mad fancy

Justin Bieber, Under the Mistletoe

thadmoore — Mon, 05 Dec 2011 02:54:42 +0000

November 2011 // Island Records

(3 of 10)

Who is Justin Bieber anyway?

On “Under the Mistletoe,” his second studio album, the singer seems to wrestle with that question himself.

Is he still the heartthrob and pseudo-soul mate tween-aged America has become enamored with? Sure, but he also tries his hand as a cool kid rapper, political activist and thinly veiled pro-life advocate.

For his fans, that’s the complexity and dynamism of his personality shining through; for “Under the Mistletoe” listeners, it’s a disjointed – at times awkward – album.

To be clear, this is not a Christmas album so much as a pop album about Christmas, and that’s an important distinction.

Vince Guaraldi Trio’s classic “A Charlie Brown Christmas” is the perfect soundtrack for unwrapping presents on Christmas morning, and “All I Want for Christmas Is You” from Mariah Carey’s soulful “Merry Christmas,” could slip right onto any holiday film’s soundtrack.

But “Under the Mistletoe” lacks any such legacy.

Sure, Bieber performs some holiday classics, and he does so quite well. He sounds near angelic, for example, on his beautiful rendition of “Silent Night.”

Likewise, “The Christmas Song (Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire)” sees him singing with Usher for one of the slower tracks on the album and an enjoyable rendition of the classic song.

But he also puts a dubious twist on others, like “Drummer Boy.”

If the original carol is a soft, tender number, Bieber’s is an overproduced mess, featuring Auto-Tuned vocals and, inexplicably, the singer rapping alongside Busta Rhymes.

In all, it’s a complete diversion from the original lyrics’ meaning and feeling. Take, for example, lines like these, with which Busta Rhymes opens his verse: “At the table with the family, havin’ dinner / Blackberry on our hip and then it gave a little flicker / … Came to realize my homie Bieber hit me on the Twitter.”

So goes the album, which lacks a certain holiday cheer and replaces it with the artificial and commercialized joy you might find in a Christmastime Macy’s commercial.

Of course, Bieber does get into the Christmas spirit, speaking out against poverty, hunger and war.

On “Pray,” a bonus track the artist originally released as a single off his 2010 album “My World Acoustic”, he expresses his concern and optimism regarding some of those problems, singing, “Children are crying / Soldiers are dying / Some people don’t have a home / But I know there’s sunshine behind that rain.”

He likewise raps on “Drummer Boy” that “it’s crazy how some people say, say they don’t care / When there’s people on the street with no food; it’s not fair / It’s about time for you to act merrily / It’s about time for you give to charity.”

The transition to the latter line is unexpected and awkward, but in both instances, his activism of sorts feels simplistic and like a bit of a cop-out. His messages seem more befitting a response in the Miss America pageant than a genuine effort to affect positive change.

Of course, Bieber’s a bit more daring and controversial in his less-than-subtle pro-life line, also in “Pray,” in which he declares that “I pray for the life not started.”

It seems somewhat off-putting to quietly slip in a reference to such a hot-button issue, but at some point, you have to credit him for taking a stand at all.

But Justin Bieber, of course, is not an activist or a fundamentalist so much as he is America’s collective crush and his Beliebers’ elusive lover — and he feeds that desire on “Under the Mistletoe,” as the title suggests.

He’s nearly wistful on “All I Want Is You,” beckoning on “Mistletoe” and longing for “Home This Christmas.” His persona is, after all, how he made his name and garnered such widespread appeal.

But that thread that connects “Under the Mistletoe” to his earlier catalog gives rise to a feeling that this is little more than another pop album — one that’s hardly relevant during the rest of the year.

Washed Out, Within and Without

thadmoore — Wed, 13 Jul 2011 23:23:19 +0000

July 2011 // Sub Pop

(8 of 10)

As published in The Daily Gamecock.

As chillwave was making its way into the fore of the indie music scene in 2009 and early 2010, it was met with a degree of controversy and skepticism. As the genre began in earnest with debut releases by Neon Indian and Toro y Moi and a pair of EPs by Washed Out, fans praised its ’80s nostalgia and laid-back, hazy sound tailor-made for summer. For others, it sounded too repetitive and homogenous to maintain much staying power; it was less a genre than a one-trick pony.

Now in 2011, the challenge for chillwave’s biggest players is to react to those criticisms and give new life to the genre’s fading relevance. On “Underneath the Pine,” Toro y Moi did this by creating an album rife with danceable immediacy that kept little more than remnants of chillwave’s haze.

For his debut full-length album, “Within and Without,” which was released on July 12, Washed Out — the stage name of USC alumnus Ernest Greene — has opted to do the opposite, instead embracing the genre’s aesthetic and adapting it to great effect.

That point is evident as early as the album’s opening notes on “Eyes Be Closed.” That track builds on reverb-heavy synthesizers with a strong bass line, drums, keyboard and Greene’s all-but-indecipherable vocals. That is, it retains many elements from his past work but includes live instrumentation as well. As Washed Out transitions from a solo bedroom- and laptop-based production to a more complete band, they — and “Within and Without” — have taken on a new energy.

Much of this energy is doubtlessly attributable to Greene’s goals for the album. Speaking with The Daily Gamecock before his sold-out show at New Brookland Tavern on July 1, he acknowledged that “the biggest thing with this new album is that coming into it, I knew that I wanted it to sound more ‘live.’” With his live shows a key consideration in the making of “Within and Without,” it’s little surprise how well it can fill a room with its chilled-out ambiance and command it, at times, with an unmistakable energy.

But Greene is also quite effective when he drops into slower, more easygoing rhythms, as on “Soft,” “You and I” and “Within and Without.” In moments such as these, he trades his energy for loving and sensuality, which are hinted at on the album’s less-than-subtle cover art and are themes that permeate the entirety of this record.

In a way, those moments indicate a shift in his work away from pop and immediacy toward reflection and stepping back. On his breakout single “Feel It All Around,” from his 2009 EP “Life of Leisure,” Greene sings: “You feel it all around yourself / You know it’s yours and no one else’s.” “Its” meaning is left ambiguous, but rather than encourage listeners to consider and feel “it,” Greene instead takes the opportunity on “Within and Without” to introspect himself.

Accordingly, this is not an album that will attempt to influence and define the summer as chillwave did in 2009. Instead, it’s much more content to step back and provide an ambiance or a moment of reflection. “Within and Without” may not command your summer, but you’d be hard pressed to find a better accompaniment.

SBTRKT, SKTRKT

thadmoore — Wed, 13 Jul 2011 23:09:26 +0000

July 2011 // Young Turks/XL

(7 of 10)

As published in The Daily Gamecock.

Aaron Jerome, better known by his stage name SBTRKT (pronounced “subtract”), thrives on mystery. In addition to the pseudonym that masks his identity, Jerome performs live wearing a mask modeled on heavy tribal influences, a part of his stage persona that is featured prominently on the cover of his self-titled debut, released on June 28.

His album’s release has benefitted from a surge of publicity following a remix of his single “Wildfire” by rapper Drake in May. Add to that the DJ’s existing remixes of tracks by M.I.A., Gorillaz and Basement Jaxx, and you’ve got hints of possible mainstream appeal. But even as SBTRKT emerges from London’s bass-driven electronica and dance underground, those elements of mystery still shroud him and his music.

It should come as little surprise then that “SBTRKT” is marked by its dark and mysterious vibe. Doubtless its dubstep background inspires moments that are danceable and rife with pop immediacy, as on “Wildfire,” but more often than not, this is an album that ventures into introspection and the emerging genre of post-dubstep.

That introspection focus heavily on hindsight, as Jerome recalls and reflects on his past, in particular his relationships. “Something Goes Right,” for example, bears a title that might suggest a cheerier tone, but listeners will instead hear the artist as he hopes and laments. “I keep on having these conversations / and these bitter thoughts keep on escaping / I wish they were staying, and something would go right,” he sings over an insistent bass line and subdued keyboards. In those lines, Jerome shares his regrets of saying too much and sharing his thoughts too candidly. It’s appropriate, if somewhat ironic, then, just how personal and earnest this album is.

Those attributes of its lyrics combine with its overall sparse sound to bring “SBTRKT” right alongside other post-dubstep releases, including the self-titled debuts of The xx in 2009 and of James Blake earlier this year. Each carries the signifiers of dubstep work, in particular their commanding bass lines, but each also strips the genre down to its most minimalist form, producing tracks that leave listeners plenty of breathing room.

Of those three releases, though, “SBTRKT” likely maintains the most mainstream appeal, as it repeatedly jumps between introspection in the style of James Blake (“Hold On,” “Trials of the Past”) and the dance tendency that otherwise permeates dubstep (“Wildfire,” “Pharaohs”).

The result is a highly dynamic and ultimately inconsistent album: It can be energetic or subdued, dense or sparse, powerful or forgettable. As a result, “SBTRKT” feels like more of a collection of ideas and concepts than a truly cohesive work. Certainly, SBTRKT is an artist worth watching, as his career is only now beginning to take off, and because Jerome has the potential to produce a more fully fleshed-out album that could carry a great of deal of weight. In the fullness of time, “SBTRKT” will likely serve as Jerome’s introduction to the dubstep and electronica scene, not his greatest contribution to it.

The Rosebuds, Loud Planes Fly Low

thadmoore — Fri, 10 Jun 2011 05:14:56 +0000

June 2011 // Merge

(7 of 10)

As published in The Daily Gamecock.

When the members of a musical duo marry, it marks a significant commitment to each other and to their craft. Perhaps, though, Ivan Howard and Kelly Crisp, who comprise Raleigh-based indie rock group The Rosebuds, have topped even that level of commitment.

That is, of course, because their fifth LP, “Loud Planes Fly Low,” released Tuesday, marks the first album following their divorce. It will come as no surprise, then, that this album — marked by its somber, wistful and personal tones — is inspired largely by the emotions and reminiscence involved in the dissolution of marriage.

These attributes give “Loud Planes” a great deal of character and a strong feeling of authenticity, but at times they are also its downfall.

“Cover Ears,” the album’s penultimate track and the source of its title, sees Howard yearning over a memory, presumably with Crisp and with a sign that warns, “Cover ears: loud planes fly low.” The specifics of that experience and its impact on Howard are mostly awash in the sea of ambiguity this record creates. On “Second Bird of Paradise,” for example, Howard sings that “she floats like a bird in the canopy” with a soft, distant tone that matches his vagueness. In a sense, The Rosebuds are so deeply personal here that they leave listeners little to connect with emotionally.

It’s because of this that the album’s biggest impact comes not from the lyrics but their overall feel. And by that test, it is one melancholy affair. Howard’s and Crisp’s vocals mostly vary between distant reflection and emotive intensity, a diversity supported by their vocal ranges and changes in production.

Similarly, The Rosebuds’ instrumentation is usually fairly minimalist — guitar, drums and occasional keyboards — but they don’t avoid flourishes of lush, multi-instrument sections that include everything from a violin and an organ to a xylophone and an accordion. This disparity in production is evident in the divide between the stripped-down and raw “Without a Focus” and the surprising immediacy of “Go Ahead” and “Come Visit Me.”

One negatively striking feature of their sound is how similar their brand of indie rock, with its folk and country influences and pop sensibility, is to other acts.

“Limitless Arms” could slip into Band of Horses’ album “Cease to Begin” nearly seamlessly, while other tracks feel somewhat indebted to artists like Bon Iver, The Antlers, Andrew Bird and The Whitest Boy Alive, among others. Certainly, The Rosebuds are in good company, but somewhere along the line, they begin to feel the slightest bit derivative.

Making this album was almost certainly a cathartic experience for Howard and Crisp, and there’s a degree of risk inherent in that. It can be received either as a relatable catharsis for its listeners or as overly personal and specific to the circumstances that inspired it. Though its subject matter has a great deal of potential for artistic expression, Howard, Crisp and their wistful vagueness have pushed “Loud Planes Fly Low” firmly within that latter category, leaving listeners with an album as emotive as it is detached.

Sweet Vans, I Saw the Best Minds of My Generation Destroyed by Madness

thadmoore — Thu, 24 Mar 2011 17:00:46 +0000

March 2011 // Self-Released

Sweet Vans may be ignorant, but don’t look to them for any semblance of bliss, because really, Columbia’s most purposefully shocking and offensive rap duo spits anything but, and I Saw the Best Minds of My Generation Destroyed by Madness finds them pissed as ever, still trying to convince the world they’re just hard that way.

The record’s—and the band’s—premise in that sense is summarized by the chorus of “Breakin’ Shit (We Do It)”, a call-and-response between a chorus of women and a bleating B-Money and Ginger Snap: “I hear you niggas crash parties / Yeah, we do it / I hear you niggas be breakin’ shit / Yeah, we do it.” Like the band itself, it’s brash, it’s boastful, and it doesn’t really care what you think.

On its own, this sort of shock-based attention grabbing would grow old pretty quickly, but the two often sound innocent enough—until they’re not. It’s a stark contrast, for example, when they sing over violins and strings lines like this on “I Fell in Love with a Jungle Bitch”: “She was a bitch to me / but the titties made me get over it / until the titties didn’t give enough.” In context, it would almost sound sweet if not for the line itself.

That contrast also serves to make the record’s most tame lines its most ‘shocking’ and disarming. After the deluge of ignorance that is “Jungle Bitch,” a line as ironic and mundane as “Do you like my fucking pea coat?” becomes instantly grabbing.

But that’s the beauty, really, of Sweet Vans. It’s so ridiculous and offensive by design that you just can’t ignore it.

On the narrative that is “Alcoholism (I Got It),” for example, rapper B-Money alters his rhythm throughout, pushing the track toward the spoken word and allowing him to drop gems like, “two years later—to this very day—I still think that Steve is a pile of assfuck” about crashing a party or “I don’t talk to her now / So I hope she still smokes / Cause that would improve her chances for cancer” about an ex, all without missing a beat. It’s all laid down so with such deadpan delivery that it’ll turn everything you held sacred on its head.

All of this feeds into Destroyed by Madness’s core irony that ultimately fuels it throughout its run—the irony of their re-purposing Allen Ginsberg’s “Howl”’s infamous opening line in the record’s title, say, or just the general concept of hipsters going hard. Something about it gives the record a certain longevity that allows it to go strong after repeated listening. So while most comedy-rap or similar records have all the staying power of Rebecca Black, this record really doesn’t lose its shock or comedic value all that quickly.

They may not actually be all that ignorant or hard, they’re sure as hell ironic.

Is that hipster enough for you?

I Saw the Best Minds of My Generation Destroyed by Madness is available on Sweet Vans’s Bandcamp.

Toro Y Moi, Underneath the Pine

thadmoore — Tue, 08 Mar 2011 20:54:25 +0000

February 2011 // Carpark

(8 of 10)

When it comes to music, we South Carolinians have something of a penchant for trendsetting. Between Dizzy Gillespie’s jazz compositions, James Brown’s role in the growth of funk and soul, and Hootie and the Blowfish’s twangy rock jams, the state has developed a reputation for producing strong musicians who stay on music’s cutting edge.

Add to that list Chaz Bundick, who released his debut album, Causers of This, last year under his stage name Toro Y Moi, to wide acclaim. That record was marked by a distinct sound that, together with releases from Washed Out, Neon Indian, and Memory Tapes, among others, established the “chillwave” genre that emerged between 2009 and 2010. Causers accordingly contains all the hallmarks of a chillwave album – a laid-back sound, soft and lo-fi vocals that often blend into a broader ambiance, and a sonic haze formed by heavy synth use.

But while Bundick’s debut was certainly well within that sound, he also distinguished himself with danceable, hip-hop inspired beats. Though they’re buried beneath a hazy chillwave aesthetic, that production – especially considered alongside Bundick’s disco/house side project Les Sins – alludes to his dance and pop sensibilities.

With that in mind, Toro Y Moi’s sophomore effort, Underneath the Pine, seems a logical continuation of his past catalog, though it definitely represents a strong shift in his work. The album features apparent influences from jazz, funk, and disco and replaces Causers’s electronic ambiance with the crispness of live instruments.

“New Beat,” Pine’s second track, explodes through “Intro/Chi Chi”’s lofty ambiance with a funk- and disco-driven immediacy, the power of which far outpaces Causers’s production. That track and “Still Sound” in particular benefit from effective use of live keyboard, drum, and bass guitar elements that add a degree of crunch that synthesized instrumentation lacks.

Fans of the chillwave aesthetic, however, won’t necessarily be disappointed. While Bundick’s skill in production has been moved from the background to center stage, this change represents less a fundamentally altered sound and more a role reversal within the old one. That is, while Pine’s mostly uptempo and strong beats have cut through chillwave’s haze, that hazy ambiance is still very much a part of this record. While it’s at it’s heaviest in tracks like “Good Hold,” “Before I’m Done,” and “Light Black,” it still permeates others, including “How I Know” and “Go With You.”

Lyrically, Underneath the Pine is introspective and deeply personal – much like Causers of This. However, where Causers drew its inspiration primarily from one relationship and explored the emotions it evoked, this album explores a broader range of feelings and inspirations, including death (“How I Know”), yearning (“Still Sound”), and relationships (“New Beat,” “Elise”). Its lyrics broaden their scope but do so without losing their deeply personal focus.

For all the much-hyped differences between Underneath the Pine and Bundick’s past work, his two LPs have a great deal in common. Where they differ, Toro Y Moi shows marked improvement and gives Bundick an opportunity to showcase his production skill and overall musicianship, one that he certainly seizes. If anything, their differences reflect a musical dynamism that promises continued success, even as the buzz around the chillwave aesthetic he pioneered begins to fade.

Tennis, Cape Dory

thadmoore — Mon, 28 Feb 2011 06:50:29 +0000

January 2011 // Fat Possum

(5 of 10)

Consider, for a moment, postcards. They’re nice souvenirs, sure, or maybe they’re just a nice way to keep up with friends, but they rarely transcend that feeling of ‘niceness.’ At the end of the day, there’s really not a whole lot there. Sure, the picture’s pretty, and the wish-you-were-here sentiment is sweet, but even so, you get the sense that this note – this encapsulation of an experience – means much more to the sender than it does to the recipient.

This image of the postcard works well for describing the music of husband-and-wife duo Patrick Riley and Alaina Moore, better known as Tennis. The couple exploded across the Internet last summer, propelled by the innocent warmth and summer tones of singles “South Carolina” and “Marathon” and by their unique inspiration – a yearlong sailing sabbatical of sorts spanning the East Coast. All these attributes come together to form Cape Dory, the pair’s debut album, a record as ebullient as it is reminiscent and marked throughout by a distinctly postcard-like tone. So deeply is this feeling engrained that it appears at unlikely times, such as on “Marathon,” a song focused mostly on a day of sailing gone awry. “We didn’t realize / that we had arrived / at high tide, high tide / barely made it out alive,” Moore sweetly remembers over a beach pop aesthetic built on a lo-fi production, a light keyboard, cooing backup vocals, and joyful snapping. Even this darker moment yields to the album’s constant and repetitive summery instrumentation and overarching ambiance. Certainly, that sort of disconnect is an anomaly on Cape Dory, as nearly every other song on the record more purely reflects Tennis’s joyfulness, from the slower tunes (“Bimini Bay,” “Pigeon”) to the pop songs (“Marathon,” “South Carolina”) to more overtly rocking numbers (“Cape Dory,” “Baltimore”).

Repetitive though they are, there’s not anything necessarily wrong with Tennis’s summer anthems, but there’s really nothing particularly great about them either. The closing line of “South Carolina” summarizes Cape Dory well, as it describes “you and me in simplicity.” Accordingly, it’s a simple record, filled with a lo-fi sound, a heavily recycled sonic landscape, and lyrics that alternate between a semi-poetic travel log and saccharine displays of affection. Together, this has a repetitive feel with a distinctly homogenizing effect that diminishes the album’s overall effect on listeners. From the listener’s perspective, this isn’t a particularly ambitious record – it stands as little more than a simple memory of an incredible journey – but while the stories Cape Dory tells may not pack much of a punch to us as outsiders looking in, it’s clear that these songs mean a great deal to Moore and Riley.

Take this album at face value, and enjoy it for what is. As spring begins to push aside winter and all its vestiges, roll down your windows, turn up the volume, and really immerse yourself in Cape Dory. It’s immensely fun and joyful, but beware – the feeling is fleeting.

G-Side, The ONE… COHESIVE

thadmoore — Mon, 17 Jan 2011 16:55:51 +0000

January 2011 // Slow Motion Soundz

(7 of 10)

In “I Come Prepared,” off 2009’s Troubadour, Somali-Canadian rapper K’naan declares, “my job is to write just what I see / So a visual stenographer is what I be.” That goal of conveying one’s reality isn’t often achieved (or even attempted) throughout rap, a status quo manifest in the success of the ubiquitous and superficial songs that dominate popular music today (for example, “No Hands” and “Like a G6,” by Waka Flocka and Far East Movement, respectively, both remain in the top 10 of the Billboard Rap chart more than 4 months after either debuted).

That idea of ‘visual stenography,’ though, is rife within The ONE… COHESIVE, the latest studio album from Huntsville, Alabama rap duo G-side, aka Yung Clova and ST 2 Lettaz. Indeed, the two don’t shy away from their drug- and poverty-riddled past, instead using it as a lens through which they frame their current lives. After they recall “cold nights / no food, no lights,” as on “Came Up,” the bold, defiant tone that permeates the album takes on a new significance. Nowhere is that tone more pronounced than on “Inner Circle,” in which Clova and ST rap over an intense beat built on eerie choral and orchestral samples about the frustrations and difficulties they’ve experienced as they claw their way to success, asserting: “Stop signs everywhere / but I got bad brakes, so I just accelerate / through the ups and downs.” Along with that outward defiance, though, comes an inward aspiration marked by its pragmatism. “Imagine,” the album’s closing track, ends by asking listeners, “Can you imagine success? / Can you imagine failure?” It’s a stark reminder that as G-Side aspire toward success, they remain firmly rooted in reality.

While much of The ONE shines, superficial moments are still found in the album. “Pictures” is a distinctly 21^st-century story about a sexual encounter (‘sexting’ and all), while “Never” achieves a dubious trifecta of sex, drugs, and self-aggrandizement: “I got that blunt smoke / comin’ up out my nostrils / big dick monster / and you can get a mouthful,” says featured rapper Mic Strange.

Perhaps, though, these disappointing moments fit into a larger theme of cohesion, oneness, and ultimately, taking the good with the bad. The ONE strives to act as the flagship record not only of G-Side’s discography but also of Huntsville’s rap scene. It features guest appearances from a great deal of local artists who combine in one collective tone along with exceptional production from regular G-Side collaborators and Huntsville locals Block Beattaz. While Clova and ST share their own realities and aspirations, past and present, they do so as representatives of Huntsville – flaws and all – and ultimately present the realities and aspirations of the city they know so well. You might even call them visual stenographers.

The ONE… COHESIVE is available for purchase – or free streaming – at G-Side’s bandcamp.

Kanye West, My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy

thadmoore — Wed, 22 Dec 2010 07:12:56 +0000

November 2010 // Roc-A-Fella/Def Jam

(10 of 10)

As published in The Daily Gamecock.

Kanye West is a controversial man, to say the least. Over the last half-decade he has embedded himself into popular culture with incident after incident, making few friends along the way (just ask George W. Bush, Taylor Swift or even Matt Lauer). Running alongside his less-than-phenomenal public persona, however, is a music career that time and time again proves to be exceptional. If 2005’s “Late Registration” and 2007’s “Graduation” didn’t have you convinced, perhaps West’s latest effort, “My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy,” released Monday, will do the trick.

“Fantasy” is a deeply introspective journey of an album, as the rapper probes himself, seeking explanations for his flaws and solutions to his problems. Needless to say, after a tumultuous year, he has plenty of material.

Such is the nature of the opening track, “Dark Fantasy,” which features layered synths, keyboards and soaring backup vocals along with questions about superficial escape: “The plan was to drink until the pain was over / but what’s worse, the pain or the hangover?” he asks in his second verse.

Indeed, West seems overwhelmed by guilt and shame about his past. “Runaway” is a nine-minute-long apology that borders on self-abasement, in which West decides, over a staccato piano and heavy bass line, “I think it’s time for us to have a toast / let’s have a toast for the d——-bags.”

On “All of the Lights,” West takes a closer look at his past troubles as he and his star-studded supporting cast of no fewer than 11 featured artists sing and rap over a decidedly optimistic beat.

That tone is paralleled on “Gorgeous,” in which West declares with introspectively lo-fi vocals over a buzzing guitar riff: “This is more than just my road to redemption,” though he recognizes that there are “no more chances if you blow this.”

On “Power,” the album’s first single, he flaunts his penchant both for songwriting and for spot-on production, as he mixes lyrics that both acknowledge and play to his flaws with a fast-paced beat built on eerie backing vocals, strong bass hits and insistent clapping.

“Lost in the World,” the penultimate track, does much the same, masterfully sampling Bon Iver’s “Woods” while exploring the contradictions and paradoxes of West’s life and eschewing superficiality. The album then slips seamlessly into “Who Will Survive in America,” a remix of Gil Scott-Heron’s classic “Comment #1” that leaves listeners by repeatedly asking, “Who will survive in America?”

Ultimately, “My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy” is aptly named indeed. It represents a deeply introspective journey that mixes consistent beauty in production, pervading darkness in its lyrics and the occasional twisted moment (it is, after all, Kanye). Most of all, though, West has created an album that is truly fantastic and that certainly deserves a listen.

Kid CuDi, Man on the Moon II: The Legend of Mr. Rager

thadmoore — Wed, 22 Dec 2010 07:08:13 +0000

November 2010 // GOOD Music/Universal Motown

(5 of 10)

As published in The Daily Gamecock.

Seven months ago, when announcing the title of his latest album, “Man on the Moon II: The Legend of Mr. Rager,” Kid CuDi told readers of his blog that the new album “is dark by nature, and instead of bringing you into my dreams like my first album, im bringing you into my reality. good and bad [sic].” Certainly, “The Legend of Mr. Rager,” released Tuesday, is a personal affair, as defined both by Kid CuDi’s lyrics – encompassing the rapper’s relationship with his family, his personal life, his past cocaine addiction and his current drug use – and by production that is as dark and eerie as it is minimalist.

“Scott Mescudi vs. The World,” the album’s opener, introduces the listener to the rest of the album with mellow vocals, mysterious synths and a welcome to “the World I am ruling / … the wondrous / Clusterf*** of fun and enchantment.”

In “Don’t Play This Song,” which features vocalist Mary J. Blige, CuDi explores that world in more depth, as he finds “pain, hurt, sadness and loneliness” and transforms the song into a “bottomless pit” into which he throws emotions and memories he would rather forget.

Many of those memories are tied to CuDi’s family. In “Mojo So Dope,” rapping over a mellow Choir of Young Believers sample, he reveals tensions with his brother: “Wish I could tell my brother something for some motivation / And get him out that gutter / He’s leaving behind a family and a mother.”

Others, though, are more closely tied to the rapper himself. Singing again with Mary J. Blige in “These Worries,” CuDi acknowledges the worries that burden him: “These worries are heavy, they rest on my shoulders / My pride, it won’t let me / Fall victim no more.”

On a similar note, “Erase Me,” the album’s first single, discusses themes of heartbreak and unrequited love, though it does so over a made-for-radio, pop-rock beat that sounds out of place in the context of the rest of the album.

For all these brooding and dark thoughts, Kid CuDi finds solace in drugs, as nearly every track on the album references them in some form. “REVOFEV” advocates the legalization of marijuana and its use as an escape (“Let go, life does get tough / No need to stress / … Let’s go, I heard they found a solution”). The surreal “Marijuana” is basically a stoner love song, painting a detailed picture of Cudi’s dependence on marijuana: “Pretty green bud all in my blood / Oh I need it.”

Overall, “Man on the Moon II: The Legend of Mr. Rager” is a mixed bag. At times – when it delves into the darkness and emotions within Kid CuDi’s mind – the album soars to excellence. Far too often, however, it comes off as little more than a stoner album, and when it does, it sinks to a corresponding level of stoned mediocrity.