For the sake of discussion, Kendrick Lamar’s Section.80 happens to make for a solid point of comparison to Schoolboy Q’s Habits and Contradictions. Aside from the obvious–the two are frequent collaborators and members of Kendrick’s Black Hippy crew– Habits bears plenty of similarities to 80. For starters, they each have a phenomenal ear for beats, both nostalgic and forward-thinking. Both artists too, are keen observers of the world around them. Both thrive off inner conflict, and turn those conflicted moments into meditations that feel both tangibly personal, and also somehow representative on a generational level.
But where Kendrick’s social conscience tends to kick into overdrive, Q is prone to let the darker aspects of his personality predominate. The tone of Habits is dark and brooding, and the production elegantly gritty and engrossing. The subject matter too, matches the convincingly sinister tone it’s delivered in. To say that Habits then, feels something like Section.80‘s darker cousin, is really to say, more accurately, that Q succeeds here in carving out his own, very distinct creative space.
With the occasional exception or grey area, Rick Ross’ catalog of work is roughly divisible into two categories of songs. On the one hand, there are massive-sounding street singles and trap anthems, the evolution of which is traceable from “Hustlin’” to “BMF” and a slew of other Lex Luger contributions of late. On the other hand, lie the luxuriously soulful, movie-score epics, a la J.U.S.T.I.C.E. League, The Inkredibles, or even occasionally a Kanye or Just Blaze. The subject matter varies only subtly, but the former leans more toward guns and blow trafficking, whereas the latter tends to emphasize Maybachs and yachts.
Basically, they’re both great, but “Keys to the Crib” is certainly an example of the second. That tracks like these, draped in soul horns and shit-talking grandeur, end up on the cutting room floor, or in this case, on Rozay’s album-prelude mixtape Rich Forever, speaks to just how big of an affair each official Ross album has been in recent years. God Forgives, I Don’t is due out soon. For now, grab the tape here.
Okay, so this girl is going hard right now. I mean, “212″ just kind of blindsided us. It was one of those moments where somebody’s personality comes through so magnetically, it hits you like a ton of bricks. For one, I couldn’t stop playing the fucking thing. The video was just the icing the cake. “Liquorice” isn’t the follow-up single to “212″, by any means. It’s probably not the star-making, event level single that will blow her movement out of the water. On the other hand, “Liquorice” works as a showcase for pretty much everything that made Azealia an overnight sensation. The razor-sharp bars, the ear for melody, the playfully grimy sexiness, the attitude. It’s all there. Further proof that Azealia is somebody to keep an eye on this year.
In the interest of full disclosure, let’s just say we’ve had some server issues this year. And, unfortunately, that meant we couldn’t put as many songs out into orbit as we have in past years. Consequently, that means we didn’t get to show some artists the love they deserved. as far as Watch the Throne goes, the difference in sales was probably marginal. And don’t trip. The big blowout, wrap-up list is coming too. But for now, we figured it was only appropriate to return to a few of the artists a bit further off the radar, who made a major impression. Expect to see a few of these names on our list of favorites for the year, along with a few more. But since not everybody’s combing through Pitchfork all day, here’s a short list of folks to we recommend getting familiar with.
Credit The Roots for their insistence on subtlety and focus. Nearly two decades into the game, ?uesto and company have kept busy over the last half decade, not only as the resident tastemakers for late-night network TV, but also as hip-hop’s foremost album auteurs, creating albums as conceptual and cohesive as any in recent memory. From the dark paranoia of Rising Down to the soulfully eclectic palette of How I Got Over in particular, The Roots have set the standard for visionary hip-hop records of late. It’s not that those classifications don’t apply to the rest of their career, but I suppose it’s just the ridiculous consistency, and attention to craft that’s made such an impression in recent years.
It should be no surprise then, that Undun is fundamentally concept driven. More than that though, it’s the moodiest, most decidedly downbeat Roots album yet, telling the story of Redford Stevens, a Memento-style backward moving, existential journey, beginning with Redford’s death. “Kool On” is all bluesy guitar and soul chops, with Black Thought, and frequent collaborators Greg Porn and Truck North all lending verses about the pleasures and the pitfalls of fast money. It’s also far and away the hookiest, most fun track on the album, which is to say, it’s not exactly representative of Undun on the whole. In all seriousness though, listen all the way through. You won’t regret it. For now, get your cool on. Way too wet.
Who knew that before he was Ice Cube, O’Shea Jackson was on the path to becoming an architectural draftsmen? Sharing his thoughts on the brilliance of designers Charles & Ray Eames, the video, as a part of the Pacific Standard Time initiative, is a lesson in history and architecture. Celebrated for creating the Eames Lounge Chair amongst other notable creations, the couples contributions to the realm of architecture and furniture design are nearly unparallelled. Beautifully shot, I find myself more pleased to see Ice Cube in this than Are We There Yet? Hit the play button and see for yourself. Thanks Jatan.
To say Freddie Gibbs is kind of predictable isn’t a slight. For every rapper that synthesizes all their most ambitious musical ideas well, there are a hundred that make experimentation sound downright awkward. And not to say that Freddie hasn’t tried out his fair share of different ideas and different topics, but at least to some degree, when you’re listening to Freddie Gibbs, you know what you’re getting. Thuggin’, as the title suggests, is vintage Gibbs, pairing his formidable flow with Madlib’s rugged, tripped-out soul for a collaborative EP via Stones Throw. As a project, it’s slim — two full tracks, and a handful of Madlib instrumentals — but as an artistic partnership, it’s pretty flawless. Indie stoner thug rap at its finest.
It was the second half of what was to eventually be a wonderful year spent in L.A. The volcanic burst that was the new year of 2011 seemed to be settling and in the eye of the storm, Unready to Wear was born. Heavy-hearted one day I sat trying to determine what was the most creative way to send in a demo to Stones Throw, when I got a call from my friend Doug. Confirmation for a half-planned trip to Coachella was the question and an unsure “yes” was the answer.
Alexander Spit is alone in the house on Normal Avenue this afternoon. He’s taking a quick cigarette break in his doorway, standing in a striped button down, his black hair smeared to the side by a slick of pomade, toe propped on the ground like a devil-may-care outsider.
Behind trees that shade the quaint courtyard of his apartment complex lie eight mustard yellow doors— his is open, decorated by his silhouette and skateboards propped up against the right-hand side of the wall. He flicks his cigarette butt right into an ashtray and walks back into the house. He goes straight to his room.
Easing into a large leather chair in front of an intricate set up he resumes his work: on the left, there is a dbx 160A—a high-end audio compressor—to the right, a large computer monitor and below, two small keyboards: one for typing, one for playing. He rolls in his chair over to the bed. Above his pillow is a poster tacked up of the late producer J Dilla—a glossy beacon of hip-hop hope that he sees before he goes to sleep each night.
On paper, Take Care looks like an album that shoots for the stars. The list of features, like Thank Me Later before it, is staggering. Occasionally, the execution itself makes for something big, and aims for something transcendent. There’s the wall-of-sound, Just Blaze epic, “Lord Knows”, where Drizzy trades verses with Rick Ross over gospel choirs. There’s a marquee duet with Rihanna, appearances from Wayne, Nicki and 3 Stacks. There’s even a Stevie Wonder harmonica solo.
And yet, despite its excess, Take Care is an album that’s impressive, even more so, for its subtlety. It’s that push and pull, between loud and quiet, familiar and experimental, bravado and vulnerability, that’s made Drake’s music so compelling to so many people so far. But now more than ever, he and right-hand man 40 have been able to wrap their ideas around a cohesive aesthetic. And it’s restraint, more than anything else, that triumphs here.
Now that a few million eyes are tracking the Odd Future collective’s every move, it seems only appropriate that a few folks not named Tyler or Frank take their turn in the spotlight. Aside from a few remixes surfacing over the last few months, Syd the Kid has been pretty quiet thus far. As introductions go though, “Cocaine” is pretty much all you could ask for. A trippy, great-looking video, a lesbian love affair, some serious hard-drug use, and a delightfully groovy piece of futurist funk. While Tyler’s been grabbing VMA’s and Frank Ocean’s been rivaling The Weeknd for the indie R&B crown, it’s become increasingly clear that the rest of the crew — Left Brain, Hodgy, and Syd in particular — are poised to do some damage in their own right. The Internet, Syd and Matt Martian’s collective moniker, is scheduled to drop Purple Naked Ladies this December.
If you told me a few months ago that screwed up, molasses-paced Houston hip-hop à la 2005 would be a primary inspiration for the hip-hop world’s next phenom, I might not have believed you. But sure enough here’s A$AP Rocky, the self-appointed ambassador of trillwave, a hybrid blend of syrupy hip-hop, that pairs chopped and screwed vocals with spacey stoner futurism. As an aesthetic, it’s a little limited. Another way of saying that though, is that it’s distinct.
From his introduction with “Purple Swag” to the designer fits, to the grills, A$AP’s rapid ascent, from internet sensation to label darling and $3 million man, has been an exercise in creating a specific look and a specific feel. Even if the individual pieces are familiar, it’s the juxtaposition of those elements — Houston trill, gritty Harlem swag, psychedelic synth — that makes LiveLoveA$AP impressive in its own right, and seriously listenable as a project.
Why I haven’t taken the time out to write a full-length piece about Das Racist over the past two years is kind of beyond me. I’m not even sure what to chalk it up to. All I know is that when I first saw the clip for “Rainbow in the Dark”, I was blown away. The self-implicating jokes on hipsterdom, the hip-hop-historical allusions, the barrage of left-field pop culture references. Not to mention Kool AD chillin on top of a speaker, popping champagne in the nude. Watching any of their visuals, it became clear that they were bringing something different to the table.
Then there was the intellectual feud with New Yorker critic Sasha Frere-Jones, who controversially declared the death of hip-hop, to which Das Racist responded eloquently, effectively gutting the article, and adding a few haikus for good measure. After that whole debacle, a lot of us gleaned that behind all the goofy shit, lurked two particularly well-informed Wesleyan graduates who were putting a lot of thought into what they were doing. Or at the very least, two guys who could intellectually contextualize their work, no matter how ridiculous it was. Their music is almost pretentiously unpretentious, as if the “you don’t get it” factor could go out the window, since there might not be anything to “get”. For music journalists and fans, the joke’s on us most of the time.
The year was 1997 and the Gap was in need of a spokesperson for their “easy fit” jeans. Soliciting the rapping prowess of one LL Cool J, Gap executives commissioned LL to perform a 30 second freestyle for their nationwide television commercial. But little did they know, LL had ulterior motives.
Rocking a light blue Fubu cap in the commercial, executives foolishly disregarded the LL’s subtle clothing item, allowing him to visually promote the urban brand within the television spot. Initially referencing the easy fit jeans within the first few bars of the freestyle, LL continued on, “G,A,P gritty ready to go. For us, by us, on the low…”
“For us, by us, on the low”? The significance of the phrase is undeniable. What transpired was one of Gap’s biggest marketing blunders, and subsequently FUBU’s introduction to the world. It took Gap executives a while to understand exactly what LL had pulled off, but once they did they were furious. Plugging the FUBU brand on Gap’s dime, LL managed to introduce FUBU to a national audience, telling that same audience to buy it “on the low.” The following year FUBU earned upwards of $350 million.
First impressions are pretty important. And given that Azealia Banks, in what’s likely to be her introduction to the vast majority of the folks that see it, comes out swinging, guns blazing, this one could be polarizing. It’s hard to know what to start with — The propulsive, dancehall-raver hybrid thump, the fact that she drops “cunt” a good ten or fifteen times, the elastic voice.
The Nicki comparisons are probably inevitable, and the parallels are there — the performance swag, the fluctuating accents, the bars, the aggressive raunch. But right around the 1:50 mark, the energy of “212″ breaks with convention in a way that recalls a handful of other notable female performers in equal measure, say, Kelis, Santi or even Karen O. If I’m hyping, I’m hyping. But at twenty, Azealia seems poised to become our next big topic of discussion. And as introductions go, this one definitely makes its impression felt.
