The ArchAndroid

Janelle Monae's "Tightrope" is a huge success on two levels. For one, it is an awesome dance song. After watching this video, it's hard to believe that this move did not become a national dance craze last year. It's not only a great dance song, but it is also a great metaphor! I have been thinking lately about songs that are about the complicated effect of fame on artists.

This is a common theme, but I first started thinking about it again a few weeks ago when I watched the scene where Jesse Eisenberg rips off Pink Floyd's "Hey You" in The Squid and the Whale. If you've ever listened to The Wall, even just once, you know that album hits you over the head about a musician's inner death from outer fame. A week later I watched the Loretta Lynn biopic Coal Miner's Daughter, where we see Sissy Spacek fall over on stage from the pressures of touring. I also recently heard a cover of Phil Ochs's "Chords of Fame" by Teenage Fanclub, featuring the lyrics, "God help the troubadour / who tries to be a star." So I guess you could say this subject matter was swirling around in my brain when I took another listen to Janelle Monae's "Tightrope" from 2010's The ArchAndroid last week.

Monae's "tightrope" is the ever-shifting line between success and failure, public acclaim and critical flop. Look here:

Some people talk about ya

Like they know all about ya...

When you get elevated

They love it or they hate it

You dance up on them haters

Keep gettin' funky on the scene

While they jumpin' 'round you

They trying to take all of your dreams

But you can't allow it.

Whether you're high or low

You got to tip on the tightrope.

Yes, this song could be interpreted at a more personal level, essentially about not letting haters get you, not letting bastards grind you down, whatever pop reference you want to insert. But considering the shape-shifting nature of her career, and the mind-bending eclecticism of The ArchAndroid album more specifically, it makes sense that Monae would be singing about being an unclassifiable act in a market that likes to pigeonhole its artists, especially its Black female artists. It's rare for an African-American woman to be marketed credibly as a hip-hop or rap artist; most, even if they have talent on the mic as an MC, are pushed into R&B or Soul categories. It seems like Monae just saw that coming and decided she was going to move in all directions at once for this album. Obviously Monae is some kind of genius (not to mention she's giving Erykah Badu a serious run for her money). But I've got to hand it to Sean Combs and Big Boi, too, for following through with the production of something this risky: a sci-fi concept album featuring psychadelic rock, funk, orchestral overtures, mid-90s R&B throwbacks, 1960s folk pastiches, and, yes, hip-hop dance tracks. All from a young female artist very few had heard of before 2010.

The ArchAndroid represents a stylistic tightrope. For sure, Monae is going to be walking her own artistic and commercial tightrope in the years ahead. This video shows she has the moves to do it.

Bug

I spend my work days trying to create the most perfect, calm, and controlled environment for 28 9-year-old kids so they can focus on two things: learning and getting along with each other. I rarely play music in class but when I do it's usually John Williams (the classical guitarist, not the composer) doing something from the Classical period. My friend and colleague in the next room plays stuff that is a little more New Agey, which, I guess I could have guessed it, is awesome for relaxing little jittery bodies, especially after lunch.

This year I've noticed that, when I get in the car, or when I get home from work, I want to play my music louder and louder. The music that I find most relaxes me and helps me unwind has exactly the opposite qualities that I spend my entire day trying to promote: rather than controlled, it is frenetic; instead of pristine, it is distorted. I'm not the most hardcore listener you will find-- far from it. But loud music after work helps me escape that carefully constructed world of the elementary classroom and puts me back in touch with the whole range of emotion and feeling that I have in my personal life. I guess this is what people call a "release." It certainly feels that way.

There have been a few particular bands that have helped me relax after work. They include: Guided by Voices, Husker Du, the Replacements, and Dinosaur Jr. Yesterday at Reckless Records I bought the third album by Dinosaur Jr that I've been listening to this year, Bug. I know J Mascis, when he was creating all that sludge (is it just me or do critics always describe his guitar sound as "sludgy"?), probably wasn't thinking, "I bet some 3rd grade teacher is gonna really unwind to this shit." It's kind of funny to think about it that way though. Most people think of that kind of all-enveloping guitar fuzz as a way of getting riled up. But for me I guess it's just a little different. But don't worry, I'm not gonna try to play "Freak Scene" for my students or anything.

Back to the Feature

One of the great things about hip hop music is the way good rap lyrics reveal themselves over time. I don't mean here that they get deeper or more emotionally resonant the more you listen to them (although many do). I'm referring to what Jay-Z calls "Easter egg" lyrics: verses so packed with wordplay, cultural reference, and multiple meanings that a listener has to listen repeatedly to uncover all the clues to unpack the full meaning. You know, the way you go hunting for Easter eggs on Easter. I guess. I've never done that. But my students tell me it's fun!

I like rap mixtapes a lot because they are full of two of the things that make hip hop music so unique: beats and lyrics. Songs on mixtapes are usually free of commerical pressure; artists don't need to fill a song with catchy hooks or appeal to broad listenership. That often frees MCs and producers up to get pretty creative. You don't often hear big singles off of mixtapes, but watching an interview with Young Chris reminded me that Drake's "Best I Ever Had" was a huge single off a mixtape that helped launch Drake's career. (Lil' Wayne did the rest.) Listen to Drake's So Far Gone tape here.

Anyway, so I went back and listened to some mixtapes recently and found a whole bunch of "Easter eggs" on Wale's Back to the Feature. Ten seconds into the song "Cyphr", Young Chris name-drops Marlo Stanfield from The Wire. I like the biographical reference here, since Wale is from the DC/Baltimore region where The Wire takes place. More notably, he is cousin to an actor who plays a prominent role on the show. Post the actor's name and his character to win a mix CD of songs from or inspired by this blog. And thanks for reading.

Why Hip Hop Sucks in '96

I just listened to the Sound Opinions interview with Kembrew McLeod, author and producer of the documentary Copyright Criminals. Check out the episode if you are at all interested in the effect copyright laws in the early 90s had on the use of samples in hip hop. It's often thrown around that an album like Paul's Boutique by the Beastie Boys could never be made today, because the amount it would cost for the group to clear the hundreds of samples on the record would make for a financially impossible situation. Well, McLeod was interested in finding out the extent to which this tidbit is true. Turns out if the Beasties were to attempt another Paul's Boutique under current copyright law, they would be in the red by an amount to the effect of $20 million. Makes you want to go back to that record and pick apart all the intricate and diverse samples, honoring an era of creativity in hip hop that, McLeod argues, has been all but destroyed by the greed of the copyright industry.

Later in the episode, Jim and Greg play some of their favorite sample-heavy songs. They cite DJ Shadow's Endtroducing... as a genius work of sample collage. I agree. But I think there's a nice coda to this story that could have been added on the show. On that album, Shadow includes a brief song called "Why Hip Hop Sucks in '96". It's a slow drum groove that ends with a sample that, in turns, gives a witty answer to the question the song title poses: "It's the money!" It's perfect that Shadow uses a three-word sample to explain how hip hop artistry is crippled by an industry that limits its use of sampling. That's some self-reflexive shit right there.

And where did Shadow get all those sources anyway? The documentary Scratch (2002), sheds a little light on an otherwise dark basement.

Briefly, Like Six Words (1)

Basically,
Muddy
Waters
with
indie
appeal.

The Black Keys, The Big Come Up (2002)

Art from the Lasers Post

Flavin


Basquiat


Wiley

Lasers

I've tried for the last few days to sum up my thoughts and synthesize how I want to tackle a review of Lupe Fiasco's Lasers, released last week. Disparate ideas keep popping in and out. Here they are, roughly.

The Cover
When I first saw the cover to the album, I thought, "Hey, cool, a Dan Flavin reference." Then I thought.. contemporary art... hip hop... how often do these things reference each other? My first instinct was not often. Next: why is that answer my first impulse? I'm thinking listeners of hip hop have to try to always combat this idea that rap music is low culture and other forms of music and art (i.e., neon tubes hung up in art galleries) represent high culture. Meanwhile, Jay-Z's Decoded features Andy Warhol on the cover. And then you could just go back to Basquiaat and the whole paradigm is f'd up right there. Graffiti as high art, huh? And don't forget Kehinde Wiley, who juxtaposes black men in street wear with centuries-old profiles of European royalty. So, my take on this? Hip hop artists should keep blurring the boundary between their music and what has long been considered a more elite (and certainly less black) form of artistic expression.

The Hooks
I read in another review of this album that the melodies in the songs on Lasers are really overwrought. I couldn't agree more. Rap songs that are marketed for radio play rely heavily on the catchiness of their hooks (what's up T-Pain), and clearly this, Lupe's third album, is moving in that direction. Listening to this album, you feel like the choruses take up the majority of your listening time. That's a shame for two reasons. For one, the hooks range from mediocre to downright unlistenable. Second, and more importantly, Lupe FIasco is a fantastically inventive and dextrous MC. The more time I have to sit through another repeat of a chorus, the less time I am getting to hear him spit some excellent verses. It makes matters worse to admit that the verses here also do not stand up to Lupe's memorably playful and skillful rhymes from his first two albums, not to mention the one that got it all started, his guest spot on Kanye's "Touch the Sky". I wish there was something half as good on Lasers as what he put together for that golden single from Late Registration:

Yes, yes, yes guess who's on third?
Lupe still like Lupin the Third.
Hear life here till I'm beer on the curb
Peach fuzz buzz but beard on the verge
Slow it down like we're on the serve
Bottle-shaped body like Mrs. Butterworth's.
But, before you say another word,
I'm back on the block like a man on the street.
I'm trying to stop lion like a Mum-Ra,
But I'm not lying when I'm laying on the beat.

The Press
Finally, I give Lupe some credit for sitting through the dreadfully patronizing and offensive interview conducted by Guy Raz for NPR last weekend. Any radio spot that starts like this cannot bode well:

"Wasalu Muhammad Jaco grew up in rough neighborhoods in and around Chicago, where crack addicts would pass out on his front stoop. But, while his friends were drifting in and out of jail, he joined the chess club and the academic decathlon at high school. He was also a drama geek."

I think Raz mentions prostitutes and crack addicts three times in the interview, just to make sure the listener understands where Lupe grew up: in the GHETTO. And yet, he turned out okay! What? He read National Geographic and watched PBS? How astonishing. Once again, we are getting the message that growing up in poverty is some otherworldly predetermining influence; nerds, geeks, skateboarders, backpack-rappers, whatever label you want to throw, apparently don't exist in that realm, so when they do, it is worth it to take note. You know, slate.com once ran a column describing the D.O.R.F. hypothesis; that is, NPR only reviews new black music if the artist is Dead, Old, Retro, or Foreign. I know there has got to be a fifth letter to represent the type of interview that Lupe endured; leave a comment if you've got any ideas.

One thing Raz did get right is referencing the skilled verse on this song, "Us Placers." (Too bad he cited a Radiohead sample; it's from Thom Yorke's solo work.)