Features
7 Alternative British R&B/Soul
Acts to Watch in 2019
for highsnobiety
25 · 01 · 2018
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Contemporary British R&B & soul exists today as an umbrella term housing many diverse off-shoots; the conventions that defined the wider genre a decade ago becoming ever murkier and less distinguishable. The alternative British R&B scene has suffered as a result of the plurality, side-lined in favor of more pop-centered musicians who feature on any track for clout, which means localized artists are unable to garner the sort of buzz that’s afforded to their chart-driven contemporaries.
However, it seems the tides are changing. Self-made acts plugging away in the peripheries of the industry are becoming ever more accessible in the streaming era, where a premium subscription on Spotify affords you a curated list of musicians to plough through. Furthermore, the likes of James Blake, Nao, and Jorja Smith have galvanized and re-energized the genre, putting British R&B on the map as a viable competitor to its American counterpart. In the last two years alone, British R&B artists have skewed the parameters of what it means to be a “progressive artist” and their iridescent style has been adopted en masse by mainstream musicians internationally.
Today, alternative British R&B and all its myriad strands has never felt more vital and more alive. While the below breakdown is only a representative snapshot of incipient musicians bubbling under the radar, Highsnobiety has rounded up seven acts we believe are emblematic of the renaissance. Each one has cultivated a distinct artistic imprint indifferent to the ‘game’ and fame by association, creating an auditory experience that is a testament to the forward-thinking projection of R&B and soul today.
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ELIZA
ELIZA isn’t new to the game, and her inclusion on this list is a testament to her artistic reinvention. She first came on the scene in 2010 under the moniker Eliza Doolittle, producing surface-level pop gems with dangerously addictive melodies. Now, having ditched the twee literature references, ELIZA has undergone somewhat of a transformation, she is an artist emboldened.
She released her opus, A Real Romantic, at the tail end of last year. The LP is an adult-contemporary, stripped-to-the-core experience, exploring the contours of downtempo Nu-Soul – grown and sexy music for nocturnal animals. Comprising of 9 beautifully written, evocative tracks that showcase an exponential growth in the art of song craft, ELIZA unravels over lush live instrumentation, exploring the boundaries of her own sexuality with a brazen vulnerability.
GREENTEA PENG
It’s all in the name – Greentea Peng. Two component parts of an artist on the brink of a breakthrough. The ‘green,’ nature-abiding part of Peng’s persona enhanced by the remedial, lullaby-like quality she induces through songs which lull and effervesce like a strong cup of Chai. ‘Peng’ is a common colloquial hyperbole used predominantly by teens in the UK to describe anything above average. As a describer of Greentea Peng’s music, it’s more than apt.
From Bermondsey, in Southeast London, Peng’s debut EP Sensi is an honest reflection of the cosmopolitan culture clash that defines a gentrified London. All of this seeps into the production, a moody smorgasbord of distortion and scattered beats – a paean to house, funk and underground electronica. Peng doesn’t operate in HD. Her intentional mode of craft is lo-fi and deconstructed, favoring kinks in audio over the sheen of a polished studio version, and this only enhances her appeal as an artist playing the long game.
JAMILAH BARRY
Hailing from Leeds, England and setting up base in London, Jamilah Barry has quietly been a mover in the Nu-R&B tradition for a few years now, establishing herself as an underground act with a finger on the pulse of modern soul. With 2015’s doo wop “Silly Q’s” and 2017’s synthy stunner of a track “Dance Moves,” Barry introduced herself as a poet expounding the experience of desire and cosmopolitan love above the usual boy-meets-girl-in-a-club trope that often defines R&B songs.
There’s a warmth to Barry’s songs heightened by her soothing voice. She’s able to extricate emotion from inner conflict in a way that’s relatable and refreshing, the perfect soundtrack for the melancholy of a grey Sunday. When you press play on her minimalist slow burners it’s easy to get lost in her reverie.
MILES FROM KINSHASA
Vivien Kongolo’s stage name pays homage to his birthplace in the Democratic Republic of Congo and he creates self-stylized music known as “Rumba-pop” – an amalgam of Rumba Lingala, a popular genre of dance music in Congo, with a lattice of propulsive 80s synth patterns. The resulting effect is something quietly sophisticated, and if we had to draw a comparison, think Blood Orange meets Wildheart-era Miguel.
The South-Londoner released his mini-album LIMBO in 2017, exploring themes of disaffection and existential crises, framed through the loss of innocence as one moves through adulthood. It’s refreshingly devoid of the type of preachy politicking blighting ‘woke’ records which in turn diminish the auditory experience, and Kongolo chooses to offset exposition by serene and hazy vignettes that leaves the listener floating in their own trance – remedial and ethereal.
OJERIME
Ojerime’s music elicits the reminiscence of MTV-era SVW, one where every other R&B/Hip-Hop song came loaded with a Hype Williams visual. The songstress takes the best tropes of classic American R&B – carnal desire, lust, the sway of a hard, programmed beat and of course, the vocals – and repackages them through a prism of low-res, underground realness. Her songs are never caricatures of pre-existing trends, and she honors her upbringing by collaborating with movers and shakers in the Brit underground scene. Her boldness and grit is brewed from a South-London melting pot that means when you press play on a track like “Handle” you get a confluence of sounds that feels both referential and innovative.
Her biggest release to date is her EP 4U, and trust us, nary a dud blights the project (which could easily have been a fully-fledged debut record had she added a track or two more). It’s a miscellaneous listen, incorporating elements of trap, garage and drum’n’bass, ’80s synths and a full spectrum of deconstructed R&B, all threaded by Ojerime’s husky cadence which, amid the snares and sirens, remains the focal point. Citing Faith Evans and Brandy as her vocal stimuli, Ojerime serves up sumptuous riffs and runs, vocals we need in an increasingly homogeneous scene that promotes whisper singers and mumble rappers over actual vocalists.
SKINNY PELEMBE
The alacrity to blend genres through a churner is part of the lure of listening to artists who do this with a deftness of touch that feels and sounds effortless. One such artist is Skinny Pelembe, a polymath in every sense of the word. A singer-songwriter, MC, and multi-instrumentalist, Pelembe’s brand of afro-infused synthetic soul is grounded by cherry-picked samples and a chopped/screwed manipulation not so easily replicated.
Born in Johannesburg, raised in Doncaster and now based in London, Pelembe has a voracious appetite for acquiring sounds from his nomadic existence that he injects into his own abstract creations, which began back in 2016 with his song “Mindset Is Fear” – a Massive Attack-esque noirish number, whom Pelembe evokes through reverberating rap-sung chants and metallic dreamscapes.
TIRZAH
Tirzah comprises the creative synergy of childhood friends – producer Mica “Mikachu” Levi and vocalist Tirzah Mastin. Tirzah’s past offerings – the EPs I’m Not Dancing and No Romance – didn’t necessarily prescribe to one particular genre, delving into the loosely-formed, fractured sonic underground built for trendy East London hotspots. Soon after that, Mastin featured on a handful of tracks with trip-hop pioneer Tricky and nothing much came afterwards.
Evidently the duo was hidden away concocting their staggeringly good debut LP Devotion, which garnered universal acclaim late last year. Devotion features 11 post-R&B vignettes of modern love – asymmetric and immersive, it’s as if you’ve stumbled across the private and intimate diary entries of your best friend. Mastin sings as if no one is listening, only Mica Levi is a witness to her inner monologues, dressing them in swirls of synthetic loops, pitch shifts and fractured glitch-effects. Together, they have created something utterly esoteric and distinctive, an archetype for sound design that will leave an indelible mark through all of 2019.
Renegade Man: The Legacy of Kanye West’s ‘808s & Heartbreak’
for highsnobiety
Getty Images / Kevin Mazur
23 · 11 · 2018
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This week, 808s & Heartbreak by Kanye West turns 10, and its legacy is one of widely-debated bewilderment and contentiousness. Dismissed as an archetype by faithful devotees and hip-hop loyalists alike, the record is also a retrospective mainstay on critic’s lists who have re-engaged with the source material, measuring its influence against a continuum of copycat releases ever since.
808s & Heartbreak stands as an anomalous release in the career of one of music’s most prolific innovators. As with any Kanye record, there’s an incubation period where we get to grips and decipher all that he’s just offered up for consumption. With 808s, the journey has been slow and gradual, but it’s impact on music and culture has been impervious. Play the record today and it’s a perfectly synonymous soundtrack to the stark, grim reality we occupy now, “Bad News” in particular, encapsulates our desensitization to a newsreel of death and despair, doom and gloom.
Kanye’s fourth LP was predicated around a philosophy of reinvention, risk, and rebirth – arguably no hip-hop artist had enacted a sharp pivot on this gargantuan level before. He took the biggest gamble of his already eminent career with 808s, throwing caution to the wind and effectively redefining who Kanye was as an artist. He ventured much further down the outré path he was signaling on Graduation, synthesizing his hip-hop DNA with the pulse of pop-punk and electro-infused pop.
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From his debut The College Dropout to 2007’s Graduation, West had released a triumvirate of uber-successful records that cemented his role as a progressive rap progenitor. Many expected his winning streak to continue, banking on another instant classic, and when 808s & Heartbreak, released in the fall of 2008, debuted at No.1 on the Billboard 200 selling just under half a million records, his streak of consecutive hits was lauded. However, this signifier of commercial success in a recession-addled era belied the beginnings of his demise. A victim of his own ascent, the level of infamy that marred the 808s campaign – from pre-production to his vilification during the 2009 Video Music Awards – resembled a pandemonium. In an era that preceded the social media boom, the response to 808s & Heartbreak was vociferous, many listeners averse to the divergence in sound. Some critics berated the album; Rolling Stone described it as a “noble failure,” NME dubbed it “woe-is-me slush” and NPR’s critic called for “Emcees to know their limitations” in the wake of Kanye’s foray into singing. To fans of Kanye’s earlier material, 808s & Heartbreak was too amorphous, shunning aspirational storytelling for a soundscape that luxuriated in a bleak and morose worldview.
To understand 808s & Heartbreak is to acquaint ourselves with why it was conceived in the first place. The record immortalized the emotional turmoil Kanye underwent in the years building up to the release, weaving together a tale of two losses, one being the breakdown of his relationship with designer Alexis Phifer and the other, more profound loss being the gut-wrenching impact the death of his mother, Donda West, had on him. In the years prior, Donda – whom Kanye had venerated in his music several times before – died with complications following cosmetic surgery. Kanye credited his trauma as a catalyst for a change he needed to move his art in a forward trajectory, “If I hadn’t suffered those losses, I might be too scared to fight the war on traditional thinking,” he told VH1 storytellers in 2009.
The resulting record was essentially a very raw, public declaration of grief, elucidating Kanye’s inner monologue in ways few rappers had before him. The emotional centerpiece of the record lies in a rendition of Tears for Fears’ “Memories Fade;” Kanye’s version, titled “Coldest Winter,” served as fervent farewell to the two most important women in his life, the refrain “I will never love again” hitting the quixotic in us right in the chest, the sorrow heightened by swells of strings enrapturing the listener through a sci-fi opera.
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A projection of vulnerability in the pursuit of realness reflected the changing tides in mainstream hip-hop. Where Lil Wayne’s Tha Carter III – the most commercially successful album of 2008 – was emblematic of the swagger and braggadocio that demarcated the genre, it was also a personal, unconventional and brazen listen. Wayne employed autotune in his vocal delivery, setting the precedent for an eventual untethering of hip-hop from its roots and for its new antecedent, Kanye, to free himself further from tradition, thriving instead as an unruly modernizer. On 808s & Heartbreak, Kanye consciously made the decision to present himself as an all-encompassing force. He’d be somber, soulful, problematic, exasperating and, at times, melodramatic – sometimes all at once. He eschewed bravado and a “lifestyles of the rich and famous” tenet altogether, his focus being the projection of real human emotions – flaws and all.
West’s process was centered around fellowship, and because he eliminated samples from his repertoire during the recording of 808s, he roped in pioneers of the field who’d assist in fleshing out his desired sound. Produced alongside Jeff Bhasker and NO I.D. – and galvanized by his protégé Kid Cudi’s woozy musings on A Kid Named Cudi – Kanye succeeded in creating an unrelenting subterranean dystopia with little to no respite for the listener. Soul loops and hip-hop breakbeats were replaced by warbles, metallic synths, and a frenetic bassline. West replaced organic percussion with mechanical drum patterns from the Roland TR-808 drum machine – the titular 808. And with the help of indie artist and long-time collaborator Jon Brion, Kanye was able to extract emotion through synthetic means, most notably on the schizoid, radioactive opener “Say You Will.”
Kanye’s awareness of ’80s synthpop auteurs like Gary Numan and New Order, and their ability to convey the rhapsody of feeling through austere minimalism, drove much of the album. He wasn’t a rapper anymore but a cyborg possessed, taking on a more autonomous persona, and one way of evoking the void was to sing through it. While André 3000 popularized the duality of the rapper/singer hybrid, Kanye engaged with the art of singing with a fortitude that made up for his lack of technique. Calling on autotune forerunner T-Pain to help him study the contours of vocal manipulation, Kanye was driven by an unwavering desire to sing every utterance, removing the stigma surrounding autotune as a superfluous device and validating its use as a genuine instrument.
Today, the monolithic presence of auto-tuned emotion among the new generation of rap stars is undeniable. They incorporate the melodic, emotive rap that characterized Kanye’s earnest woe-is-me version. In the programmed baritone slurs of “Love Lockdown,” you can hear the new breed of downbeat mumble rappers dominating airwaves today. Yes, Ye is partially to blame for that. Still, 808s & Heartbreak is an undeniable benefaction to music today. For example, expletive-laden hyper masculinity – a marquee of rap since its inception – is here replaced by dejection and despondency.
Emotive rapper No. 1 – Drake – plucked his anguished grievances from Kanye’s assiduousness and spun them into earworm, post-heartbreak anthems, enhancing his juggernaut status. Whether he likes to it admit or not, Champagne Papi owes much of his carefully concocted sound to Ye. His debut mixtape So Far Gone was peppered with 808s-era leftovers, “Find Your Love” being the most Kanye-defined cut carrying his hallmark of bruised, unrequited love. Additionally, The Weeknd’s Starboy is a direct descendent of the lamenting, heartbreak-pop that defined Kanye’s release a decade ago; Abel’s brand of lovelorn melancholia over a lattice of Daft Punk synthwork vividly recalls the glacial R&B of 808s. Point being, Kanye took the risk of humanizing hip-hop, making it easier for the next generation to exploit the depths of inner-most emotion in their songs, tailor-made for mass consumption.
Kanye West never cared about making himself palatable to the masses. What ignited him was repelling the complacency plaguing an artist when success is all but guaranteed, understanding a metamorphosis had to occur in order for him to evolve. No album in his discography comes close to 808s & Heartbreak in the way it rejuvenated his career and foretold the off-kilter experimentation that would occur in its wake – take the loud, brash protestations of Yeezus or the glitch-effect distortions of The Life of Pablo. Arguably, 808s is the last album where us mere mortals felt closest to Kanye. For all the convergence of emotion on display, we related because it was borne from events that felt universal. Now, the assemblies of Kanye the inconsistent avant-gardist, the self-aggrandizer the pseudo-philosophical preacher, or the munificent do-gooder renders him indecipherable and well, distant. With 808s & Heartbreak, the noise was lucid, and the perception of him was for once, glaringly opaque.
7 Chicago Artists Redefining The Scene
for highsnobiety
Getty Images / Tim Mosenfelder
08 · 11 · 2018
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The milieu of talent from Chicago has been on a continuum for well over a decade, but currently the city is ripe with musicians of all stripes plying their craft. Thanks to an abundance of music venues, community-driven projects and record stores with a commitment to subsidising and supporting local talent; the growth in up-and-coming singers, rappers and producers with distinct monikers has been exponential.
It’s not all about ‘Ye, Chance the Rapper or the architect behind the city’s drill scene, Chief Keef. Behind them are a legion of artists co-existing, coalescing and creating music indebted to Chicago’s storied history as it is to reconceiving the sounds of tomorrow. This autonomous bunch are defined less by decadence, nihilism and delusions of grandeur, instead they’re expanding the perception of rap, R&B, soul, and jazz.
Here’s our breakdown of 7 artists from the Windy City transcending the soundscape.
Ravyn Lenae – Nu-Soul debutante
For fans of: Solange, Kelela, Chloe x Halle, Sabrina Claudio, Jorja Smith
Ravyn Lenae is already a bit of prolific prodigy, having released 3 EPs over 3 years. One third of the next-gen Zero Fatigue collective, alongside rapper Smino and producer Monte Booker, Lenae is classically-trained with a masterful understanding of genre and the contours of her expressive voice. A Kelela/Minnie Ripperton amalgam, capable of weaving together complex harmonies in a dreamy reverie of wistful, teen spirit soul, Lenae is honey-sweet and trite in equal measure.
While some may see Lenae’s affinity for genre-hopping as a mark of indecision, in actuality this versatility is her calling card. On her Moon Shoes EP – a whimsical escapade that pulls the listener into her dreamscape – Ravyn navigates young love, relationships and the growing pains of that comes with being a teen. With Midnight Moonlight she went down the quiet storm terrain, evoking the lush ambient feel of Love Deluxe-Sade.
Yet it’s this year’s Crush EP that solidified her raw potential and paved the path for a more tangible and earthier sonic palette. Her single “Sticky” is her most popular track to date on Spotify, with just under 10 million hits. Produced alongside The Internet’s young funktronic pioneer Steve Lacy who grounds the songs with synthetic fuzz, Lenae’s coming-of-age songs have struck a chord with young women who find kinship with her affirmations on youth and relationships. Her words are morsels of strength and guidance for a millennial age having to grapple with an ever uncertain future. It’s abundantly clear that the future is Lenae’s to cultivate.
Essential tracks: Try the melancholic strum of “Crush,” the house-inflected “Free Room,” or the sensual, sinewy “Sticky.”
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Jamila Woods – Celestial gospel soul
For fans of: St. Beauty, Berhana, Ari Lennox, Jesse Boykins III, Solange
If there is any artist that captures the generous vitality of Chicago’s arts scene, it’s Jamila Woods. A home-grown talent through and through, Jamila is a component part of an eclectic scene that unites poetry, positivity and empowerment – preserving and redefining the black girl magic slogan.
A Brown University graduate, Jamila lent her vocals to fellow Chicago artists Chance the Rapper, Kweku Collins and Saba. She gave Macklemore & Ryan Lewis their highlight on “White Privilege II,” audacious enough to avow “Your silence is a luxury” at the duo’s overwhelmingly white fan base. Around the time of that song’s release, Woods released her own militant “Blk Grl Soldier,” serving as the centrepiece of her debut album HEAVN.
The record melded together her love of poetry with gospel and hip-hop. The project is both an homage to the colourful characters that inhabit her hometown in addition to serving as a cathartic but radical manifesto on black self-love. Just recently Woods dropped her first material since 2016, a track titled ‘Giovanni’ released alongside a short film with spoken-word interludes. A tribute to the generations of women that have shaped her sense of self, including poet Nikki Giovanni for which the track is named, it corresponds with a sincere give-back ethos. Juggling a flourishing music career with her role as an Associate Artistic Director of Young Chicago Authors – a collective augmenting upcoming poets and writers – Woods is safeguarding the legacy of her and her community’s narrative.
Essential tracks: Try the trip-inducing “LSD,” the affirmation-heavy “Blk Girl Soldier,” or the ode to self-love “Giovanni.”
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Saba – Affirmative rap with a conscience
For fans of: Smino, Joey Purp, Isaiah Rashad, Jay Prince, Goldlink
Have a peruse through Twitter, and you’ll get a snapshot into what the world thinks of Saba. He’s the viable storytelling alternative to modern rap. Born Thaj Malik Chandler, Saba grew up in a music-oriented family, inspired by the likes of hip-hop greats Bones Thugs-n-Harmony, adding credence to his tenet which is built on substance over style.
His debut mixtape GETCOMFORTable was as much a showcase into his precociousness as it was to a catalogue of upcoming Chicago talent. Chicago take care of their own. At just 21 years old, he featured on Chance the Rapper’s “Angels” off the widely successful Coloring Book. Passing the Chance litmus test, and growing in confidence as a triple threat, his debut album – 2016’s Bucket List Project – fulfilled Saba’s earlier promise, a funky, feather-light escapade that intended uplift and inspire.
His sophomore effort Care For Me proved to be a pivotal turning point. Released earlier this year to acclaim, Saba chronicled his growing success with the ghosts of his past. It was during the recording of Bucket List Project that Saba’s closest cousin, Walter, was murdered in Chicago. Care for Me charts the internalised trauma in the wake of that tragedy. Grief in all its myriad forms is ever-present in a haunting record that is visceral, poignant and frankly, spellbinding. It’s certainly up there as one of the best hip-hop albums of the year. If you need more evidence of his immeasurable talent check out his NPR Tiny Desk Concert.
Essential tracks: The woke “American Hypnosis,” the futurist “LOGOUT,” or the two-part epic “PROM/KING.”
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Mick Jenkins – Elemental healing rap
For fans of: Smino, Joey Purp, Isaiah Rashad, Jay Prince, Goldlink
Mick Jenkins was born in Alabama but moved to Chicago after his parents’ divorce. Influenced and subsequently endorsed by Young Chicago Authors and their open mic nights, an impressionable Mick was ignited by a love for writing which translated to a love of rap. Producing a perennial conveyor belt of releases since 2012, Jenkins has ensured he’s always on the rap radar and the conscience of fans and casual listeners alike.
From his career-defining mixtape – The Water(s) – to his love-themed, gospel-esque album The Healing Component, which zoned in on love as the enabler of all things; the intimate kind and the universal, Jenkins uses his songs as opportunities to incite change, to protest and to do away with the status quo. His brooding poetry is steeped in a spirituality that adds a literary depth to his narrative. He is a writer and linguist first and foremost, and hip-hop is the vehicle through which he communicates.
The good thing is, as you read you this, you can enjoy his just released opus, Pieces of A Man. A contingent of hip-hop commentators felt Jenkins lost a bit of his spark but he’s back after a hiatus to reclaim his space amongst the greats. The era commenced with a slew of singles, including the redemptive Kaytranada-produced cuts “Padded Locks” and “Understood,” Jenkins ruminating on the roles of men in all their pretexts, zoning in on the generational ripple-effects and the enterprise of mentoring and endorsing one another within the hip-hop community. It’s typically Jenkins and be prepared, he has a few things he’d like to get off his chest.
Essential Tracks: The melodic heat of “Barcelona,” the Kaytranada collab “What Am I To Do”, or the abrasiveness of “Bruce Banner.”
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Monte Booker – Producer extraordinaire
For fans of: Kaytranada, Masego, Xavier Omär, Col3trane, DRAM
Booker is the sound of Chicago’s future. He may have garnered most of his appeal from his production on Smino’s debut LP, yet one glimpse at his SoundCloud or his (recently updated!) Bandcamp page and its clear as day that Booker is an inexhaustible creator, his page teeming with re-works and remixes, honing his craft and expanding his already impressive repertoire.
He’s the man behind the beats for many of Chicago’s rising artists. The founder of the Zero Fatigue Collective and signed under the cutting-edge Soulection label, Booker favours DIY craftsmanship to mass-produced homogeneity. A production whiz-kid, Booker has a signature sonic imprint that revels in the intersection between sparse funk and cosmic ambience. Drawing from a diverse set of influences that include the likes of Timbaland, Flying Lotus, Neptunes, and Kanye West, Booker defies a trap-heavy landscape with an emphasis on percussion – equal parts organic and synthetic. It’s tripped out and hazy, quietly kinetic, allowing his guests and his listeners the freedom to express themselves. Watch this space, he’s on the brink of the big leagues.
Essential Tracks: Try the folktronic cabin fever of “Baby,” the chopped and screwed “New Chapter,” or the romance of “Kompany.”
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Smino – Future funk wordsmith
For fans of: Goldlink, Mick Jenkins, Duckwrth, Vic Mensa, Aminé
Born in St. Louis, Smino, real name Christopher Smith Jr., later moved to Chicago for college under the tutelage of his older cousin, singer Drea Smith. He later dropped out and pursued his passion of music full time which has led him down a path of self-made, independent glory.
Through releases such as 2016’s blkjuptr EP and his 2017 debut album blkswn, Smino projects a feeling of solidarity with his listeners, starting a dialogue on universal topics such as love, mental health, identity, as well as the pitfalls of a digicentric world without ever descending into humdrum melodrama.
When Smino raps, the world listens. blkswn put him on the map as an off-beat, idiosyncratic star of hip-hop. His cadence is languid but lucid; flitting between a half-rap, half-sung staccato. Utilising the upper most register of his voice, Smino is one of a select few that can venture into psychedelic territory without coming across gimmicky. Much of his record was laced with an effervescent energy that encouraged the listener to hop in and enjoy the ride. 18 tracks deep, bookended by a near 8-minute odyssey “Amphetamine”, it’s clear Smino’s intention to create an expansive experience correlates with his unerring belief as an artist.
So what’s next? A one-off single “New Coupe, Who Dis?” released back in May teased the beginning of a new era. Coinciding with the transient nature of hip-hop releases, Smino just dropped his sophomore record, titled Noir, this week. In lieu of the standard announcement, Smino offered a taste of what’s to come in the form of the feel-good, Sango-produced cut “L.M.F”. If it’s anything to go by, Smino’s about to mark his territory among the rap elites. Consider us braced.
Essential Tracks: The woozy epic “Amphetamine,” the Lenae-assisted “Glass Flows,” or zeitgeisty “Netflix & Dusse.”
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Noname – Purveyor of poetic justice
For fans of: Chance the Rapper, The Internet, Anderson .Paak, Earl Sweatshirt, Rapsody
If you haven’t heard of the nameless Noname, where have you been? Just because Fatimah Nyeema Warner isn’t an omnipotent poster girl for rap like Nicki or Cardi, does not mean she is any less vital to the genre. Noname rose from the Chicago poetry scene with little fanfare. Yet through word-of-mouth, her dense, dexterous wordplay has become some of the most vivid, woke and multi-faceted in the rap game period!
Her mixtape Telefone, put her on the map as a deft poet meditating about the perils of twentydom. Yet where Telefone felt whimsical, fragmentary and elusive, her debut album Room 25 feels utterly self-aware and sure of itself. Since its release a month ago, Room 25 has impressed listeners and critics alike, currently holding the No. 1 spot on Metacritic with an aggregated score of 94 for all new mainstream releases this year – we even gave it a 4.5 out of 5 in our review.
Noname’s fragrant rhymes and her effusive cadence are laced with the irony, humour, pain and bare-boned introspection that is a rarity in music. She has to occupy her own lane in order to succeed. Her perspective on the discrepancies of minority identity are equal to or even superior to her peers, because she conveys so much with so little. Noname possesses the ability to convey a history of internalised trauma through vivid technicolour poetry – subverting the very essence of rap and the braggadocio surrounding it. Her lucid, distressed jazz instrumentals are beautifully rendered, preferring her words to linger like the rapture of smoke, before they disintegrate altogether. Where her peers spit bars over a club-ready beat, Noname would rather lull the listener into a suspended state where they are forced to face and cavort with their own demons. She is the real deal.
Essential Tracks: Try the zingy “Blaxploitation,” the dusky “Montego Bae,” or the sanguine vibe of “Diddy Bop.”
20 Years Later, OutKast’s ‘Aquemini’ Remains a Transcendent Masterwork
for highsnobiety
Getty Images / Scott Gries
25 · 09 · 2018
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On the track “Y’All Scared,” from OutKast’s seminal third record Aquemini, Big Boi delivered a declaration of intent: “Even though we got two albums, this one feel like the beginning.” His claim wasn’t superfluous, it was divinatory. This week, Aquemini – a timeless opus that often gets lost in the canon of classic hip-hop records – turns 20. Representing both a career re-start and creative peak for the Atlanta duo, it ushered in a new breed of hip-hop, one where conscious rap could be augmented by spirituality, the boundlessness of space, and sonic experimentation, anchored most effectively by the unrelenting evolution of its creators.
Let’s go back to 1998. Revisionists regard it as “the second-coming of hip-hop”: The bitter West vs. East Coast rivalry had been placated, JAY-Z’s Vol. 2… Hard Knock Life turned him into a mass market MTV sensation, DMX delivered two No. 1 albums in a year – his brazen swagger seemingly chart dynamite. To the dismay of genre loyalists, grungy, subterranean beats were replaced by a slickly-produced pop sheen.
Hip-hop was no longer a nascent entity but one traversing multiple commercially-viable lanes, outselling every other genre in the country. This meant rap was no longer localized. Pockets of regional talent were now breaking through in a new MP3 age. No longer was hip-hop defined by breakbeats, funk samples, guns, drugs, sex, and violence. Instead, it went macro, and the
country’s most enigmatic rap artists came to the fore, punctuated by OutKast’s Aquemini capturing the pre-Millennia cultural zeitgeist.
A rare commercial success in its own right, the album repackaged hip-hop as something tethered to the roots of black identity, yet simultaneously, it was unlike anything being played on the radio at the time. It was the token album of 1998 for hip-hop contrarians who copped the record because it sounded and felt like ‘real art;’ It felt like enlightenment without the self-aggrandizing and preachy politicking.
Affectionately titled Aquemini — a portmanteau of the duo’s zodiac signs, the Aquarian Big Boi and the Gemini André 3000 – it connoted an immersive escapade juxtaposing two opposing celestial personas. It wasn’t all space-hopping melodrama, however. OutKast ensured their existing fan base would stick around by injecting every track with the earthy, Southern grit that characterized their earlier efforts. They played to their respective strengths; Big Boi was still a proponent of the streets while André’s wayfaring drifter was invoked through his stream of consciousness-style of delivery.
André 3000 was growing into his role as a virtuoso, and OutKast made sure that Aquemini stood apart from its predecessors. The duo were in the mood for raw introspection, with both men undergoing existential changes in their personal lives, paving the way for the soft-psychedelic opener “Hold On, Be Strong,” a track that beams out an astral mantra of self-affirmation while weaving a woozy dreamscape with the same harmonic refrain playing over and over. That narcotic moment is snapped by the audacity of “Return of the ‘G’” – a center piece in a masterpiece. Produced by Southern rap pioneers Organized Noize, “G” was a raw display of molasses-smooth rap, lyrically disavowing the incessant rumor mill surrounding their partnership and André’s predilection for ‘flamboyance.’
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On Aquemini, the very concept of duality was the focus of attention. It pushed them to face bracing, uncomfortable truths within their own ranks. Such divided notions as owning the person you grow into with the fear you’ll always be the same are offset by the urban narrative and grounded by a rhythmic exuberance. They broached internal afflictions against a backdrop of incandescent sci-fi funk. Light and darkness, yin and yang. The dichotomy at the heart of Aquemini between “the player and the poet” critiqued the iconoclasm surrounding the central tenets of hip-hop. According to OutKast, the genre could thrive as both a commercially successful entity and one that was free from the shackles of existing tropes. They didn’t have to be mutually exclusive. The fact that Aquemini – at one point considered a fringe hip-hop album – is double-platinum today, is a testament to the conviction of its two members.
OutKast evolved past the expected modes of black expression on Aquemini, an amalgamation of two divergent images, one more abstract (André) and the other historical (Big Boi). On this album, the duo delved into parenthood, racial divides, blacktivism, technophobia, aliens, addiction, and of course, the decay of the human condition. On “Synthesizer,” they brazenly attack the hauteur of mankind and our exploitation of natural resources in the line “are we digging into new ground, or digging our own graves?” Black men can be self-aware citizens of the earth, too.
They embraced plurality, something hip-hop musicians didn’t have the wavelength to pursue then (and only recently have) with a similar sense of being unrestrained. They were oddities, realists, fathers, and hustlas all at once. In the video for “Rosa Parks,” they subverted hip-hop cues to project a mirror image of black culture, each taking on the other’s ‘aesthetic.’ They balked at the tradition of hyper-masculinity in the genre – instead, they tested and edified the audience with icons of afro-futurism, conveying an alternative to the prevailing black experience.
Aquemini set the precedent for hip-hop to exist not in a static vacuum but in a place where lucid poetry was embellished by a sonic abandon. Long before Kanye West was transcending genres with his outré tendencies, OutKast were cherry-picking from G-Funk, soft-rock, reggae, blues, and yes, space-rap – is that even a genre? OutKast were in a referential mood, drawing from the pantheon of black music history long before Kendrick embraced similar referential prowess on his 2015 effort To Pimp a Butterfly.
The record as a whole was defined far more by improvisation and live instrumentation than programmed beats, borne from a loose jaunt through a ’70s-style jam session with a vast array of colorful musicians invited through an open door policy in the studio. The horn-heavy, freedom-fighting “Liberation” is the prime example of a collaboration between artists at the peak of their powers, creating something that defies classification. The Cee-Lo Green, Erykah Badu and Big Rube-assisted track conveyed a session that was informal and fluid in nature, dripping with verve and vitality, a microcosm of the record at large.
That same track served as an exemplar of André 3000’s avant-garde approach to songcraft, employing vocally-modified singing much to the dismay of Big Boi, who worried they’d alienate listeners if they veered too far from the formula. Typically, André resisted, wanting to broaden their horizons, believing it to be in line with the otherworldly terrains of the record. It was this affinity for risk-taking and an unwavering sense of versatility that ultimately foretold the coming of autotune and the synthesis of vocals in hip-hop, something Kanye exploited to full effect on his polarizing 808s & Heartbreak a decade later. OutKast risked everything on this record, opened themselves up to ridicule, scrutiny, and failure, but what they showed was an unerring trust in each other’s sense of musical inclination. And what they gave the world in 1998, was a manifesto for hip-hop artists to be bold, innovative, and fearless.
The title track foretold the beginning of the end for OutKast. “Nothing is for certain/ And nothin’ lasts forever/ But until they close that curtain, it’s just him and I—Aquemini.” Aquemini was the duo’s strongest showing of the ‘unity through division’ trope, the mercurial hustla working alongside the alien oddity, the creative synergy between them absolute. They would go on to produce their most widely-acknowledged pieces in Stankonia and Speakerboxxx… / The Love Below, but by the time the latter was released, the creative schism between the duo meant two separate records, with two separate soundscapes. On the prophetic Aquemini, an amalgam that denotes the beginning of the end of their unity, André 3000 and Big Boi were two sides of the same coin.