punctuated by frenetic violins and sprawling harp arrangements.

The next voice we hear acclaimed poet Saul Williams on “Dance or Die,” who simply states the themes of each verse before Monae rhymes the conditions that are ravaging her Metropolis. As the title suggests, the “dance” or power of music becomes the starting point for the mind’s liberation. The track builds in revelry with horns and guitar riffs adding to the initial drum focus, and a full-blown celebration breaks out mid-song. Monae emphasizes education to prevent degradation while the chorus singers, representing the workers, await the coming of the android unifier Cindi Mayweather.

The guitar riffs smoothly move into the whimsical “Faster,” which ups the frenetic pace with DJ scratches. The jam session feel works perfect with Janelle’s startling lyrical imagery, which gives allusions to Greek mythology and contemplates whether to flee an unhealthy relationship (“You kill me softly with the sun/You melt my wings and call it fun/I should run..” ). “Locked Inside” keeps the funky vibe going with arrangements and refrains that hint at her influences like Michael Jackson (“Baby Be Mine,” “Rock With You”).  Still, the song is stamped with Monae’s own originality, an again her lyrical depth shines through (“When I look into the future I see danger in its eyes/Babies die before they’re born and no one ever smiles/The writers and the artists are all paid to tell us lies/To keep us locked inside…” ).

The first semblance of a ballad doesn’t come until “Sir Greendown.” Monae’s voice is accompanied by murmuring background singers, which gives the song a striking, ethereal feel. The dreamy love song comes in just over 2 minutes and functions more as an interlude and lead-in for the challenging, self-determination themed “Cold War.” Here, the beginning organs explode into percussion and guitar, and Janelle displays her struggle in finding peace with her identity, and challenges us to do the same (“I was made to believe there’s something wrong with me/And it hurts my heart/Lord have mercy ain’t it plain to see…This is a cold war/Do you know what you’re fighting for?”)

The LP’s second half retains its early potency and focus. While up-tempo tracks dominated early, Monae later explores more ballads, and by extension more vulnerability. Some are rife with double-meanings such as “Oh, Maker,” which functions as a standard love song and also storyline wise as the android’s conflicted feelings for its creator (complete with concluding, otherworldly synthetic chords). That adherence to storyline makes the distorted, autotune vocals for “Mushrooms & Roses” appropriate. While the Monae’s urges us to “love without fear,” the screeching guitar and overall tone reflects the rock “power ballads” of the 80s.

Janelle Monae (or perhaps android alter-ego Cindi Mayweather) has received many accolades for her unique personal style and stage show, but not enough acclaim for the strength and versatility of her singing voice. On “Neon Valley Street,” she can bring it to unguarded, light melodic levels usually reserved for jazz singers, and at times is reminiscent of a prime Lauryn Hill. Selections like “Come Alive” showcase the young vocalist’s ability to build to piercing, impassioned funk yells and chants.

“Say You’ll Go” is another multi-layered piece in songwriting and production that shows another Monae influence in Stevie Wonder (“Rocket Love”). She references the aforementioned work in her lyrics, which ask if her lover is ready to completely trust in the power of their union (“Love is such a novelty/A relic painted masterpiece…An underwater rocket love/Exactly what I’m searching for/If you’re brave enough to go then tell me so…”). Towards the end, she strips away the backing vocals and string instruments to sing softly with the piano before adding operatic vocals for a satisfying, albeit mysterious finish.

Suite III’s journey ends with “BabopbyeYa.” Here, Monae pulls elements of Classical, Tribal rhythms, and Swing music together for an exciting finish. She incorporates the authoritative accent heard by many jazz singers of that era, and you feel her pain as Monae calls and by song’s end wails in vain for her missing lover. The track is brilliant in its pacing, and is neatly split into several parts marked by clear transitions; the final being a spoken word piece (“I hear echoes of your laughter in the corners of my mind/While I memorize each detail of your intricate design/In your hair is a symphony/Your lips a string quartet/They tell stories of the Neon Valley Street/Where we first met..”).  “BabopbyeYa” brings closure to the album, but still hints at the final Suite IV which will conclude Monae’s vision.

Aside from rare self-indulgent moments (“Neon Gumbo,”  “Make the Bus”) The ArchAndroid is a fantastic debut that should serve to be Janelle Monae’s coming out party for the uninitiated. At a mere 24 years old, she is a woman with an uncompromising vision of her art. The genuine emotional honesty of her work is inspiring and profound in today’s popular music climate. Instead of simply mimicking her influences, Monae has used them as inspiration to push and in some cases break our conventional music boundaries and labels. Years from now, it’s very likely we all will look back at The ArchAndroid as the major label debut that launched the career of a legend.

Nas and Damian Marley: Distant Relatives (Album Review)

Posted: May 12, 2010 in Album Reviews
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Black music has many streams of expression, 2 of the most prominent being Hip-Hop and Reggae.  And when you go back far enough, these traditions are seen to have their roots in the music of Africa. This truth is the basis for Nas and Damian Marley’s unique collaboration Distant Relatives, which aims to not only bridge the gap between their cultures, but also raise funds for a school in the Congo. And this focus has resulted in an album that will undoubtedly enrich the musical legacies of both men.

From the outset, it’s very obvious to listeners that both men took their time and built up a genuine, strong chemistry over the estimated year and a half recording period. The duo comfortably trade quick bars over the first single “As We Enter,” easily handling the several rhythm changes punctuated by horn and piercing drums , which is reminiscent of Welcome to Jamrock’s “All Night”. “As We Enter” serves to establish the direction of the LP, as Damian Marley proclaims them to be “street intellectuals,” and Nas posits their purpose as “real revolution rhymers.”

K’Naan guests on “Tribal War,” which address the in-fighting the plagues people of color around the world. Damian Marley crafts a beat of urgency using bongos and sorrowful chorus signing, as each emcee tackles the issue from different perspectives. Nas parallels international conflicts such as those seen in Darfur with American gang warfare, while K’Naan reflects on how Africa’s contributions are ignored or belittled in today’s society (“I drink poison/Then vomit diamonds/I gave you Mandela, Black Dalai Lamas/I gave you music/You enthused in my kindness/So how dare you reduce me to Donny Imus?”). And Damian Marley addresses the futility of man’s violent nature (“We nuh want no more of that/Everyone deserves to earn…Man a war tribal/Over colors/Over money, over land, and over oil, and over God” ).

Damian’s brother Stephen Marley assists on 2 tracks, “Leaders” and “In His Own Words.” On the former, Stephen handles chorus duties over a traditional, reggae-flavored track. But it’s Nas who shines in his 2 verses, using allusions to the Biblical figure of Esau, Prohibition gangster Bumpy Johnson, and Marcus Garvey to argue that a leader can come from any facet of society if they’re willing to answer the call.

On the latter, the trio gives listeners the first overtly spiritual track in “In His Own Words.” Again Nas works with 2 verses, and sharply notes his struggle with balancing his art, and how it has brought him closer to God (“How I balance between the streets and the theories of/collegiate literature/I hold mirrors up/Give combinations of pain, joy, fear, and love/Through my perspective/I can see Jah reflection”). Stephen’s bluesy, paced vocals provide a nice contrast with Nas’ faster flow, and Junior Gong brings it home lyrically in rhyming on the unity of creation (“All things are related/And creation is a package/Generate together/And we increase the wattage/A how them a go manage? Tell Babylon them can’t do Rasta damage”).

Since Damian Marley handled the majority of the production duties, the beats are void of any contemporary-styled Hip-hop rhythms. However, Junior Gong shows his versatility and knowledge of his partner’s strengths by making strategic rhythm changes to accentuate Nas’ style, as heard with the beautiful, guitar driven transition on “Count My Blessings.” Instinctively, both Nas and Marley fervently attack the songs with strong drums like “Friends,” “Dispear,” and “Strong Will Continue.” Ironically, the track with the closest link to boom-bap (“Nah Mean”) is dissected and dominated by Damian’s patois (“We nuh like dem colonial regime/Nah mean/Mi Queen hafi rock and come in/Nah mean/and jump pon mi big trampoline/Nah mean/And boost up her self-esteem”).

 

The remaining guests do exceptionally well in maintaining the theme of the album. Reggae fans will be delighted in hearing legend Dennis Brown helping in the remake of his classic “The Promised Land.” The seminal, bass-heavy funk of the song is perfect for any reggae/dancehall artist as Damian shows in his verse connecting America and Africa. But Nas also doesn’t misstep and incorporates end of days imagery in his portion (“If these are the last days/And 100-foot waves come crashing down/I’ll get some hash and pound/Pass around the bud then watch the flood/Can’t stop apocalypse/My synopsis is catastrophic”). Joss Stone compliments the child singing chorus on “My Generation,” and Lil Wayne shows his underrated adaptability with a succinct verse on his role with today’s youth (“This generation/I’m a represent/A generation led by a black president…So when you finish reading Revelations/Thank God for my generation”).

The album concludes with the poignant, lush ballad “Africa Must Wake Up.” The song is a call for those of African descent to not only remember their lineage, but establish an identity for the future, as sung by Damian (“Yesterday we were kings? Can you tell the young ones/Who are we today?”). Nas utilizes his 2 verses to speak on African culture’s discoveries in religion, architecture, and astronomy which assisted in humanity’s development. K’Naan reappears to offer a short, rhetorical refrain in Somali (“And when a country is built. Aren’t you the ones to tear it down?/ And when one attempted to tell the truth, aren’t you the ones to cut him down?). Nas ends the LP on a unifying note, explaining that because civilization derives from Africa, we are all family just spread out across the globe regardless of race.

Distant Relatives is an amazing achievement for both artists. For Damian Marley, it shows in these 5 years since this last LP (Welcome to Jamrock), he has grown as a producer and can lay claim to being one the most talented of Bob Marley’s children. Nas continues to evolve and age gracefully. Since 2002’s God’s Son, Nas has opted to use music to look inside himself for identity, rather than media, fans, or trends to define him. Instead of attempting to relive past glory (Illmatic) or personas (The Firm), he’s doing something many emcees become fearful to do; grow up with their audience and challenge themselves. And with the way he handled the varying production from Marley, Nas again shows why 19 years after his first appearance he’s still one of the premier lyricists in Hip-Hop.

Distant Relatives is a rewarding listening experience in its musicianship and lyricism, and one you can expect to go back to in the years to come.

Erykah Badu: New Amerykah 2: Return of the Ankh (Album Review)

Posted: March 29, 2010 in Album Reviews
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Individuality is not something that’s celebrated in the music industry. Just turn on the radio for proof that conformity more often than not is championed. For the chosen few who refuse to let their talent become their artistic prisons, the road is sometimes paved with gold, and other times filled with ridicule and abuse. Erykah Badu has seen both sides of the game. She was celebrated for her breakthrough debut Baduizm, but then neatly shuffled into the box that was the media buzzword “Neo-Soul.” Critics on one hand praised the emotional honesty of her art, and at the same time questioned her personal relationship choices. Throughout it all, Badu has maintained the ability to stay true to vision, and that tradition continues on her latest effort New Amerykah Part Two ( Return of the Ankh) (Universal Motown).

The album begins with Badu embracing self-determination and rediscovering her identity on “20 Feet Tall.” The introduction features 9th Wonder’s using melodic, stabbing chords to accentuate Badu’s realization on her inner strength, and refusal to let a damaged relationship stifle her growth (“You built a wall/ A 20 foot wall/So I couldn’t see/But if I get off my knees/I might recall/I’m 20 feet tall.”).

It becomes a perfect sedway into “Window Seat,” the now much-discussed first-single due to the Dallas singer’s controversial video. The lyrics show the inner conflict many artists face in wanting to share their gifts, but also having the immense pressure of what fans and others expect of them (“You’re so demanding/Tell me what u want from me/Concluding/Concentrating on my music, lover, and my babies/Makes me wanna ask the lady for a ticket outta town”). As the video reflects, when an artist truly sheds all their masks and inhibitions, inevitably evolving, society and even their fans shun their expression. In turn, this can lead to an “assassination” of that unique voice, whether literal or through the media.

As previously heard on tracks like “Booty,” Erykah Badu has never shied away from the hedonistic and narcissistic elements of her psyche, but still manages to present normally frowned upon, natural human emotions as humorous and engaging. On “Turn Me Away (Get Munny),” producer Karriem Riggin supplies a funky, live instrumentation variation of Junior Mafia’s “Get Money.” Badu keeps the theme by crooning on her love and pursuit of currency.

The jam session, piano-led interlude “You Loving Me” ups the ante and plays with the listener’s mind by crafting what initially sounds like a celebratory ode into a scandalous manifesto (“You’re loving me/And I’m driving your Benz/you’re loving me/And I’m spending you ends/You’re Loving me/And I’m drinking your gin/You’re loving me/And I’m fucking your friends”).  Erykah herself chuckles at the ridiculous but highly possible scenario, breaking character and chiming in “that’s terrible, ain’t it?”

Ironically, New Amerykah Part 2’s production is more soulful and R&B-based that its predecessor despite retaining Hip-Hop producers in 9th Wonder, J Dilla, and Ta’Raach. That’s a credit to their ingenuity and Erykah’s versatility. Where 4th World War engaged and challenged listeners more on political and social levels (“Master Teacher,” “The Healer”), Return of the Ankh reflects Badu’s vulnerability when confronted with different aspects of love. “Gone Baby, Don’t Be Long” shows her remaining stoic and understanding of her lover’s need to spend time working (think an upbeat, legal version of ‘Other Side of the Game”). Dilla’s signature, sample- layered production on “Love” accentuates Badu’s celebration of new-found love, which is marked by a fear of it being cheapened. (“I know I know I know you care for me/Because you can’t get away/Don’t play with me…do I look like a play thing?”).

The ubiquitous Eddie Kendrick’s “Intimate Friends” sample provides the backdrop for an aggressive Badu on “Fall in Love (Your Funeral).” She interpolates lines from B.I.G.’s “Warning” to make it clear not to violate her trust and the necessity of one raising their game to be with her (“Prepare to have your s**trearranged/The way I say…There’s going to be some slow singin’/A flower bringin’/If my burglar alarm start ringin’/See you don’t want to foul things up with me”).

The album concludes with the powerful, 10 minute track “Out of My Mind, Just Time.” Like “Green Eyes” off Mama’s Gun, the song is punctuated by several distinct melody and lyric transitions. Badu starts with a dirge-paced, bluesy mourn in the vein of Billie Holiday over a lover she was willing to sacrifice everything for (“I’m a recovery undercover over lover…I’d lie for me/And cry for you/Pop for you/Break for you…”). The next movement increases the tempo, and reflects Badu’s emotional state as she becomes more skittish about the situation, alternating between ecstasy and depression (“Could this be love me high?…I can’t feel/I am numb”). The final movement’s musicianship combines the previous movements for a moderate pace, and finds the songstress accepting her relationship as toxic (“f**k this…I am so addicted I can’t quit…Easy to blame somebody else/But not this time”). It’s a brilliant end to an LP rife with genuine emotion and empathetic themes.     

Badu has been christened a “conscious” artist, which under the realms of Hip-Hop and R&B normally confines an artist to simply “positive” themes. But for Erykah, the term is better suited by its original meaning of simply being aware, as this LP like Baduizm and Mama’s Gun finds her touching on all aspects on her psyche. The difference between a good and a great artist is the latter is not afraid to make you uncomfortable, and challenge you with the ugliness, beauty, and reality of this world and ourselves. Erykah Badu continues to do that with her career, and has crafted a worthy successor to 4th World War.

 

Sade: Soldier of Love (Album Review)

Posted: February 6, 2010 in Album Reviews
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“You only grow as an artist as long as you allow yourself to grow as a person. We’re all parents, our lives have all moved on. I couldn’t have made Solider of Love any time before now….”

-Sade Adu

Coming into the fourth decade of her career, Sade Adu has become an esoteric figure in the music industry. Since the early 90s she’s shrouded her life from popular culture, leaving her one album per decade average as the main tool for press and fans to speculate on her private dealings and thoughts. Those sparse offerings have delivered some of the best musings on love ever recorded, ranging from unbridled ecstasy (“Couldn’t Love You More”) to wallowing anguish (“King of Sorrow”). With a new decade upon us, Sade returns with another offering from the depths of her soul in Soldier of Love.

“The Moon and the Sky” opens the LP on the theme of unconditional love abused by selfishness. The string arrangements and trudging bass allow Sade’s voice to dominate, and she stretches several notes to accentuate the forlorn disbelief at how her lover abuses her loyalty (“So why did he make me cry?/Why didn’t you come get me one last time?/You let me down….You left me there dying”).

That damage transitions well to the lead single “Soldier of Love.” The stabbing, aggressive guitar chords and marching drums are a clear break from Sade’s previous work, and give a modern feel sure to catch younger fans not familiar with her work. In the context of the album, it builds on the numbing pain of the opening song, but displays the songstress still determined to persevere (“I’ve lost the use of my heart/But I’m still alive…”).  

The only other uptempo track, “Bring Me Home,” ironically contains the strongest lyrics of hopelessness. The despair is punctuated by backing vocals which titter on low mourning wails, and Sade invokes spiritual loss and regret (“I’ve cried for the lives I’ve lost/Like a child in need of love/I’ve been so close but far away from God….I’ve cried the tears so let the tide take me/I won’t fight/I’ve cried the tears.”)

The Sade band, composed of Stuart Colin Matthewman (guitar,sax), Paul Spencer Denman (bass), and Andrew Hale (keyboards), have retained their innate ability to not only seamlessly glide through different music genres, but merge them as needed to support their lead singer’s ethereal voice. “Babyfather” brings street reggae rhythms to support Sade’s celebration of parenthood and first ever collaboration with 13 year old daughter Ila. On “Be That Easy,” the band embraces the blues while Adu ruminates on her life being in freefall, her love remaining as the only tangible, pure facet (“Falling down, flying as slow as I can/I’m not trying to reach the land/Just falling somewhere/It couldn’t be that easy/It had to be much harder/Meanwhile boy, I love you”).

Sade Adu’s lasting appeal has been tied to the uniqueness of her soothing, rich alto vocals. Like previous legends Billie Holiday and Sarah Vaughan, her voice has gotten deeper with age. In her early years, Sade had underrated range (see “Pearls,” Frankie’s First Affair”). The voice is now slightly weaker, but not alarmingly so. The change is only noticeable when the band’s arrangements call for her to hit higher notes, as heard on “Morning Bird.” Perhaps by design, Adu for the majority of Soldier of Love isn’t required to extend or test her vocal limits.

As with all Sade LPs, the ballads are empathetic and overflow with introspection. “In Another Time” features engaging sax and string instrumentation (violin, cello) that will remind longtime fans of the jazz fusion pieces heard on Diamond Life and Promise. The track is another testament to Sade’s exceptional skill as a songwriter, as the lyrics can be interpreted as an ode to her daughter, or words of inspiration to downtrodden women.

“Skin” invokes the album’s strongest imagery as a meditative piece on when self-identity and preservation supersedes love for another. The song is classic Sade, with the singer describing the process of “peeling” and “washing” away the elements of an ex-lover on her psyche. Her phrasing is flawless, working in perfect harmony with her band’s subdued melodies.

The album has an unmistakable feeling of sadness, but ends with optimism on “The Safest Place.” Although the guitar and violin chords maintain a pensive color, Sade’s words show she remains unbroken, alluding to the spiritual warfare detailed in the album’s journey (“My heart’’s been a lonely warrior/Who’s been to war so you can be sure/Your love’s in a sacred place/The safest hiding place.”)

For Sade, Soldier of Love is a work that continues the excellence she’s displayed since her debut 26 years ago. While the greatness that is Love Deluxe is likely untouchable ever again, Sade builds on and exceeds her fine work from 2000’s Lover’s Rock. When it comes to Sade, her extended album breaks are an example of her dedication to her craft, and the importance she sees in letting life and spirit dictate when it’s time to drop over industry protocols.

Welcome back, Sade.

Raekwon: Only Built for Cuban Linx II (Album Review)

Posted: September 3, 2009 in Album Reviews
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Classics are “lightning in a bottle” occurrences. No matter how great an artist is, a musician can’t simply waltz into the studio and make timeless record after timeless record. A classic LP is the perfect storm, where various factors from technical skill to the artist’s emotional/spiritual state all come together in a perfect marriage of artistic expression. If an artist is lucky, they’ll get that experience once in their lifetime. If the music gods favor them, maybe twice. Those who’ve had it sometimes try in vain for the rest of their careers to recapture that vibe. Others, like Wu-Tang’s Raekwon, are pushed back to their former glory by outside forces.

For the past 15 years, the original Cuban Linx has been the Chef’s cruel mistress. On one hand, it’s his greatest triumph, the shining jewel of the Wu’s acclaimed catalogue and universally recognized as one of Hip-Hop’s greatest albums. But simultaneously, it’s overshadowed every work afterward, with fans dismissing everything as unworthy, subpar follow-ups. Well, Rae’s not running from Cuban Linx anymore. In fact, he doing what he claims comes easy, and that’s the NY Mafioso, cocaine-centered Hip-Hop that he popularized in the 90’s. But in 2009, can Only Built for Cuban Linx II (Ice Water/EMI) recapture the magic?

Immediately, your spirit is sent back to the summer of ’95 courtesy of the familiar rhythms on “Return of the North Star.” Papa Wu reprises his role as an aged Rae confidant, and leads right into the jaw-dropping Wu posse cut “House of Flying Daggers.” The track is classic Wu. From the pounding string instruments, soul/kung fu samples, and the near flawless verses of Meth, Deck, and Ghostface, the LP gets off to the perfect start for those doubting the Clan’s prowess in 2009.

What immediately strikes the listener about these introductory songs is how well Rae and the producers recreate the atmospheric, perilous reality of drug life from the original album. Whether it’s Pete Rock’s menacing chords accentuating a brutal kidnapping on “Sonny Missing,” or Marley Marl’s dragging guitar loop complimenting the Chef’s crack baking process on “Pyrex Visions,” you are completely immersed in the project after a few songs.

Some fans worried about RZA only offering a few standout tracks (“New Wu,” “Black Mozart”), but the Abbott excels here as an executive producer. Despite the mixed response to some of his experimentation over the years, the Abbott knows the Cuban Linx sounds fans were salivating for. Even more amazing, the legendary broadsmith is able to take the contributions of over 11 producers and sequence them to a mosaic tapestry for Rae’s unique perspective on the game.

Ghosface Killah fans will also be happy. On the OG version, Ghost delivered lyrically but also supplied memorable one-liners that contrasted well with the violent, dangerous stories (“Don’t play me like I’m holding a flower pot”). Here, Ghost shines on tracks like “Gihad,” were he weaves a hilarious tale of being caught jilting his friend through a pregnant girlfriend. It’s classic Ghostface, and you can’t help but crack a smile at how the Wally Champ ends the narrative (“Go in the freezer and get a steak for your eye n***a, go put some baloney on your face…I don’t give a f**k if you 25 you still my son n***a.”). On “Penitentiary,” he returns to the ruthlessness of jail life alluded to on classic “Verbal Intercourse.” Throughout the album, Ghost remains an irreplaceable influence every few tracks, and ensures the listener gets a nice energy contrast from Rae’s laidback rhyme schemes.

Non-Wu guests are not a problem either. Jada and Styles P are at home reciting coke tales and go hard over a Scram Jones’s bass-heavy street banger in “Broken Safety” (“I used to move brown rectangles/Roll you a blunt to smoke you with Death’s Angels”). And Beanie Sigel crafts a vivid picture about the loneliness of incarceration on Icewater’s somber “Have Mercy.”

Even Dr. Dre’s two offerings of “Catalina” and “About Me” fit in. The former showcases Lyfe Jennings crooning on the inevitable end of weight pushing, and the latter features Dre’s trademark piano thumps and a cocksure Busta Rhymes (“I see the weakness in most of you n***as that be hollering/So I toned it down so these words be piercing your lower abdomen.”). Throw in Slick Rick providing the intro to “We Will Rob You,” and you have the big event feel you’d expect from an album of this magnitude.

When Raekwon goes at it solo, the album doesn’t suffer. “Fat Lady Sings” is a hard-hitting narrative of block appropriation, replete with soulful singing and lyrics that nod to the original’s LPs creative lines (“Shorty was a vet/Gillette solider/Shorty hit the neck/Blood squirting look like laundry detergent…”). “Ason Jones” as a worthy tribute to the late Ol Drity Bastard, and once again Dilla blesses this album from the beyond with production that illuminates the bittersweet pitch of Rae’s reflections.

The complaints are minor, in that “Criminology 2” fits the album better than “Mean Streets.” And surely some fans will want to burn Nas at the stake for not returning Rae’s calls for “Verbal Intercourse 2.” But considering Esco’s divorce situation, God’s Son should get a pass. His presence is missed, but nonetheless not essential to this album’s success.

Is Cuban Linx II the classic, genre-turning opus that was the original? No, but it’s as close as one can possibly get. As the great Chicago poet Lonnie Rashid Lynn, Jr. stated, “This ain’t ’94 Joe/We can’t go back.” But that doesn’t mean one can’t tap those old spirits to assist in creating genuine, new art. Like Nas did on Stillmatic, Shallah Raekwon has done well by the legacy of his greatest work. Now, we fans should let him rest. The Cuban Linx saga is complete, and the Chef should be allowed to move on to other artistic endeavors if he so chooses. Well done, Rae.

Jay-Z: Blueprint 3 (Album Review)

Posted: September 1, 2009 in Album Reviews
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Shawn Carter is a complicated man. Like many of us, he is composed of various and at times conflicting influences since his humble beginnings in Brooklyn’s Marcy Projects. But unlike us, Jay-Z for the past decade-plus has been expected to carry the torch for the eclectic, global melting pot that is Hip-hop culture. He met the challenge at the dawn of this decade courtesy of the inaugural Blueprint, which laid a sonic design for producers, and lyrically solidified Jay as one of the great emcees of all time.

But as the first decade of the new millennium closes, Marcy’s beloved son finds himself at an artistic crossroads, prompted both by high-profile missteps (Kingdom Come, Blueprint 2) and successes (The Black Album, American Gangster). The recent criticisms have been heated from fellow artists (ie. Game) and fans alike, arguing the mogul is no longer worthy of being Hip-Hop’s vanguard. Has Jay-Z regressed from trendsetter to trend follower? With those naysayers as fuel, Jay-Z attempts to construct another outline for Hip-Hop’s future in Blueprint 3 (Atlantic).

Before Jay pontificates on the future, he plainly lays out past grievances over the pulsing synth arrangements of “What We Talkin’ About.” Targets are laid on past music (Dame, Jaz-O) and street (DeHaven, Calvin Klein) associates who are framed as individuals who stumbled from personal fiscal mistakes, or incorporating a handout/welfare mentality (“Grown men/Want me to sit them on my lap/But I don’t have a beard/And Santa Claus ain’t black”). To fans and artists, Jay references Hip-Hop’s success in Obama’s historic presidential run as an awakening to eliminate embarrassing Youtube videos and senseless violent feuds from the culture (“You can come with me to the White house/Get your suit up/You stuck on hardcore/I chuck the deuce up”).

On “Thank You,” Kanye West and No ID switch gears by providing Jay with a lush, orchestral sample of Brazilian artist Marcos Valle. With flamboyant horns in tow, Jay plays innocent straight man while deconstructing anonymous emcee rivals. Although no one is named, the Brooklynite frames them as fanatics with the zeal of suicide bomber, and in the end artistically destroy themselves (“I was gonna 9/11 them/But didn’t need the help/And they did a good job/Them boys are talented as hell!”).

Fans seeking the feel of the original Blueprint soul samples can experience that same vibe on “Empire State of Mind.” With a boisterous but fitting Alicia Keys chorus, Shawn Carter encapsulates his love for NYC and incorporates name drops of everyone from Afrika Bambaatta to Bob Marley. The chemistry then extends to Young Jeezy on “Real As It Gets.” Although the Inkredibles’ production is undeniably tailored to Jeezy, Jay has no issues making the track his own by complimenting his younger colleague’s refrain duties with his trademark wit.

Unfortunately, the LP’s second half is not as cohesive and in some cases stumbles badly. The issues stem not from Jay-Z himself, but some questionable production choices and guest appearances. “Off That” falls flat because of Timbo’s unimaginative production, and a complete waste of Drake who simply delivers a forgettable, by the numbers chorus. Things don’t improve much on “Venus vs. Mars.” Jay retains the listener’s interest with a couplet-centered flow filled with rich allusions of everything from “Ether” to Star Wars’ C-3PO, but Timbaland’s production and arrangements leave you feeling this was better served for a Roc Nation mixtape.

Kanye West, who up until now was delivering some of BP 3’s best work, slips on “Hate.” Previously, West had tailored his production to Jay strengths, but here the Chicago star supplies a track that could have been an 808s & Heartbreak’s throwaway, or even worse “Drunk and Hot Girls Part 2.” Jigga gives it his best shot, even alternating vocal pitches to match the rhythm’s dirge pace and distorted vocal sample. Still, nothing can save this offering.

It’s well known that Jay-Z has been very concerned with his place among the greats since the new millennium. But another “career-recap” with “Reminder” screams overkill on several levels. Not only has it already been done better on previous albums (see Black Album, Blueprint), but the annoying, Autotune leaning chorus ironically titters close to the same formulaic music Jay vowed to eliminate on “Death of Autotune.”

With that said, there are several bright spots over the second half. Kid Cudi is another young gun reduced to chorus duties, but his vocals accentuate Kanye’s melodic, violin-centered sample loop. Jay works seamlessly with the beat, skewering crying artists who ridiculously claim he’s holding them back, and even takes a light-hearted moment to address cracks on his appearances mostly seen on message boards (“Oh they call me a camel/But I mastered the drought/What the f**k I’m animal/Half man, half mammal/My sign is a Sag/This is just what I plan to do/Oh don’t be mad”).

The Neptunes come through on “So Ambitious,” supplying Jay-Z with a jazzy, bass-heavy track reminiscent of Outkast’s Organized Noise production. Long-time fans will recognize Jay utilizing a flow similiar to his classic “In My Lifetime” single. Pharrell’s crooning doesn’t interfere, and instead listing his achievements to prove his greatness, he details his life experiences which clearly paints the same picture but without pretentiousness.

“Forever Young” closes the LP on a positive note, recapturing the vibe heard on “Beach Chair” and displaying Jay reflecting on the universal qualities of music. With all the recent digs at his age, he intuitively knows the fountain of youth is not from infantizing his music, but by creating timeless compositions that will transcend generations.

Artists with the talent of Jay-Z will always suffer from unrealistic expectations. Solid and good albums are unacceptable. Unless a classic is delivered every time, some fans will scream failure. Of course, attaching the Blueprint name to this project can do that, but on this album Jay-Z does show growth, and more importantly ambition. It’s not jaw-dropping like the first Blueprint or as succinct as the Black Album, but it’s not all over the place like BP2 and takes more risks than the “safe” lane that was American Gangster (Jay can spin street hustler tales in his sleep).

Does Jay-Z need to retire? Absolutely not, and it’s ridiculous to even suggest. Blueprint 3 shows he has more to offer as an artist, and those without unbridled hate will continue to attentively follow his already legendary musical journey.

DJ Spinna: Sonic Smash (Album Review)

Posted: July 20, 2009 in Album Reviews
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Hip-Hop is truly “sink or swim” in 2009. Gone are the days where an artist simply perfects their craft and entrusts a label to package and cultivate their brand in the marketplace. Now, artist is a synonym for A&R, street team, publicist, and tour manager. Enter DJ Spinna, who as a late 90’s artist is old enough to remember the Silver Age of Hip-Hop, but young enough for his art to not be bound or stifled by previous traditions. On his latest project, Sonic Smash (High Water Music), Spinna makes good on his promise to deliver a no frills, streamlined Hip-hop album.

The opening tracks are heavily preoccupied with addressing the perceived artistic limitations of mainstream Hip-Hop. The live spoken intro on “Elemental” immediately declares to the listener they are dealing with high art, as the emcee requests that the audience call out the elements of Hip-Hop culture (emceeing, DJing, graffiti, and breaking). From there, the five man NYC group Sputnik Brown shows reverence for pioneers like Grandmaster Flash and Jazzy Jeff while pontificating on Hip-Hop’s pure beginnings (“Relevant elements for inner city settlements/Before they starting selling it/Hip-Hop was intelligent/Strictly wild styles is what we represent”).

The commentary takes a sharper edge in the hands of the gruff and capable Torae, who wowed critics and fans earlier this year with the Marco Polo collaboration Double Barrel. For Sonic Smash, DJ Spinna supplies the Brooklynite with an appropriate thumping bassline accompanied with a sinister melody chock full of galactic, sci-fi effects. Titled “Lyrics Is Back,” Torae asserts himself as a vanguard to improve Hip-Hop, instead of simply bemoaning the culture’s past exploits (“I miss the days of Big Poppa/When Tip said ‘Hammer…Proper/Damn that was the knock y’all/I remember when cats went in to make memorable tracks/I hope you listening the lyrics is back”).

Thankfully, the early mainstream antagonism is short-lived, and the LP opens up further as DJ Spinna shows off his creative sampling. The routine rhyme performance from the Jigmastas (“New York”) was strengthened by Spinna’s savvy lifting of the ubiquitous beginning chords of Michael Jackson’s “Beat It.” Sticky Fingaz’ frantic “so, so, so” phrase from “Throw Ya Gunz” becomes the chorus backbone for “Get On Down,” which features young guns Fresh Daily , P. Cass, and Homeboy Sandman spitting rapid-fire rhymes over scratches, cymbals, and trumpet horns. The lush arrangements continue with “Call Me Senor,” the melodic vehicle for burgeoning Atlanta emcee Senor Kaos to spit self-determination rhymes celebrating his lyrical gifts.

The album doesn’t falter even when tackling the obligatory love track. Phonte’s Little Brother provides his usual perceptive life lyrics on “Guaranteed,” and Spinna crafts another unique, funky mood with a nice vocal sample of the 70s smokeout anthem “Smokin’ Cheeba Cheeba,” from the Harlem Underground Band. Vocalist Yazarah takes care of the hook duties, and her crooning provides the female element needed to round out the track. “Melody” is even more engaging, with former Rawkus standout Shabaam Sahdeeq effortlessly riding an upbeat, jazzy Spinna offering with bars on the conflicting emotions love brings (“So many times she cries say I spend no time/I was out on the town with different dimes/They was all same change/I wasn’t ready to change…”).

Rounding out Sonic Smash are several songs with pointed social and political commentary. Elzhi continues to develop his concept skills with “More Colors.” The track references the various vibrant colors that define a community, from police “blue” to the products of drug dealers (“Go from painting the town red underneath the night skies/To going to trial/Telling little white lies”). Dynas uses Spinna’s ethereal production on “More” to detail our spiritual and educational degradation as a society. In contrast, femcee Tiye Phoenix takes a more conspiratorial approach on “Still Golden,” and takes the stolen legacy approach in discussing the history of Black culture.

With most compilations, it’s difficult for the arranger to retain any type of cohesion and buck the inevitable mixtape feel the project takes on. But with Sonic Smash, DJ Spinna gives his guests just enough creative leeway to keep each offering distinct. The end result is not just an enjoyable album, but one that delivers on its beginning vow to reflect the elemental pillars of Hip-Hop.

 

DJ Spinna feat. Torae- Lyrics Is Back

DJ Spinna feat. Shabaam Shadeeq and Erik Rico- Melody