'The Life of Pablo' Reaches Into the Backpack Days of the Life of Kanye

The genius of The Life of Pablo is indiscernible from the album’s opening tracks, which boast intellectual assertions of the following quality: “Now if I fuck this model / And she just bleached her asshole / And I get bleach on my T-shirt / Imma feel like an asshole.”

No, Kanye West’s seventh album does not impress early on with auto-tuned vocals, mumble-rap contributions from unknown Future impersonators, or with the trap percussions upon which both parts of “Father Stretch My Hands” build. On the contrary, they show West indulging in the contemporary hip-hop trends that are dissolving into cliché, demonstrating fad as opposed to the zeitgeist which West’s more ambitious works so precisely captured. The beginning of The Life of Pablo appears to confirm fans’ worst fears about an album whose title was only finalized hours before the songs premiered. It suggests a lack of censorship, slipshod compilation, the work of an artist whose ego has been fed to the point of complacency – a food coma in which the artist is too bloated to move towards innovation.

What innovation there is on The Life of Pablo is subtle: impressive use synth-feedback on “Feedback,” various samples’ distorting spatial effects. It is the first album in which West does not overtly challenge norms of culture (The College Dropout), genre (My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy), or politics (Yeezus). But granting fairness to Kanye West in consideration of his past several releases beg the questions “How much more room for innovation (in music at least) is there for an artist who has already produced four albums in the seven years of the current decade?” “What reason is there to innovate when the most loyal sect of his fan base has fervently demanded the Kanye of old?” By the time the instrumental on “Famous” kicks in after Rihanna’s vocals, Kanye’s response to the predicament, along with his genius, becomes perfectly clear.

What validates Kanye West’s latest release is the effortlessness of its creation. The Life of Pablo is an album in which Kanye relies on his proven studio techniques and battle-tested ear for what captivates to produce an album that is easy to enjoy. The album is nostalgically reminiscent of Kanye’s rise in hip-hop, evidenced first by the resemblance between the instrumentals of “Famous” and “Get Em High” from The College Dropout. Everything from and between the percussion pattern, the vocal melody and cadence, and the arrogant bravado of the song’s opening line: “I feel like me and Taylor might still have sex / Why? I made that bitch famous,” harken back to Kanye’s idiosyncratic presence in the bling-era of hip-hop.

This reminiscence is not short-lived. “Highlights”’ instrumental arrangement is similar to “I Wonder” (Graduation), “Real Friends” is carried by the cadence of “Big Brother” (Graduation), the various interludes on TLoP reemploy Kanye’s early contextual framing techniques, and even the soliloquy on “30 Hours” reminds us of a young Kanye with a burgeoning desire to engage his listeners in dialogue, no matter how one-sided that dialogue would be or would become. While remaining faithful to his own tradition, Kanye also draws from the fundamentals of his art form. “No More Parties in LA,” which features a guest verse from Kendrick Lamar, is a quintessential boom-bap track and the drums on “30 Hours” are undeniably influenced by the most revered and most sampled drum track in hip-hop: James Brown’s “The Funky Drummer.”

Though The Life of Pablo embodies the classic standard of Kanye West production, it does not achieve greatness by tracing its artist’s laurels. The album does indeed suffer from a lack of editing. Kanye’s choices on what songs to include on the album sometimes enhance its rap appeal (“No More Parties in LA,” “30 Hours”), but other times degrade the album’s intellectual premise (“Freestyle 4,” “Facts”). What we gain from this excessive over-inclusion are glimpses of the genre-defying, experimental Kanye West of Yeezus alongside the hit-maker of his first three albums.

While the forty-four second lament/gloat of “I Love Kanye” may not seem like the most stimulating track to be featured on The Life of Pablo, it offers the album’s most profound truths. Yes, we did miss the old Kanye. Yes, we hate the new, always rude Kanye. Yes, every rapper to come after Kanye in some way derives his or her art from Kanye’s advancements. It is ironic, unexpected, and fortunate that we are given an album in which the old Kanye remerges. However, in typical Kanye fashion, he ignores pleas for decency and self-control. As far as personality is concerned, he is still very much the new Kanye. But can we blame him? We never hold him accountable anyway. Our praise has enabled the flamboyance we’ve grown to despise. We have fed his ego enough to assure him that he can do absolutely anything. Fortunately, a return to his old style lies within the parameters of what we have empowered Kanye to do.  He is, and has been for a long time, that much empowered.

Similarly, The Life of Pablo is music to feel empowered by, for the sake of self-esteem, self-exploration, or mere enjoyment. Its palate satisfies in nearly every way a Kanye West album should, in modes of both old and new. Reflect fondly on the pink polo you bought once upon a 2004, which is by now stashed somewhere deep in an old dresser or donated to a local thrift store. This album will offer you bittersweet memories. 

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You can read "Kanye's Original The Life of Pablo Tracklist Analyzed in Three Acts by @NathanZed & @jonnysun" here and "Closing Remarks of a Reformed Kanye Apologist" here.

DIIV Reaches New Depths in Emotion and Complexity on 'Is the Is Are'

The mosh pits ignited at DIIV shows have always been enigmatic, yet oddly fulfilling, phenomena – out of place for a shoegaze concert, but inherently necessary. There are few better ways than a mosh to enjoy DIIV’s music. The dream-inducing guitars, best described as the sound of chasing life, obtain a near outer-body texture when you close your eyes, and so it is without effort that audiences lose control of their senses at DIIV performances.

On their debut Oshin they communicated emotions through guitar melodies in ways that were impossible for Zachary Cole Smith’s lyrics, which were drenched in reverb and delay to the point of incoherence. But where Smith’s lyrics could not be accessed, his band’s shimmering guitars provided clarity through the invocation of a simple thought: “Yes, this is a sound for this specific emotion and this is how I feel when I listen to this music.” 

Three and a half years after Oshin, DIIV’s material has now been complicated by clearly perceptible dilemmas informed by Smith’s past drug ordeals and by the artistic development that has made the band’s sophomore album Is the Is Are more accessible and stimulating than their debut. It is simultaneously the old DIIV and a newly complex DIIV. Signature guitars have not been lost where vocal reverb has been expended and Smith’s musings on love and sobriety substantiate a message that is disarmingly transparent and purposeful. 

Rarely does a lead single truly stand as an album’s most emotional moment, yet Smith’s depiction of helplessness and futility on “Dopamine” gives us a harrowing sense of mortality. “Would you give your 84th year / For a glimpse of heaven, now and here?” Smith asks, then reissuing the question in decreasing increments until the unimpressionable age of thirty-four seems sacred. With clearer vocals, we are now vulnerable to the dismantling effects of the honesty in Smith’s songwriting. Here and elsewhere, he deals with the loss of function and identity resulting from addiction in a manner that would be cliché outside the context of DIIV’s sound. Yet the authenticity of these sentiments, qualified by personal experience and those of characters to which certain songs are dedicated, adds credibility to his unglamorous portrayal of drug use. “Got so high I finally felt like myself,” he sings.

Is the Is Are is markedly more explorative than Oshin, crossing post-punk terrain and even emo on “Healthy Moon,” which sounds as if it has a place on the American Football LP. Smith drew inspiration from Sonic Youth’s Bad Moon Rising, telling the Urban Outfitters Blog: “I really wanted to capture the mood or ambiance that they were able to get. It's an insane-sounding record, and it sounds really dark. So that was a record that I wanted to – not replicate – but work in that same idiom.” Is the Is Are is replete with semblances to Bad Moon Rising, the most obvious being Sky Ferreira’s Kim Gordon-esque non-vocalist contribution on “Blue Boredom.” 

The desired darkness that Smith has accomplished on Is the Is Are is achieved by its vivid depiction of inner turmoil and then realized by discordant feedback. The integration of bleaker sounds and images into DIIV’s bright and vigorous acoustic palate makes the album a more emotive experience. The energy of the album varies in tempo, but each song determinedly driven and forceful, sometimes dream-like, and other times nightmarish. 

DIIV broke free from the Brooklyn DIY scene with their debut on Captured Tracks, but their sophomore effort bears less definitive implications for just how big this band can become. While considerations of Cole Smith and his girlfriend Sky Ferreira becoming the new Kurt Cobain and Courtney Love are as laughable as they are irrelevant, there is credence to be found in one aspect of the comparison. Is the Is Are demonstrates a progression from Oshin that is arguably as impressive as the difference between Nirvana’s Bleach and Nevermind.

Aofie O'Donovan Stirs the Soul on 'In the Magic Hour'

Being that we’ve reached the year 2016 in one piece (albeit if Trump has any say in the matter, things will surely crumble), it may be safe to take a brief, retrospective look at which genres were resuscitated into prominence and which ones fell from popular grace. The twenty-teens saw alternative folk enter into the zeitgeist, with Bon Iver, Mumford and Sons, and Fleet Foxes riding the wave early, before either adapting masterfully (Bon Iver), shifting genre (Mumford), or going on extended hiatus (Fleet Foxes).

Due in large part to the aforementioned bands, alternative folk opened the door for all iterations of folk music to be explored freely, a la the days of Nick Drake, Joan Baez, and Gordon Lightfoot. While genre expansions such as freak folk were fun, they came and passed with relative brevity, but as more pop and rock leaning folk emphases became passé, real roots revival folk continued to strengthen its base.

Today’s purer forms of folk are preserved by the likes of Ryley Walker, Punch Brothers, and Glen Hansard; all receiving credit where its due, but they’re obviously an all male contingency. Folk music has been a fascinating field of unidentified female talent quietly building their repertoire, with many getting the occasional glance here and there, but nowhere near the measure of fanfare a Taylor Swift or Ariana Grande may receive.

Enter Aofie O’Donovan, the Massaschusetts born folk singer formerly of Crooked Still – a pensive and familiar voice that recalls the days of yore, who ascends into contemporary folk prominence on her recently released, In the Magic Hour.

The sophomore full length release on O’Donovan’s solo discography, In the Magic Hour is equal parts quiet wretchedness and subtle charm; an overall reflection on the transcendence of time. Opener “Stanley Park” wastes no time establishing the somber nature of the record as a whole, with its idiomatic lines such as – “songbirds fly and dead is falling / I sleep to the beating of their wings” – that paint a bleak pastoral picture.

In the Magic Hour was written on the tail end of extensive touring for O’Donovan’s debut album, Fossils, in which she spent the majority of her time on the road alone, which allowed for deep introspection of lyrics. Unfortunately, the writing period for the album coincided with the death of O’Donovan’s grandfather, the Irish family patriarch, whose home in Clonakilty, Ireland became a harbor of untroubled merriment.

Following the death of O’Donovan’s grandfather, who the singer references directly in “Magic Hour,” the deep solitude that enveloped O’Donovan’s writing became the cornerstone for the album. That being said, In the Magic Hour is a disparate vehicle of coping – while the subject matter can be mostly pastoral and personal, songs are hopeful, such as “Porch Light,” or “Magpie,” with its solitary journey of reflection – the song was written about her deceased grandfather.

Folk music is bound to shift and fall victim to various trends in music, but despite whatever there is that is “en vogue,” Aofie O’Donovan will surely remain a pillar of classic folk sensibilities. In the Magic Hour is effectively a combination of O’Donovan’s penchant for seclusion and her brief moments of hopeful certainty. O’Donovan’s music searches for something of stirring substance, and in doing so, solidifies herself as a durable and formidable chieftain of folk music.   

David Bowie Avoids Complacency, Continues to Push Boundaries on Bizarre '★' ('Blackstar')

The concept of fluidity is not necessarily a notion an artist would aim to procure, much less at the risk of their own legacy. However, if there ever was an artist so poised, so precise, and so deft to continually morph and adapt with a sort of genre androgyny, it would certainly be David Bowie. Each release throughout Ziggy Stardust’s career is uniformly unique - each record adopting aspects of various influences throughout, most of which are equally ambitious and ambiguous, but always maintaining Bowie’s mystical hallmarks. 

Bowie’s newest addition to his compendium is ★ (stylized, but technically Blackstar, which is what the writer shall reference for the rest of the article), an ambitious collection of jazz leaning tracks that continue Bowie’s half century long career of genre fluidity that continues his status as one of the true icons of rock music, not necessarily for a “classic” rock sound, but rather the intrepidity to stretch the confines and concepts that rock music once resided within. On Blackstar, Bowie continues to explore new sonic landscapes, but this time, rather than challenging conceptions of rock, Bowie virtually spurns what we know of rock music altogether.

Released three years after 2013’s The Next Day, which followed an unsettlingly long period of Bowie-less music, Blackstar enlists New York jazz musician Donny McCaslin and his group of acclaimed players (Ben Monder, Jason Linder, Tim Lefebvre, and Mark Guiliana) to create one of the most unnerving Bowie albums to date. Blackstar’s incorporation of dark jazz flair with undertones of death, savagery, and detachment is more defined than past efforts.

Bowie being who he is, a number of devout fans have spent considerable time trying to uncover the cryptic themes within the tracks, with most being no closer to meaning than before, but others are quite apparent and only further confused by those closest to Bowie.

The title track, “Blackstar” seems like a direct reference to the rise of ISIS and is supported by Donny McCaslin, with the continual allusion to a “solitary candle.” Such a subject matter would not be out of the realm of possibility for Bowie, who has seemed to have a morbid fascination with despicable characters, a la Big Brother, President Joe and his murderous Saviour Machine, and Thomas Newton on previous projects. Another interesting aspect of “Blackstar” is track’s run time, which stands at nine minutes and fifty-eight seconds; it had been even longer, but when Bowie and his cohorts found out that iTunes did not place songs longer than ten minutes up for individual sale, they shaved time with two seconds to spare.

Despite Blackstar’s considerably darker themes, it also shares an air of more lyrical playfulness from Bowie. Second track, “Tis a Pity She Was a Whore,” in name alone is playful and about as “out there” as any in recent memory. The track opens with a heavy drum and bass lead and horns whirling every which way, before Bowie opens with the delightful “Man, she punched me like a dude / Hold your mad hands / I cried,” setting a disparate scene for Bowie’s narrative. The track moves at a rattling pace, leaving an unstable scene of uncertainty whether or not the narrator had been robbed by the titular “whore” or not. Bowie certainly spares every outside detail in order to enhance the strange nature of the song.

“Lazarus” is the second Blackstar single, as well as the eponymous title of Bowie’s recent Off-Broadway hit, starring Michael C. Hall of Dexter television fame. “Lazarus” unsettles throughout, never quite reaching a point of comfort for the listener or the track’s protagonist, who had experienced ascension into “king-like” living in New York, but ultimately yearns for freedom from the confines of the life being presently led. The track was performed by Michael C. Hall on The Late Show with Stephen Colbert, in which Hall sang Bowie’s lyrics “nothing left to lose,” which undoubtedly doubled the meaning, with Bowie’s notable absence and acknowledgement that being a 69 year old pop-icon, there was hardly any way his legacy could be sullied.

Overall, Blackstar is one of Bowie’s most audacious of undertakings, an effort that could potentially be with great consequence, but because of such risks being as they are; Bowie only elevates and exceeds expectation to meet the task at hand. But then again, anyone ever really doubted any aspect of Bowie’s work? “I Can’t Give Everything Away,” is a haunting admission that Bowie is aware that his time is reaching an end, and rather than being a single voice from one point in time, he has become a voice that spans multiple generations. Bowie is aware of his deity status in the world of music, and no matter what new direction he takes his music, the masses will not doubt it. He's virtually untouchable, unassailable entity, but not above admitting imperfection in being so.

Cage the Elephant's 'Tell Me I'm Pretty' Earns the Request

What does a band do when their most successful album to date generates just as much inner turmoil as it does critical acclaim? In the case of Cage the Elephant and their 2013 release, Melophobia, the answer is simple – blow things up. After a run of three insatiably frenetic exercises in pseudo-punk rock anxiety, a spectacular reputation as live performers, major label ascension with RCA, and an eventual Grammy nomination for Melophobia, Cage the Elephant had reached an impasse.

The extensive touring and massively unanticipated (yet much deserved) reception of Melophobia led to friction within the band. Guitarist Brad Schultz called the experience "a living hell,” so much so, that it culminated with lead guitarist Lincoln Parrish’s eventual departure in December of 2013. Parrish, who had been a part of Cage the Elephant since age 16 in 2006, had not foreseen the rapid growth and success of the group, stating that his ultimate goal was to “be a producer before anything else.” Nick Bockarth, filled Parrish’s void for the remaining Melophobia tour stops supporting The Black Keys and Foals, which stretched well into 2014.

During the Kentucky rockers’ run with The Black Keys, Schultz and Black Keys lead man/Nashville super-producer Dan Auerbach tossed around ideas for some new Cage songs, and long story short, the rock n’ roll salons led to a collaborative relationship between the two which ultimately led to the creation of this fourth studio record, Tell Me I’m Pretty.  

Opener “Cry Baby” is a jolt to the system; cleaner and brighter than former Cage openers, the twinges of Brit-pop throw TMIP into uncharted territory. "Trouble" is a deceptively wistful tale of woe spun over breezy woos just begging to be sung along to, complete with a lyrical nod to their magnum opus with "You know what they say / Yeah the wicked get no rest," while the other single “Mess Around” pairs fuzzy riffs with infectious poppy hooks, perfectly wrapping up the band's dirtier feel in a tight 3 minute package. Auerbach himself even provides the guitar solo, though it would be unfair to automatically dismiss this effort as Black Keys fodder.

While Auerbach’s association with TMIP may trigger an automatic assumption that the album as a whole would be filled with Black Keys-isms, that assumption overlooks how Cage the Elephant’s greatest mores and themes are present throughout the album, though ever-evolving. From Matt Schultz’s familiar wailing on “Sweetie Little Jean" to the stark Rolling Stones-esque rollercoaster that is “Cold Cold Cold," it heavily mixes their brand of manic bravado with sixties rock n’ roll pop whimsy. 

TMIP artfully toes the line between alternative and radio-ready, being much more direct and polished than records past, though this is more a testament to the maturation of Matt Schultz’s lyrical and melodic presence, rather than the involvement of a ubiquitous rock personality. Where previous Auerbach collaborations did fall victim to this (Lana Del Rey), TMIP comes off as entirely a product of the group’s effort.

Tell Me I’m Pretty is also arguably Cage the Elephant’s best recorded album to date, and though it does have variances from what’s become their “sound,” there’s really no reason to fault the band for wanting to expand their sonic catalog. Should they not want to alter the sound and design of previous efforts that left the group frictional and dejected? What Cage the Elephant has created on Tell Me I'm Pretty is an album that will inevitably strengthen the group’s future efforts, rather than being shackled to a particular vibe or genre. It may not shatter with the same chaotic dynamism along the way, but it does manage to be, well, pretty.

King Krule No More, Meet Archy Marshall on 'A New Place 2 Drown'

Zoo Kid, DJ JD Sports, Edgar the Beatmaker, King Krule – all pseudonyms of one Archy Ivan Marshall, who chose to spurn his most recent moniker (King Krule) in exchange for his given name on his most recent release, A New Place 2 Drown.

Before delving into Marshall’s most recent, eponymous effort, it may serve to understand the journey that culminated with ANP2D. A peculiar character, Marshall grew up in a divided working class home in Peckham, England. Marshall attests that he was subjected to “a lot of weird shit during his [childhood].” The combination of divorced parents, “weird shit,” and sleepless nights spent listening to Pixies and the Libertines eventually inspired Marshall to create these “soundscapes.” 

In 2010, Marshall revealed himself to the world as Zoo Kid, with his beguiling baritone and doom jazz guitar riffs on the track “Out Getting Ribs.” Almost immediately, Marshall was (uninspiringly) heralded as an artist far beyond his years, with additional fuel coming under his new moniker, King Krule, and a similarly titled EP in 2011. Shortly thereafter, Marshall released his first official full-length record, 6 Feet Beneath the Moon, in 2013 through XL. The album was met with critical acclaim, as well as lauded by Beyonce and Willow Smith (who covered “Easy Easy” in 2014), then Marshall (and King Krule) effectively disappeared, with the exception the occasional video here and there (“A Lizard State” in 2014).

Keeping with the disparate nature of his music, Marshall’s music and subsequent radio silence were unfamiliar, uncharted, and uncomfortable. Had early success frightened the divergent talent? Or was Marshall’s solitary and uncommunicative nature caused music media to purposefully ignore him?

All theories of Marshall’s activities and practices were ultimately laid to rest in late 2015, when Archy Marshall’s newest effort under his own name, A New Place 2 Drown was (fittingly) announced with little to no enthusiasm from Marshall himself, as well as the an accompanying media book and short film. News trickled out that not only had Marshall begun to explore new art forms, but he had done so with his brother no less, indicating that ANP2D was ultimately a collaborative effort.

In short, ANP2D is an endeavor unfamiliar to typical Archy Marshall/King Krule process – the focus is not necessarily on the music, but rather the literary companion. 208 pages long, the book features artwork, poems, and photographs curated by Marshall’s brother, Jack. Archy attests that the book “is a scrapbook of [his relationship with his brother] and how we see the world.” The film illuminates the aforementioned relationship between the two Marshalls, exploring their creative processes in a bleak slice of life, surrealist lens.

The multi media explorations in the mundane may be Marshall breaking new ground, but the 37 minutes of musical accompaniment is a continuation of King Krule. Marshall’s music has always explored the mundane and the desolate, in service of creating his previously mentioned soundscapes, which ANP2D certainly achieves. Marshall harnesses the lonesome nature of King Krule tracks past, and layers it atop the despondence that from 90’s hip hop.

ANP2D opens with “Any God of Yours,” an instrumental dirge that allows Marshall to impress his honed production growth upon the listener. The growth is a departure from 6 Feet Beneath the Moon, with Marshall altogether spurning the doom jazz/stark-hop sound of Krule for more pure hip-hop. Tracks like “Swell” and “Arise Dear Brother” are almost indiscernible at certain points when it comes to Marhsall’s lyrical presentation, though the mumbled delivery only heightens the soundscape immersion.

The cleanup track “Ammi Ammi” is a melodramatic expression of Marshall’s life in the dingy sides of town, with cool crooning from Jamie Isaac supplanting Marshall on the hooks. “Ammi Ammi” and “Buffed Sky” elevate ANP2D into more distinctive territory, giving glimmers of an overarching theme – something that was obfuscated in previous efforts.

ANP2D serves as the most direct platform of the multi-media myriad into Marshall’s personal exploration and subsequent growth over the past two years, vaguely referencing lessons learned (“Sex With Nobody”) and new production practices (the sleepy 808s on “Eye’s Drift” and “New Builds”), but at certain moments, Marshall gets lost in the soundscape mentality. Closing track “Thames Water” falls victim to the occasional cliché ("girl this place is evil") and some rather curious multi-layered vocal work, eventually segueing into an almost entirely new track. 

It would be a disservice to say that the music of ANP2D is an afterthought, though the accompanying book and short film may indicate that somewhere down the line music may take a back seat to Marshall’s artistic process. Luckily, A New Place 2 Drown offers enough of the genre bending familiarity of King Krule and the new working class grit and grind of Archy Marshall who finds beauty in the mundane, specifically the purposefully mundane work of his brother. ANP2D offers a glimpse into Marshall’s more contemporary perspective and creative outlook, which may prove to be more transcendent as Archy Marshall than King Krule could have ever been.

Troye Sivan Offers Voice to a Generation on Blue Neighbourhood

The YouTube Generation may have finally found its voice, and thank goodness it’s not PewDiePie. Enter Troye Sivan – the twenty-year-old singer/songwriter/actor – who has been in the hearts and minds of millions of YouTube subscribers ever since he came out as gay in an incredibly heartfelt video in 2013.

Fully disclosed and unfettered from public speculation, Sivan released two critically acclaimed and chart topping EPs, Wild andTRXYE. Thanks in large part to the success of the two EPs as well as social bumps from the likes of Taylor Swift (“GO @troyesivan WILD IS STUNNING AND AWESOME…”), Adele (On Sivan covering “Hello” – “I burst into tears”), and Sam Smith (Sivan’s cool timbre “Does things to [his] body.”), Sivan dropped his first full-length release, Blue Neighbourhood, on December 4th, through EMI Music Australia and Capitol.  

Blue Neighbourhood opens with an eponymous carryover from Sivan’s second EP, WILD. A heavy-hitting single masquerading as a leadoff track, “WILD” sounds reminiscent of a Lorde B-side, but with a more vivacious outlook – “Kissing up on fences and up on walls / On the way home / I guess its all working now…” Sivan’s unwrinkled vocals are a product of the upcoming generation of pop stars – minimally touched vocals, surrounded by airtight production allowing for more focus on overall tone versus individual tracks.

“WILD” also kicks off Sivan’s three part music video narrative of the relationship between two young boys as they experience tragedy, discovery, lust, loss, and melancholy throughout their lives. Second track on the album (and video number two), “FOOLS,” is yet another WILD EP holdover, though arguably the strongest of the three older tracks. “FOOLS,” expresses a traumatic realization of falling hard in a relationship, as well as a parallel to Sivan’s newfound fame “I need time to replace what I gave away / My hopes they are high / I must keep them small.”

Blue Neighbourhood is a different sort of debut than that of Sivan’s other pop counterparts. His coming out video in 2013 allowed for his debut to not be overanalyzed with focus on subject matter and who or what certain songs may be addressing. Instead, it allows for Sivan to comment directly and honestly on subjects that concern him the most, such as “HEAVEN,” featuring Betty Who. The track is one of the more ballad-leaning songs on Blue Neighbourhood, which allows it to operate as the true core of the record. It connects to the fundamental struggles of Sivan’s generation, fear of not attaining certain levels of acclaim, success, fulfillment, happiness, etc. In short, it asserts that everyone has enters their own “Blue Neighbourhood” at one point or another. What is a “Blue Neighbourhood” exactly? Sivan never really quite explains, but the YouTube generation anthem assuages any anxiety that his peers may succumb to.

In short, Blue Neighbourhood, is certainly a successful debut (it hopped to No. 1 on iTunes following the launch of its pre-order), but it still runs into pitfalls of exhibiting the extent of his vulnerability in sex on “BITE” and the struggle for normalcy while juggling fame on the predictably named “COOL,” but overall, Sivan shows that he holds more promise than other pop artists with a command of his narrative and voice. While Blue Neighbourhood is solid, and being propelled by millions of young Sivanians (perhaps a bit of a stretch), there is still room for Sivan to expand upon his narratives and mature as an artist and songwriter. 

Freddie Gibbs Brings His Name Into the Limelight on 'Shadow of Doubt'

Not even a year removed from joining forces with 808 doyen Madlib to create one of 2014’s best collaborative efforts, Piñata, rapper Freddie Gibbs has found time to drop two EPs and his most recent full length effort, Shadow of Doubt. One of the more underrated and tireless lyricists on the circuit today, the Gary, Indiana native son has done nothing but further amalgamate his legacy as rap’s most unheralded hero.

Shadow of Doubt is a far cry from the dynamic duet that was Piñata, with Gibbs exchanging Madlib’s singular break beats and samples for multi-producer packaging, spanning the hip-hop spectrum. In turn, the variety allows Gibbs to flex his lyrical musings in an array of fashions – some brimming with machismo (“Forever and a Day”), salty dog syndrome (“Freddie Gordy”), and a possibly self-narrating jilted lover opining over past oblivion (“Careless”). The frenetic emotional energy asserts Gibbs’ ability to separate Shadow of Doubt from any past bodies of work, further cementing the underestimated prowess of his flow.

Gibbs has for some time now been considered one of the more hawkish of his rap compatriots – at times more brute lyrical force than emotional finesse - with such a precedent being torn down by one of Shadow of Doubt’s most powerful tracks, “Insecurities.” Disarming self-awareness laced with an almost regretful tone – “I was ready for whatever, man / I remember I was selling things / I let it go” - allows for Gibbs to present an offertory that is almost unbecoming, had it not been masterfully paced by Gibbs’ classic cadence. 

Another highlight of Shadow of Doubt is the Gibbs’ choice of collaborators. He calls upon his rap contemporaries; take “10 Times,” a more modern approach to hip-hop, ranging from the hazy mediations from Gucci to flipping the of the script to Bay Area legend E-40, who offers one of the more humorous non-Gibb verses on Shadow of Doubt: “Lifestyle, ribbit, ribbit / That’s what I’m going to use when I stick it / She bad, she fat / She gon’ get a ticket / Thicker than a buttermilk biscuit…”

Laughable lyricism aside, Gibbs’ choice to feature grizzled veterans of the game allow not only for the guest MCs to shine, but help heighten Gibbs’ tonal dexterity. “Extradite,” perhaps the album’s strongest feature track, presents Gibbs commenting on the peculiar state of rap and hip-hop, at times jeering at his younger peers’ inability to remain relevant as long as someone of his own caliber. The feature verse, deftly performed by Black Thought of The Roots fame, is the album’s most politically fused, with commentary on recent race tensions and the like, all being juxtaposed by a smooth jazz beat.

Shadow of Doubt is a record that is unlikely to shift cultural dialogue or work its way into the zeitgeist, but that has never been Gibbs’ intentions. Shadow of Doubt acts simply, a rap manifesto of MC’s continual challenges to the rap game, with little to no pushback. If rap has become more emotionally deft, then it has abandoned one of its core principals – lyrical thought to shift the perspective of those who will listen. Modern rap can at times be vapid and sensitive, but not for Gibbs. Shadow of Doubt is an assertion that Gibbs is the only true aggressor who remains in the game.