[NOTE: This is not a review¹. This is just my initial reaction to what will probably end up being my favorite album of 2011.]

One of the titans of Hip Hop has returned to remind us of the sound of greatness. A living legend, a pioneer, an originator is back. Like Raekwon’s Only Built 4 Cuban Linx, Pt. II, Kool G Rap proves once again that cadence, flow and punchlines always trump bitches, blunts and auto-tune. Riches, Royalty & Respect is a refreshing change of pace in a genre that has become increasingly stagnant and decreasingly relevant. It is a punch in the face of mainstream Hip Hop, a record that makes your head nod and realize that this is what it’s supposed to sound like.

It’s a gut check similar to the Odd Future hype that’s captivated all varieties of Hip Hop fans over the last 12 months. This doesn’t mean Odd Future is anywhere near the level of Kool G Rap. It is only to say that the rebellion against the Hip Hop status quo present in albums like Bastard, Earl and Goblin mirrors the spirit of Riches, Royalty & Respect. They are both unapologetic, unfiltered responses to the formulaic bullshit that dominates rap music today.

They are similar in the sense that they eschew most modern Hip Hop sensibilities in favor of total self-expression. Yet they differ in the means by which they accomplish this expression. Odd Future relies heavily on pageantry and theatrics perfected by artists like Eminem and The Gravediggaz². Kool G Rap employs a style perfected by, well, Kool G Rap himself.

The methods are different, but the response is the same. Whether we are shocked by the nihilistic violence of Odd Future or awed by Kool G Rap’s technical mastery of rhyme, the important thing is we respond. You can’t listen to it and file it away as riding music, or club music or music for the ladies. Hip Hop, and music in general, is an interactive art form. It is meant to evoke visceral reaction—emotionally, mentally, physically.

However, while Odd Future is a reaction to the homogeny of Hip Hop, Kool G Rap is less reaction and more revival—a return to its roots. Riches, Royalty & Respect embodies that classic East Coast sound—the boom bap beats, gritty storytelling and unflinching realism that, 25 years ago, carved out an inimitable space in the soundscape of a young, revolutionary and divisive movement.

This record is one of those rare instances when a collective of beat-makers work together to deliver a cohesive album. More so, they give G Rap a modern context in which to work. This record does not sound dated or throwback-y. It’s current. It’s relevant. It’s 2011.

Hip Hop production has evolved significantly since the days of Ill Street Blues. And G Rap takes full advantage without sounding out of his element. The marriage of rhythm and rhyme is seamless—from the piano arpeggios on Harmony Homicide to the Feist sample³ on The Meaning To Your Love. The ease with which Kool G Rap flows over these beats testifies to the timelessness of Hip Hop. He doesn’t force a transformation to connect with a specific audience. There is no Blueprint 3 type pandering ⁴ going on here. No big name features or $50,000 beats—just straight rhymes. It’s organic, homegrown Hip Hop at its purest.

Perhaps I’m a biased advocate of this album. Kool G Rap birthed the generation of MCs who provided the soundtrack to my childhood—Biggie, Nas, Mobb Deep, RZA, Big Pun. And for that I will always equate his style to my earliest memories of Hip Hop. But regardless of personal feelings, his contributions to the culture are undeniable. His work with DJ Polo and the Juice Crew was part of the foundation that became the iconic New York Hip Hop scene. Road To Riches, Wanted: Dead or Alive, Live and Let Die are all integral parts of the Hip Hop canon. Even Jay-Z, whom some of you⁵ think of as the G.O.A.T., paid homage to Kool G Rap on The Black Album:

Hearing me rap is like hearing G Rap in his prime.

And we should do the same. Sit down, put away your Lil Wayne, your Nicki Minaj and your fucking Pitbull. Buy⁶ Riches, Royalty & Respect and take the time to respect your elders.

10. Sleigh Bells - Treats

This is one of those love it or hate it records. If you’re like me, you’ll love it for its sheer sonic presence. Sleigh Bells has this whole Phil Spector-esque, wall of sound thing going on—guitars, synths and drums layered upon even more guitars, synths and drums. Treats is, by far, one of the most visceral, energetic albums I’ve ever heard. EVER. It’s sounds like Tobacco and the 1988 version of Trent Reznor did a bunch of crank and decided to make a record. If you’re a fucking idiot not like me, you’ll hate it for its perceived aimlessness, dismissing it as trendy, hipster, noise pop. And then you’ll be wrong. Luckily, this is my list and not yours. So go fuck off.

9. The Left - Gas Mask

In a Detroit Hip Hop scene crowded with giants like Black Milk, Eminem, Royce Da 5’9” and Elzhi, The Left have declared themselves a major force. Listening to this record is like traveling back in time. Back to a time when Hip Hop was about lyricism, crate digging, dope samples and that boom-bap bounce. This is what I imagine Hip Hop would sound like if Biggie had lived past his 24th birthday, Birdman’s mother had an abortion and we were never subjected to the Cash Money era. In an era of watered down music, when YouTube hits are more valued than artistic integrity, The Left reminds us of the sound of authenticity. Gas Mask is all that is Hip Hop.

8. Sleepy Sun - Fever

I’ve never really been a huge psych-rock fan. I absolutely loved the Black Lips single, Veni Vidi Vici. But outside of that, I could take it or leave it. That was until this album changed my mind about the entire genre. I could effuse all day about the uncanny balance between their dual vocalists, the rich guitar textures, the progression between gentle acoustic instrumentation to huge, anthemic choruses. But this album can really be summed in three simple words: Motherfucking. Harmonica. Solos.

7. Ghostface Killah - Apollo Kids

Like The Left’s Gas Mask, Ghost’s 9th solo album reminded me why I love Hip Hop. Apollo Kids is Tony Starks’ best album since Ironman. And despite the absence of any RZA-produced tracks, it’s a throwback to that old-school Ghostface sound. Gone are the R&B-tinged slow jams of Ghostdini Wizard Of Poetry In Emerald City. This record is straight bars with production from some of the industry’s finest—Pete Rock, Jake One, and Sean C & LV, among others. With a few more spins, Ghostface may just edge out The GZA for my personal favorite Wu-Tang member … maybe².

6. Army of The Pharaohs - The Unholy Terror

The Army of The Pharaohs aren’t interested in making beautiful music. They don’t care if their single knocks in the club. They couldn’t give a fuck less about Beemers, Benzs or Bentleys. All they want to do is make the illest, most aggressive Hip Hop you can imagine. And when every member can spit hot fire, they do this exceedingly well. Seven minutes into the album and you’ve already been instructed to kill at least seven people³. You need to listen to this album immediately.

5. The Tallest Man On Earth - The Wild Hunt

As far as musicianship goes, The Tallest Man On Earth wins the year. Rarely do you find one who can produce such impassioned vocals while displaying such spectacular guitar chops. Seeing him perform, so effortlessly, is just as impressive. Sadly, knowing he’s from Sweden, the entire time I listed to this record all I could think about was Tom Green’s seminal, 1999 classic, Lonely Swedish.

4. Sharon Van Etten - Epic

Understated and incredibly engaging, Epic made this list the moment it came through my headphones. Building upon 2009’s under-appreciated Because I Was In Love, Van Etten crafts a record that stands tall among a field full of middling singer/songwriters. Her honest, pleading lyrics float over stripped down guitars, grab hold of your attention and don’t relent till the album fades out. Though not as minimalistic as her earlier work, this album adds just enough instrumental depth—sparse drums, light strings, even a faint accordion—to create something that is, in a word, epic. My only complaint is its length. At seven tracks and just over 32 minutes, this feels almost like an EP. Regardless, it’s 32 minutes of captivating sound. I highly recommend you give Epic a listen.

3. The Roots - How I Got Over

The Roots have to be, without a doubt, the most underrated band of all-time. 23 years, 14 albums and the greatest concert film ever. Yet people still think of them as “that band on Jimmy Fallon.” If you’re one of those people, go fuck yourself. The Roots are one of Hip Hop’s proudest progeny. How I Got Over is just the latest in catalog full of classics from the Philly ensemble. Black Thought again proves he should be in the discussion of greatest MCs of this generation. The Roots crew puts together an all-star cast of guest spots and combines them into a unified sound that is still decidedly Hip Hop. But the craziest thing about this album is that it wasn’t even the illest Roots moment of the year. That would have to be this.

2. Cocoon - Where The Oceans End

You know how when you’re a kid and you proclaim, “I love chocolate ice cream!” And then some other asshole kid says, “Then, why don’t you marry your chocolate ice cream?” Yeah? Well, first off, fuck that kid. Secondly, I love this album. And also, I would totally marry this album. Cocoon’s Where The Oceans End is, by far, the most aurally enchanting album of the year. Quiet, controlled and absolutely gorgeous. The magic of Cocoon is their ability to maintain a cohesive aesthetic, while creating distinctive tracks and without falling into the trap of sameness and repetition. How often do you hear a band that is great at one thing, but only that one thing? As a result, track four is indistinguishable from track seven, everything blends together and you eventually forget about the album⁴. This is not the case with Where The Oceans End. In this album, the French duo are able to create tracks that stand alone as great songs. Yet they still feel part of a greater whole. I can’t praise this record enough. Cocoon is the best thing to come out of France since cheese-eating surrender monkeys

1. Kanye West - My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy

I almost named this post, “Kanye West’s My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy and 9 Other Pretty Good Records.” It’s just that good. This album has dominated best-of lists this year—Rolling Stone, Pitchfork, SPIN. And usually, I feel like a tool agreeing with those guys. But this time, I have to admit, they got it right. This album is awesome. Not in the general way people use the word awesome—but it actually inspires awe. Kanye didn’t just make the album of the year, he made the album of his life. I’ve been critical of Kanye in the past. It always felt like he was reaching for and falling short of the sublimity of College Dropout. As a result, his proceeding albums, especially 808s and Heartbreak, showed a steady decline. But with MBDTF, he’s done it. His lyrics have finally caught up to his production. This record doesn’t feel like a coda to his first three albums or a sequel to the experimental 808s. It’s a proclamation of greatness. He’s coming for that throne. And, if he ain’t got it, he’s coming after whoever who has it.

Seriously, if you don’t like this album (Yes, I’m looking at you), you should probably just stop listening to music. You’re doing it wrong.

Honorable Mentions

• Childish Gambino - Culdesac (Free download here)
• Sharon Jones & The Dap Kings - I Learned The Hard Way
• Joanna Newsom - Have One On Me
• These New Puritans - Hidden
• The Roots and John Legend - Wake Up!
• Hot Chip - One Life Stand
• Local Natives - Gorilla Manor
• Ian Kamau - Love & Other Struggles, Vol. 3 (Free download here)
• Vinne Paz- The Season of The Assassin
• Black Keys - Brothers

I am not a Drake fan. Not even a little. Aside from fleeting moments on Forever and Over, he’s inspired in me little more than indifference. Regardless, it seems like everyone has been caught up in his hype for the last 18 months. And unlike most Hip Hop upstarts in the aughts, he’s found a way to marry mass appeal to (alleged) authenticity. He’s one of very few to legitimately straddle the fence, fluently moving from collabos with ringtone-rap phenoms like Flo-Rida and Trey Songz to trading verses with lyrical heavyweights like Jay-Z and Eminem.

His rise to prominence completely bewilders me. I don’t understand it. I can’t accept it. Yet for some reason, I can’t completely dismiss it. There’s gotta be something behind it. Even old school Hip Hop heads I respect cosign on the Drake hype. His seven-track EP, So Far Gone, a collection of tracks from his mixtape, sold more copies than Only Built For Cuban Linx, Part II, an album I named in my Top Five of 2009. The buzz surrounding this man is incredible.

But, like I said, I’m not a Drake fan. His mainstream collaborations never held much weight for me. I’m the type of dude that prefers GZA over Jeezy and castration over a Nicki Minaj record. I grew up on that boom bap, mid-90s East Coast revival Hip Hop—Biggie, Nas and Wu-Tang. So all this radio play, club hit, female-centric “hip hop” doesn’t do it for me.

But first and foremost, I am completely in love with Hip Hop. I have been since I heard Slick Rick’s Children’s Story during recess in first grade. So if there is even a shred of legitimacy to this whole Drake thing, it deserves to be recognized. And in the name of Hip Hop, I’ve set out to uncover the Mystery Of Drizzy.

The Good

The best thing I can say about Drake is that he’s not dumb. He’s focused, well informed and knows his history. That alone is more than you can say about most of the young MCs trying to make a name for themselves.

From his So Far Gone till Thank Me Later and in between, he’s had a plan and he’s stuck with it. Understand your assets (pretty boy status). Accept your shortcomings (lack of street cred). Know your demographic (women). Build your base (pop-loving kids with Hip Hop inclinations). Earn credibility by working with established artists (Lil Wayne, Eminem, Kanye). Drake is to Hip Hop what Will Smith is to the movie industry. His career is well-plotted, with an end game in mind. Will Smith may not be the greatest actor. But he is fucking bankable and the general public loves him. Similarly, Drake isn’t the most talented MC or singer, but he makes bank and endears himself to the general public in ways most Hip Hop artists have failed to accomplish.

He also realizes that Hip Hop is more than just music. It is a movement, a lifestyle, a culture. Hip Hop has roots, a deep history and tradition that carries significant meaning for generations of people. Drake seems to understand and embrace this. While he may not represent the struggle from whence Hip Hop was born, he respects those that came before him. Shouts to Dilla, Wu-Tang, Onyx and biting quotes from dead prez evidence Drake’s appreciation for the history of the culture.

As far as the actual music goes, he’s definitely competent. Unlike a lot of the purported MCs out there (I’m looking at you Soulja Boy Tell ‘Em), Drake understands theme, cadence, wordplay and beat selection. Granted, his raw talent isn’t near the same level as many other MCs on the scene or even of his contemporary, J. Cole. He’s still worked with some incredible producers and knows how to ride a beat on occasion. When he rhymes, he says something of significance to him and his audience. Though he may speak of trivialities in comparison to artists like Brother Ali, Mos Def or Immortal Technique; his tracks have purpose.

These components combine to create, if nothing else, an interesting case study on the progression of Hip Hop over the last decade. Drake’s unique positive qualities are what has sparked many a discussion of his merits throughout the Hip Hop community.

The Bad

My issues with Drake are three-fold—lyrical content, style/skills and commercialism.

I struggle to find a Drake track to which I can sit back, bob my head and vibe to his lyrics. I’ve never heard him drop a verse that left me saying, “Word.” I just don’t feel dude. That’s probably because I am not his audience. Drake doesn’t make music for the heads. He makes music for the masses—specifically the female masses. And seeing as I have a penis, I’m not feeling his shit. I can’t get down with a 23-year old Canadian kid, who used to be on Nickelodeon, singing about relationships. If I want to hear want to hear a love song, I’ll listen to Marvin or Al Green.

Stylistically, Drake obviously understands the mechanics of MCing. However, his skills are modest. He rarely has those “Daaaaaamn” moments. His punchlines are adequate at best. He can ride a beat, when he wants. But it’s generally the same, Lil Wayne-esque, staccato flow. He shows some dexterity on a track like Show Me A Good Time, yet those moments are infrequent. There is something to be said about creating a recognizable voice and style, but it does not excuse sameness and repetition. Drake’s a one trick pony that keeps pulling out the same played-out metaphor pattern. His idea of adding variety to a track is singing his own hook. This wouldn’t be too awful if he were Quan. But he’s not. His singing is barely passable. If that’s his go-to move, Drake desperately needs to step his game up. As a result of these limited skills, Drake tracks end up blending together. Individual cuts get swallowed up in their own redundancy.

Most of all, his unabashed commercialism just rubs me the wrong way. Between his Degrassi roots and the Sprite commercial, everything about Drake strikes me as the antithesis of Hip Hop—or at least my Hip Hop. Can you imagine Chuck D doing a Pepsi commercial? Or KRS-One guest starring on Gossip Girl? That shit is ridiculous. His whole persona represents my biggest beef with modern Hip Hop—its transformation from culture to commodity. It feels like he’s shitting on the legacies of Hip Hop legends that he shouts out in sixteens. I expect far more from someone as well-versed in Hip Hop history as Drake.

The Conclusion

Is Drake worthy of the adulation being heaped upon him by the masses? Is my pseudo-haterism justified? I don’t know. It is extremely difficult to find legitimate reasons to hate Drake. There is nothing explicitly wrong with the man. But to say Drake is the next great MC is delusional. There are scores of superior MCs flying under the radar. If you threw Drake in a battle against Vado, Jay Electronica or Diabolic, he would get utterly destroyed.

To really understand and appreciate Drake’s place in Hip Hop, you have look at his work in context. Drake knows who he is:

He’s not Raekwon:

“I avoided the Coke game and went with Sprite instead.”

He’s a commercial, pop artist, focused on success above all else:

“Yeah. I want it all, that’s why I strive for it
Diss me, you’ll never hear a reply for it
Any awards show or party, I get fly for it
I know that it’s coming, I just hope that I’m alive for it I want the money, money and the cars
Cars and the clothes, the hos. I suppose
I just wanna be, I just wanna be successful”

And he’s unapologetic:

“What am I doing? Oh, that’s right I’m doing me. I’m doing me. I’m living life right now, man. And this what I’ma do till it’s over. But it’s far from over.”

He’s not claiming to be anything he’s not. That, in itself, is respectable. You have to judge Drake in the context of a Top 40, pop artist as opposed to an MC. That’s not a crutch or an excuse pardoning his less than spectacular mic skils. It’s just the reality of who he is and who he is trying to be. His image and career will not be built by the streets. He won’t climb to the top through diss tracks or social commentary or raw, unadulterated spit. Drake’s success will be defined by album sales, Twitter trends and MTV Video Music Awards.

Is there anything wrong with that? That depends on your views on commercialism. Personally, I won’t be buying any Drake records. I completely agree with Jay Smooth’s take on Thank Me Later. Shit’s just not for me. I can’t relate to him in any meaningful way. And for me, music, and Hip Hop especially, is about a personal connection. There are obviously tons of people out there who do feel Drake’s music—good for them. And if Drake ends up being their gateway drug to vast world of Hip Hop—good for him.

I started sexy gypsy over two years ago. The idea was born out of anger and frustration. Frustration caused by the ignorance of my generation, our refusal to recognize greatness, our inability to appreciate the past. The last 60 years of American music has been the most dynamic and progressive in our country’s short history. Yet in this last decade, we’ve seemed to regress. Where are the innovators of sound? Where are the pioneers of movements? Where the poets of the voiceless?

We are so quick to consume, so eager to swallow whatever is laid before us. All it takes to have a hit record is a YouTube video, a spot on the Jersey Shore soundtrack and label-purchased radio play. That’s it. And we’ll just eat it up. Gone are the days of connecting with art on deep, emotional level. We’re just looking for something to kill the time on our daytime drives to work. And this is why our generation is lost, broken and faceless. Who is the defining artist of our time? Fall Out Boy? Paramore? Lil’ Wayne? Fucking Soulja Boy Tell ‘Em? It’s an impossible question to answer, because there is no answer. There is no one worthy to wear that crown. And it breaks my fucking heart.

We’ve made strides in so many other areas of our society, except the arts. We have black president. You can get a prescription for weed in 14 states. We have the fucking Internet! Yet I’m still here wondering where the hell Marvin Gaye went.

Marvin was an innovator. He was a pioneer. He was a poet. He was all that we are missing from music today. His records ring as true in 2010 as they did 1971. I Heard It Through The Grapevine still makes you want to dance. What’s Going On? and Inner City Blues remain a poignant commentary on the American condition. Let’s Get It On is still the slow jam to end all slow jams. The man is timeless, his records classic. So why did he succeed where so many others flash talent, fail miserably and fall into obscurity?

First off, Marvin’s rise to prominence was littered with more struggle than success. 50 years ago, he faced the same challenges as contemporary artists. His label, Motown Records, was notorious for pigeonholing artists. Under the uncompromising direction of Berry Gordy, Motown tried to shape him into the prototypical R&B pop star—ignorant of his unique talents. And despite producing a handful of hits, Marvin languished creatively for the next seven years.

It wasn’t until 1967’s duet with Tammi Terrell, Unified, that he truly found his voice. Their undeniable chemistry was uncanny. They performed with passion and fervor and developed a close friendship. Later that year, their partnership ended when Terrell collapsed on stage and was diagnosed with a fatal brain tumor. In the three years between her diagnosis and eventual death in 1970, Motown decided to release the rest of their duets in two separate albums, You’re All I Need and Easy.

Terrell’s death had a profound effect on Marvin. He withdrew from public life and two years passed before he preformed again. During this time, he began work on what would become his masterpiece, What’s Going On?. The album was a vast departure from his previous work. It took more risks musically, creating a beautiful amalgamation of jazz, funk and orchestral arrangements. There was also a seriousness to the record, a focus not apparent before. He said this of the new sound:

“I had to put my own fantasies behind me if I wanted to write songs that would reach the souls of people. I wanted them to take a look at what was happening in the world.”

Berry Gordy and Motown originally tried to block the release, calling it, “the worst record I ever heard.” But when Marvin threatened to leave the label, they relented and released the single without any marketing. What’s Going On? ended up exceeding all expectations and earning Marvin his first number-one single. The album went to be the best of his career and announced to the world soul music was a staying force in the industry.

The next eight years four more solo-albums, Trouble Man, *Let’s Get It On, I Want You and Here, My Dear. This period was the most productive in Marvin’s career. With Trouble Man, he joined Isaac Hayes and Curtis Mayfield by providing the soundtrack to one of the many 1970s era blaxploitation films. Let’s Get It On became his best selling album and spawned the ubiquitous single of the same name. I Want You and Here, My Dear told the stories of Marvin’s relationships with two very different women—the former about his former mistress and soon-to-be second wife, Janis Hunter and the latter about his ex-wife Anna Gordy.

Unfortunately, after this successful run, Marvin was overcome with debt. Hopelessly addicted to cocaine and pursued by the IRS for back taxes, he declared bankruptcy and bounced around the globe. He spent time in Hawaii, begging for cash and getting high. He would later say this about those times:

“The problems were too big for me. I just wanted to be left alone to blow my brains away with high-octane toot. It would be a slow but relatively pleasant death, certainly less messy than a gun.”

In an effort ease his financial burden, Marvin embarked on a European tour. While in London in 1981, Motown remixed, edited and released an unfinished album, In Our Lifetime without his consent. Marvin was furious and vowed to never record for Motown again. Later that year, he moved to Belgium and negotiated his release from the label. During his time in Belgium, he was able to regain his sobriety and begin recording his next album, Midnight Love. Marvin released the album in October of 1982 with Sexual Healing as the lead single through Columbia records. The single was an international hit and rejuvenated his career, earning him his first Grammy awards. He was back on top, sober and at peace.

However, this peace was short lived. Marvin was forced to come home in November 1982 after his mother’s emergency surgery for bone cancer. Upon his return to Los Angeles, he restarted his drug abuse and fell into a deep depression. Despite these struggles, he managed a short tour promoting Midnight Love an iconic appearance at the 1983 NBA All-Star game (it’s embedded at the end of the post) before fully succumbing to his disease. After the tour and overcome with paranoia, he would stay secluded in his room and carry a gun at all times.

On April 1st, 1984 Marvin heard his parents arguing over misplaced documents. He intervened and ended up fighting with his father. After the altercation, he went to his mother told her he was leaving. Just then his father came into the room and, with the .38 pistol Marvin had given him for Christmas, shot him through the heart. He was taken to the California Hospital Medical Center and pronounced dead on arrival. It was one day before his 45th birthday.

An innovator. A pioneer. A poet. Taken before his time, Marvin Gaye’s effect on society will last forever. His influences span genres and generations. His voice has touched countless lives. And its echoes can be heard throughout pop culture. Without Marvin, there would be no Neo-Soul. There would be no Spaceship. There would be no awesome final scene of High Fidelity.

His career, through tragic, should be held up as an example of artistic integrity and vision. It is the goal to which we, as a generation, ought to aspire. If we can make half the impact Marvin did, our names will not be lost in time. We will not be known as consumers, but as creators.

So in celebration of Old School week, I challenge you to go experience Marvin. Listen to What’s Going On?. Listen to Let’s Get It On. Listen to Here, My Dear. Read his biography. Take the time to appreciate one of the greatest artists ever to live. Examine your world. Refuse to be satisfied. Ask yourself What’s Going On?

Turns out, my parents had a profound effect on my musical inclinations. They instilled in me an appreciation for diversity in music, lyrical content and experimentation. Every album they introduced to me marked a turning point in my life, shaped me in ways I couldn’t grasp. Without them, there would be no sexy gypsy. I’d probably be off somewhere listening to Soulja Boy Tell ‘Em, turning my swag on. Thank God they saved me from that fate.

So with that in mind, The Great White Gypsy and I would like to dedicate Old School Week to our parents and parents everywhere. Without them, we’d suck at life.

Miles Davis - Kind Of Blue (1959)

From a very early age, I, like many other kids, was forced to learn to play the piano. And I fucking hated it. I hated practicing. I hated the stupid little tunes in my piano books. I hated everything about it. Until one of my piano teachers played me Kind of Blue.

It was my first exposure to jazz. Only then did I realize that music could be so fucking cool. To me, music until that point had been so…generic. To listen to Miles and Coltrane and Bill Evans play together was surreal. Everything was so tight, so meaningful. No note was wasted. You could almost hear them speaking through their instruments. That album sparked my love for music. It taught me that music was more than just background noise. It lived. It breathed. It consumed. Music was your soul manifested in sound.

Artists I Listen To As a Result: The Killamanjaro Dark Jazz Ensemble, Charles Mingus, The Bad Plus

Marvin Gaye - What’s Going On? (1971)

After Kind of Blue, my earliest memories of music playing in the house was Marvin Gaye. My Dad used to play it like it was his only album. Which was strange, considering my Dad has the largest record collection I’ve ever seen—literally thousands of albums, neatly organized alphabetically by artist and then by album.

To this day, What’s Going On? remains one of my all-time favorites. A concept album, Marvin’s lyrics encapsulate its time in a way few musicians have ever accomplished. It covers everything from Vietnam to drugs to social injustice. Add to that the amazing Motown studio band, Funk Brothers, and production by Marvin himself and you have one of the greatest records of all time. It’s a classic in every sense of the word.

[SIDENOTE: Marvin Gaye was from Washington, DC. DMV STAND UP!]

Artists I Listen To As a Result: Anthony Hamilton, Erykah Badu, Sharon Jones and The Dap Kings

Queen - Night At The Opera (1975)

When I was started to define my own tastes, my musical world began to shrink. I discovered Hip Hop in midst of the East Coast revival. After that, music pretty much existed in two categories for me: Hip Hop and everything else. It was the first sound with which I could truly identify. It was my music. Biggie’s Ready To Die, Nas’ Illmatic, Jeru The Damaja’s The Sun Rises In The East and Wu-Tang’s 36 Chambers—that was my world. Everything else was on the fringes. Yeah, other stuff was cool, I was aware of it. But it just wasn’t Hip Hop.

Then my Mom played me Bohemian Rhapsody. And it blew my mind. Dude was screaming, singing, doing this weird opera thing, telling his mother he killed a man…shit was crazy!

I had never heard anything like it. Freddie Mercury’s piano, Brian May’s guitar, and those fucking harmonies—it was new. It was intriguing. It was addictive. Night At The Opera became my gateway drug to the realm of rock ‘n’ roll and revealed a world outside Hip Hop.

Artists I Listen To As a Result: The Smashing Pumpkins, Cake, Ben Folds

Black Sabbath - Paranoid (1970)

I discovered Black Sabbath while rummaging through my Dad’s collection for something new to discover. The first thing that caught my attention was name, Black Sabbath. That alone was enough for me to check it out. It sounded so evil and subversive and agreed with my growing pre-teen-fuck-the-world sensibilities. I took it back to my room and listened to it on repeat for days.

Paranoid started me on a metal binge that lasted almost 4 years. Ozzy spoke of dark, abstract things like electric funerals, hell’s angels and death. Tony Iommi played the guitar like he wanted to kill it. And Geezer Butler was the dopest bass player I’d ever heard (Seriously, he is. Check this shit out). I loved Black Sabbath so much I ended up going to OzzFest every summer till I was 19 and gave me an appreciation for heavy, aggressive rock I’d never knew existed.

Artists I Listen To As a Result: Deftones, A Perfect Circle, The Fall of Troy

King Crimson - In The Court Of The Crimson King (1969)

King Crimson’s In The Court Of The Crimson King was the first old school discovery I made on my own. I was starting to get into experimental, avant-garde, prog-rock like, Godspeed You! Black Emperor’s Lift Your Skinny Fists To Heaven, The Mars Volta’s De-Loused In The Comatorium and Tool’s Lateralus.

Thanks to the relatively new Internet, I was able to delve deeper into these bands and find artists I’d never heard. And that’s how I stumbled across King Crimson. Apparently they had influenced a lot of the bands I was listening to at the time. I’d never heard them and decided to pick up In The Court Of The Crimson King.

It is one of those rare, perfect albums. A record that captivates you from the opening beat and doesn’t let go till the final track fades out. Choosing one song to accompany this post was damn near impossible. Every single one is amazing—each connected to the next. So instead of laboring over this decision, I went with the oft-covered, opening track 21st Century Schizoid Man. But if you dig this or any of the other bands I listed above, this record is required listening.

Artists I Listen To As a Result: Dillinger Escape Plan, dredg, Fuck Buttons

Honorable Mentions

• Isaac Hayes - Hot Buttered Soul (1969)
• Marvin Gaye - Let’s Get It On (1973)
• Miles Davis - Bitches Brew (1970)
• Black Sabbath - Black Sabbath (1970)
• Love - Forever Changes (1973)
• Curtis Mayfield - Superfly (1972)
• The Rolling Stones - Exile On Main Street (1972)
• The Delfonics - The Delfonics (1970)
• Sly & The Family Stone - Fresh (1973)
• Elton John - Madman Across The Water (1971)

So, in the interest of time and with respect to my innate lazy streak, I present to you Lazy Album Reviews: May 2010.

Das Racist - Shut Up, Dude

I’ve been pretty much obsessed with Das Racist since the day this mixtape (which you can download here) dropped. According to my Last.FM page I’ve rocked Shut Up, Dude 77 times. If you haven’t heard Das Racist, you probably still know their single, Combination Pizza Hut & Taco Bell. But please don’t judge them on this track alone. Behind the jokes lie a formidable Brooklyn trio with enough chops to ride a RZA beat to perfection (It’s embedded below, if you don’t believe me). They are informed enough to reference KRS One and Kierkegaard, versatile enough to implement Billy Joel samples and 8-bit glitchery and smart enough to keep you thinking and laughing at the same time. So what’s up with the jokes? I’ll let them explain…

Is it parody, comedy, novelty or scholarly?
A little bit of column A
A little bit of column B

Don Dada

The Army of The Pharaohs - The Unholy Terror

The Unholy Terror is the rawest, most lyrical album I’ve heard since the Slaughterhouse debut. A celebration of punchlines and wordplay, full of old school East Coast bravado, The Army of The Pharaohs will punch you in the face with malice till you admit their greatness. The entire crew is undoubtedly talented. But the voice that shines is Jedi Mind Trick’s Vinnie Paz. Appearing on 11 of the 16 tracks, he destroys each one. His verses alone are worth checking this album out. The opening track is below.

Ian Kamau - Vol. 3: Love and Other Struggles

I love albums like this—understated, intelligent, thoughtful. I stumbled upon Ian Kamau while wasting time on YouTube, where he posted the video for I Love It Here, an ode to his hometown of Toronto. Though Kamau’s delivery isn’t what you’d expect from your standard Hip Hop artist, his lyrics are elegant and fluid. Every word is spoken with an honesty and ease lacking in modern Hip Hop. The album is as cohesive a project as I’ve ever heard. Each track feeds effortlessly into the next, sewn together with snippets of his mother speaking about love. Yet this unity of theme and thought never feels stagnant or boring. The production is varied, sampling Nina Simone, Phantom Planet and even includes a cover of City and Colour’s The Girl, sung completely a cappella. Vol. 3: Love and Other Struggles may not be the best album I’ve heard, but it’s definitely becoming one of my favorites. Check out his YouTube Channel for more videos and to download the album.

The National - High Violet

I’ve been told I have an unhealthy love of The National. Sad Songs For Dirty Lovers is one of my favorite albums of the last 15 years. So I was ecstatic when their latest release, High Violet, finally dropped yesterday. Nearly three years since my last fix of The National, I was ready. I haven’t given it a thorough listen yet, but what I’ve heard has been as fantastic as expected. Matt Berninger continues to deliver impassioned lyrics over a perfectly matched soundscape by the brothers Dessner. High Violet encapsulates the quintessential National sound—deep, engaging, beautiful.

Tobacco - Maniac Meat

I’ve been a fan of Tobacco for a long while. But it wasn’t until he stepped outside the bounds of Black Moth Super Rainbow with his 2008 solo release, Fucked Up Friends, that he really grabbed my attention. That record was the beat tape to end all beat tapes. It had something for everyone—club kids, Hip Hop heads, even those weird electronica guys. Producing a worthy follow-up to that album would be no easy task. Yet with the help of Beck, Maniac Meat does just that. Just as infectious as Fucked Up Friends, Tobacco’s sophomore album adds vocals from Beck on two tracks. Beck’s presence on these tracks cannot be overstated. Fresh Hex (which is embedded below) is the catchiest fucking song I’ve heard this year. The day it was released, I played it on repeat for at least an hour. Maniac Meat offers us a fresh sound that is still uniquely Tobacco. If you’re a fan of synths, cracked-out beats, Beck, Black Moth Super Rainbow or Tobacco in general, this album is a must listen.

Last year at about this time, I called Eminem “the biggest waste of talent in Hip Hop today.” One year, twenty days and one track later, I’m here to apologize.

This morning, Slim Shady dropped two minutes and fifteen seconds of straight fire, he calls Despicable. Spitting over Drake’s Over and Lloyd Banks’ Beamer, Benz or Bentley, he reminded us all that he can roast just about anyone head up.

Em hasn’t gone this hard in years. Maybe since Dead Wrong. After the abortion that was Relapse and the rumors of a Relapse 2, I thought he was done; counted among the full-of-promise MCs before him that fell into obscurity after initial success (DMX, Canibus, et al.).

In the past year we’ve gotten a few paltry verses from Shady that lent some hope to his resurrection. He headlined Drake’s Forever and was the lone bright spot on Weezy’s Drop The World. More recently, he gave us one of his more personal verses on B.o.B.’s Airplanes Part 2. But nothing like this..

Despicable is Marshall at his finest—aggressive, clever, honest. He goes in Wu-Tang Triumph style, hitting us with bar after bar of dopeness. Full of both his trademark pop culture references and jabs at his critics, Mr. Mathers has announced to the world his return to the forefront of Hip Hop. And I gotta say, I believe him this time.

According to 2dopeboyz his first single, Not Afraid, premiers Thursday morning on Shady45’s The Morning After and is produced by Boi-1da. Check back then and I’ll post it as soon as it leaks. Recovery is set to drop June 22nd.

Stream Despicable here and peep the lyrics below.

UPDATE!

Here’s the first official single off Recovery, entitled Not Afraid. Enjoy…

Lyrics

I come around like what goes around
What goes up must come down
Anyone who comes up must go down
Might as well go for the gusto now
Better not let up
Better not let them breathe
Last shot, give it all you got
Try to turn me down
Bitch get fucked with a volume knob
Fuck all you snobs
Hoes, I hope you all rot
2 bottles of Lubriderm and box of condoms
Is that all you brought?
And you want a menage a trois, you twats?
Fuck that I’d rather turn this club into a bar room brawl
Get rowdy as Roethlisberger in a bathroom stall
Like a leaf stuck in a vacuum yall
Ain’t nothing but a whole lot of sucking going on in rap
Yeah. But I’m home
Bad to the bone
Back in the zone
Let him alone
You don’t wanna go egging him on
It’ll never be my chair that you own
Crown so tight that it cuts off circulation to the brain, no oxygen
Other words there’s no heir to the throne
When I die so does Hip Hop
Hitchcock did a shit bitch ass doc
Got it zip locked in a bag
You fags ain’t been able to fade me since Kid Rock had a high top
Keep blogging while I’m mind boggling
And I zone like I’m in the Twilight dog
Get off my bone
This is my mic dog
And I like hogging it
Flow so wet I’ma take this beat tobogganing
I’m waterlogging it
I’m sogging it
Pull your verse out the beat and stomp on it
Suplexing it on cement
Like I’m on some Straight Outta Compton shit
Take this dick and chomp on it
I’m so bad I could bitch slap a backhanded compliment
Jackass, eat a donkey dick
The game, I just about conquered it
Like Donkey Kong, I’m bonkers bitch
I’m the king of this honkey shit
I reign supreme in this honkey shit
No sense screaming and arguing
Makes no difference whether a Benz, a Bentley or a Beamer’s the car you’re in

You think you ball?
Well I bomb it
I throw up bombs when I vomit
I throw down in the kitchen
Might hit your mom with an omelette
But you got egg on your face
Now watch me drop an atomic
I should be strapped to the chest of Kamikaze bitch
I’m bat shit as Ozzy, it’s obvious
You can tell right off the bat
No pun intended
But come any closer, I’ll bite off your head
Trying to give me the finger is kinda like giving a spider the web
I’m just gonna spin it
And try to use it to my advantage
I catch a fly in that bitch
You think you fly
You just food
I give as much of a flying fuck as that Superman dude
Guess I just do what you can’t do
I make you look stupid and bamboozled
Confused as usual and you can get ripped
She can open a can too
But you better hope you can handle the heat
Or stay the fuck outta Hell’s Kitchen
I came to cock block like a square, fucking male chicken
Yeah
It’s Shady, slut
The rest can suck on a big one
Cause I’m as despicable as Daffy Duck when I’m spitting

Here are my top five albums of last year¹, in no particular order…

Dirty Projectors - Bitte Orca

Even though it didn’t drop till June, Bitte Orca was probably my most played record of 2009. Packed with exquisite soundscapes and harmonies like you’ve never heard, Dirty Projectors broke new ground with this release.

The xx - xx

I’m generally not the biggest chillwave/dream-pop fan. But after sitting with The xx’s debut for a few days, they officially converted me. This is the most accessible album I’ve heard in the genre. A perfect record to throw on after a long day and chill-the-fuck-out to, I highly recommend it.

Raekwon - Only Built 4 Cuban Linx, Part II

Sadly, only one Hip Hop album made my list. I would’ve loved to see Clipse, Slaughterhouse or Mos Def crack the top five. But, at the end of the day, Raekwon’s follow-up to his 1995 masterpiece was the only one I deemed worthy. When I first read about Only Built 4 Cuban Linx, Part II, I had my reservations. Why did RZA only produced three tracks? Could they bring the same fire 14 years later? Why was the album art so wack? But The Chef proved me wrong and cooked up a worthy successor. If this month’s Wu Massacre is half as good as this was, I’ll be happy (at least, it’ll have better artwork)

Mayer Hawthorne - A Strange Arrangement

I declared A Strange Arrangement an instant classic the day I heard it. It is one of those timeless records that could have come out in 1969, 2009 or 2049 and it would still be dope. Reminiscent of legends like Isaac Hayes, Curtis Mayfield and Marvin, yet with a modern flavor, Mayer Hawthorne has crafted a near perfect album.

Blockhead - Music Scene

Blockhead’s The Music Scene is the only instrumental album on the list. Splicing together an eclectic mix of Hip Hop, Trip Hop and Electronica, Blockhead is one the most slept on producers in the game. He’s worked extensively with Aesop Rock, in addition to releasing four solo albums. Though not quite as epic in scale as his 2007 release, Uncle Tony’s Coloring Book, The Music Scene stands on its own merits. It was impossible to separate one track out of the album to embed in this post, so I decided to go with a 30-minute album sampler mixed by DK, that was released by Ninja Tune on Soundclound. Enjoy.

Honorable Mentions

There were tons of albums that didn’t make the final cut. Here are some of my favorites that missed out. Again, in no particular order:

• Mumford & Sons - Sigh No More ²
• Mos Def - The Ecstatic
• Clipse - Till The Casket Drops
• Slaughterhouse - Slaughterhouse
• Fuck Buttons - Tarot Sport
• Animal Collective- Merriweather Post Pavilion
• Girls - Album
• Modest Mouse- No One’s First and You’re Next³
• Sharon Van Etten - Because I Was In Love
• Bill Callahan - Sometimes I Wish We Were An Eagle

What can one man do with two hands, a bass drum, snare, hi-hat, guitar, crazy fucking mask (a la MF DOOM) and a telephone receiver? If that one man is Gull, he can make one bad ass record. Using his left hand to play the guitar, his right hand on the drums and singing through a telephone receiver hidden behind his mask, Nathaniel Rappole (aka Gull) is truly a one-man band.

He’s has earned nice following in his hometown of Richmond, Virginia through his impromptu street performances and by blowing audiences away with his live shows. Equally virtuosic with his guitar and behind the drum set, his do-it-yourself approach doesn’t come off as gimmicky—it feels authentic, as if it was exactly what he was put here to do. His beats are infectious, imploring you to move. And the grooves he one-hands on the guitar are so intricate in places most guitarists wouldn’t attempt them with both hands.

If you read sexy gypsy on the regular, you know I put a lot of stock into creativity and innovation. And I can truly say, this is one of the most original artists I’ve ever heard. I strongly encourage you to check this guy out. You can buy his 7-inch, The Thin King at the Molsook Records site. Props to Ongakabaka for their post earlier today, which brought this to my attention.

Check out the videos below to see Gull in action.

Videos

Ok. I know I’m late on this one. There are probably eight million reviews of this album on the interwebs at this point. But I’ve been meaning to talk about Midlake’s latest release, The Courage of Others ever since their appearance on NPR’s All Songs Considered back in January. They were previewing the album, which was streaming on the NPR website.

I skimmed through The Courage of Others that day and enjoyed it. Much more dense and focused than their previous outing, The Trials of Van Occupanther, it was obvious the four years between records was spent tweaking and mastering their sound.

I had all but forgotten about Midlake, until I saw Pitchfork’s review pop up in Google Reader. Now, I don’t expect much more from Pitchfork than hipsterish pretense. But they gave this record a 3.6! A fucking 3.6! I was appalled. I remembered being thoroughly impressed with the album and set off to prove them wrong.

Yet two and a half weeks and five full-listens later, I kinda see their point. And, trust, it kills me to admit that.

Upon diving into The Courage of Others, you’re transported back about 45 years. It’s got an old school, rustic vibe to it. You could close your eyes and see a thousand hippies dancing naked with flowers around their necks, just grooving to Midlake. From the very first track, their admittedly heavy Jethro Tull influence is evident—flutes and all. Vocalist, Tim Smith comes in speaking of the impermanent, cyclical nature of life and the world. You’re drawn into, as they call it, The Core of Nature.

But then, it just stays there. One song becomes the next, everything runs together and nothing changes. The Courage of Others is less a musical journey through nature and the human condition and more a static image of some trees. If you listen to any one track from the album, you won’t find anything wrong with it. In fact, you’ll probably really like it. And you should, Midlake is one talented fucking band. But as a whole, these songs come off stagnant, stale and, at times, straight boring.

This is in stark contrast to their 2006 album, The Trials of Van Occupanter. That album was exuberant, energetic and varied. It also gave us the instant classic, Roscoe. Here on The Courage of Others, it feels like they over thought things. As if they were concentrating on creating a more structured, technically proficient sound rather than a creative, engaging album.

That being said, Midlake does do a lot of things I like here. They create gorgeous soundscapes, on par with personal favorites like Godspeed You! Black Emperor and Explosions In The Sky. They are supremely gifted musicians and show it on every track. They remain consistent throughout the album, never straying far from their established feel. The entire album is impeccably produced and beautifully mixed. I say it a lot, but it’s definitely a headphone record.

Yet it still doesn’t succeed in separating itself from things we’ve heard before. Vocally, it’s as expressionless as The National, but without the intriguing quality of a Matt Beringer. Lyrically, it’s as esoteric as Bill Callahan, yet less likable. Musically, they’re almost Shinsian in places, but again less likable. It’s like someone told James Mercer he had cancer, then demanded he record an album about the wonders of nature.

Bottom line: The Courage of Others has a lot of problems. It’s not a horrible album, but it falls far short of mark set by The Trials of Van Occupanther. And from a group of musicians as talented as Midlake, I expect more. Will I buy their next record? Yeah. Will I pay to see them live? Probably. Will I run out and tell everyone they have to hear this album? Not so much.

Final Grade: C+

Winter Dies:

Core of Nature:

The Horn: