An Acute Case: 19 January 2024
In the blue corner: conscientious tech sceptics, eco worriers, and blue collar mythologisers. In the red corner: er, Lil Wayne
Aesop Rock: Integrated Tech Solutions
The title concept’s good for the terri-brilliant cover art, a volley of Silicon Valley jargon, and an opener whose “you can fix anything with a laser” and “we cannot be trusted with the stuff that we come up with” are funny before they’re just plain scary. After that, Ian Katz moves on to a childhood meeting with Mr T, armchair botany, Van Gogh appreciation, pigeon bigotry, and that time a tweaker broke into his apartment and swung from the roof beams. Which is just dandy, because tech-sceptic though I am, I’m more interested in his humanism, which continues to deepen as he ages, and is here attached to the ever-remarkable rhyme skills that sound even better hung from subject matter this strong. If you sometimes have to squint to discern the stories (it took me half a dozen goes to realise “Vititus” was about the death of his grandma), he’s made the basslines snappier and synth pads squooshier to keep you entertained while you figure them out. A MINUS
Zach Bryan: Zach Bryan
This 27-year-old Navy vet from Oologah, Oklahoma still bears scars from his stream baiting expedition in 2022: while the lyrics on these comparatively slender 54 minutes are something to behold, the particulars that distinguish his thunder road mythologies aren’t always clear. Which’d matter more if he was selling stories; but he’s selling an aesthetic—one as complete and surprising as any I’ve heard since, gosh, Harry’s House. After a sharp exhalation of breath concludes what’s billed as an opening poem except, boy, it kinda sound like music by the end, each of these 16 songs is touched by moments of equal thoughtfulness: mariachi horns on “Overtime” and “East Side of Sorrow”; a tricksy chord change on “Hey Driver”; finger clicks on “Holy Roller”; cicada ticks on “Smaller Acts”; drums that don’t arrive till 2:51 on” Jake's Piano - Long Island”. As the differentiation diminishes on the second half, Bryan compensates by stripping what little polish there was to begin with from his clenched jaw vocals. If those sound like contrivances, they’re no cornier than Springsteen releasing his 4-tracks or Paul Simon scratching his stubble partway through “Everything Put Together Falls Apart”. No less effective, either. That they’re successful is no surprise—sad sells. That they come with working-class overtones that aren't a dog whistle is something to celebrate. A
Charlotte Cornfield: Could Have Done Anything
With a name like that, she was born to be an Adrianne Lenker impressionist. Though one with musical ideas of her own, which include critic-baiting references to The Magnetic Fields and Big Star. (“You and Me” “In From The Rain”) *
Bethany Cosentino: Natural Disaster
A musically chipper but spiritually despondent record about the end of the world and the beginning of middle age. “It's fine till it's not fine” is Cosentino’s California state of mind, only these days it’s not fine like all the time because “the hills behind our house could literally burst right into flames.” Though she doesn’t have solutions, she’s no “we’re all fucked” bore either, showing a determination for fulfilment despite untold uncertainties. So, I’ll endorse “if the whole thing is going down and ending like they say / we better live a million lifetimes in a single day” as long as her carbon footprint isn’t also a million times larger, though I wonder if “it's fire in the sky / we don't see eye to eye / think I'll go out for a drive” is missing the point. Unfortunately, her brave display of anxiety and the spotless Butch Walker settings it came in was deemed unfashionable back in July, leading Cosentino to take to social media in December to lament how an act that felt monumental to her failed to make the dent she’d hoped. Which gives her something else in common with climate activists. A MINUS
Lenhart Tapes: Dens
Serbian globetrotter who splices assorted field recordings from four Walkmans with live vocals from his motherland keeps the beats moving and the exotica tasteful. (“Džamahirija” “Žuta žaba”) *
Lil Wayne: The Fix Before Tha VI
Now in the third decade of his rap addiction, 33 minutes of good-to-very good beats and very good-to-excellent rhymes are a mere burp in a styrofoam cup for this 41-year-old father of four who claims early on “I ain’t talkin shit / I’m garglin the toilet water.” What follows is similarly profound, rewarding those inclined to rap with no moral prerogatives with erumpent rhymes, outlandish sex brags, and excessive pharmaceutical intake. If you’re new here, note that the most serious sounding song is called "Tity Boi". Now guffaw along to this: “y'all bitches look excellent on my dick / y'all bitches go equestrian on my dick / go extra-terrestrial on my dick / head spinnin like The Exorcist on my dick.” Not a return to form—he's been plagued by inconsistency for so long that form is as alien as he once claimed to be. Just a reminder that when he chooses, he’s still got it. A MINUS
2 Chainz / Lil Wayne: Welcome 2 Collegrove
Except then there was this: a mere seven weeks later, his second just-about-hit in a row. In a year where rap consensus was rare, general agreement about the enduring quality of the man who once claimed “best rapper alive” to little dissent should’ve been low-hanging fruit but only got cursory notices. As an attempt at prestige rap, it’s far from perfect. It’s probably too much to expect Wayne to return to his beat-jacking mixtape days, but he could’ve at least invited a few young rappers into the booth to show them up in person. Instead, we get the after-dinner bloat of Benny the Butcher and Rick Ross. Still, most of the beats are fit for pop-friendly audiences and hip-hop heads alike, Wayne doesn’t sing or indulge his high register more than a couple of times, and the rhymes more than earn a hook that goes: “I got a disease called bars”. And in case you think I can’t read, I see 2 Chainz’s name in the title, and dig his voice for its timbre, heft, animation. But as a rapper, his goose is cooked by the second song, when he pours everything into a monster verse and still gets upstaged by Wayne’s hype-man exhortations. Bonus: Wayne doesn’t brag about getting pardoned by Trump on this one. B PLUS
Dlala Thukzin: Permanent Music 3
Permanent in the sense that once the patterns are established, they don’t really go anywhere. But also discrete in the sense that they find plenty of micro variations while jogging on the spot. (“Magical Ideas” “95 Unleaded”) **