“Welcome y’all, to the Timbaland and Missy Hit Factory…. A lot of people try to sneak in and get the ingredients…. But I am the man behind the ingredients…. So please, come to me with the recipe baby.”
Timbaland’s resume is pretty impressive; he’s built beats for some of the most important names in hip-hop, R&B, and pop. Anyone who has casually followed popular music for the past 25 years knows this. But no matter what he does, he will forever be linked to the work he did with Missy Elliott, the most dominant, the most influential, and probably the most talented, female MC of… all time? Together, on Missy’s debut Supa Dupa Fly and elsewhere, they constructed a blueprint of collaboration that few have been able to rival. And it seemed fully formed when it arrived, via this album, in 1997.
Missy, for her part, is a chameleonic force on each track, able to bend and mold her voice, whether singing or rapping, to fit the style Timbaland’s futuristic, slippery, and downright funky production required. While Elliott was well on her way to inspiring generations of MCs with her laid-back flow and iconic presentation, Timbaland was gradually crafting a signature sound by making the studio a chemistry lab for eccentricity.
The unmistakable Busta Rhymes opens the proceedings with a classic verse structured around propulsive ad-libs. From there, the next voice we hear is Lil Kim; Missy is building anticipation for her intro with an impressive duo of opening acts. The first time we hear her voice on “Hit ‘Em Wit Da Hee,” she isn’t rapping, but singing, already showing off her dexterity on her debut album, alongside a funky slap-bass sample. The big-beat 90s hip-hop anthem “Sock It 2 Me” is next, in all its horn-hook and plinking piano glory.
The album is a cornucopia of who’s who in mid-90s rap, with features from Da Brat, 702, Ginuwine, Aaliyah and more. The most prominent guest star, of course, is emerging producer Timbaland, who lends his vocals to a few tracks in addition to innovating work behind the boards.
Timbaland was only dipping his toes into the trademark idiosyncratic sonic choices he’s now famous for, but you can hear glimmers on album highlight “The Rain.” The track also acts as our first listen of a rapping Missy, whose laconic flow pairs well with Timbaland’s echo-y ad-libs, bouncing liquid bass, creeping beat, and foundational Ann Peebles single. The song sounds deceptively minimal compared to what Timbaland would create in the future; there’s actually a lot going on behind MIssy’s bars.
We get another futuristic, albeit busier taste, of what Timbaland brings to the album on “Beep Me 911.” Missy’s croon confidently slides around an energetic wave of funky sounds, unfazed by the extraterrestrial madness around her. Popping percussion and gibberish bars are the standouts on “They Don’t Wanna Fuck With Me,” while “Pass Da Blunt” playfully interpolates Musical Youth while Timbaland beat boxes. The duo then brings in Ginuwine for a vocoder-heavy slow jam in “Friendly Skies.”
The pair are perfectly in sync throughout; when Timbaland pivots to soul, Missy leans in with a dynamite singing verse. When he goes off-kilter with skittering beats, Missy brings surreal, humorous bars to fit the vibe. Though sometimes dropping free association verses, the lyrical theme is consistent – Elliott delivers memorable statements on modern womanhood, relationships, and respect.
With Supa Dupa Fly, Missy and Tim concocted a recipe indeed – one that would be attempted several times over. But decades later, there ain’t nothing like the real thing.
Anyone remember when Adrien Brody hosted Saturday Night Live? Perhaps you do if you’re a fan of SNL lore, because Brody was promptly banned from ever hosting again. That’s because Brody decided, when introducing musical guest Sean Paul (an actual Jamaican), to dress and speak in character as a Jamaican, fake dreadlocks and all. (The producers and Lorne Michaels reportedly didn’t know anything about before it happened.) You can find the bit online, I won’t link to it here; it’s an uncomfortable train wreck of a decision that lasts way too long. But the act of white dudes pretending to be Jamaican was not a new thing in 2003. In fact, ten years earlier, the #1 song in the country for seven weeks was basically that. And when Snow’s dancehall reggae hit “Informer” was taking over, Americans didn’t bat an eye.
Perhaps I’m being a little hard on Snow. He wasn’t exactly Iggy Azalea. Even though he was an Irish Canadian, he grew up in an ethnically diverse suburb of Toronto and fell in love with reggae music, freestyling patois to the amusement of his friends. He respected the culture; even years after his fifteen minutes, he was making albums in Jamaica with reggae artists. If not authentic, Snow was at least genuine. He wanted the world to hear this music. He was also a criminal who got into a lot of trouble, which is actually what “Informer” is about. It’s basically a threat to the person who snitched on Snow and sent him to jail.
Of course, no one in America knew that. They couldn’t understand a word Snow was saying, which was part of the novelty, along with how goofy he looked in the music video. Nowadays, dancehall is everywhere in the USA, and it’s not a joke. But patois was not something that was prominent on the Hot 100 in 1993; is it fair to say that this whiteboy one-hit wonder, like Vanilla Ice before him, paved the way for more authentic artists to bring chart dominance to their genre? Would Sean Paul be successful in the US if not for Snow? I don’t actually believe that, because dancehall reggae would have eventually made big moves all over the world with or without the kickstart from Snow’s single hit. The style is upbeat, club-ready, and infectious. And Snow didn’t impact the fact that it’s a predominately Black genre. But the actual effect of “Informer,” particularly on American audiences, is fun to think about.
But, ok. Let’s actually talk about the track. The oft-used “Amen Break” sample does a lot of heavy lifting here – rhythmically speaking, “Informer” is a 90s rap song with dancehall flourishes. But the hook is sticky as shit, and for his part Snow’s rapid-fire patois is impressive. The lyrics, as we’ve mentioned, deal with darker topics than the general upbeat vibe of the song would lead you to believe. The MC Shan verse is… fine. His presence at least gives the song some hip-hop credibility, which it probably needed to break through. As a whole, certain elements of the song have aged well. The general idea probably hasn’t.
So yeah, “Informer” is a prime example of cultural appropriation, something that, even presented as novelty, wouldn’t go over well nowadays. But in the early 90s, the song seemed a bit silly, and that was the appeal. A decade later, dancehall reggae would be a primary sound in American pop music, and it would come from more credible sources. And one source would get big enough to play his biggest hits on a legacy variety show in New York City, with a white host introducing the artist by dressing in an offensive costume and attempting a caricature. Misguided? Sure. Deeply uncomfortable to watch? Definitely. Silly and novel? Not anymore. Genuine enthusiasm? You’d have to ask Adrien Brody. Say what you will about Snow, at least he knew better than to show up in fake dreadlocks.
Score: 6/10
Silk – Freak Me
The short-lived popularity of Silk is actually quite simple – they were contenders for title of the “bad boy” version of Boyz II Men, which is to say, they were less subtle about their sexual intentions. Boyz II Men were the romantic types – “I’ll Make Love To You” is a great example. Silk were the same, but they were dirty talkers. They were more explicit, they wanted to give the play-by-play. They wanna lick you up and down, play with your body, they love the taste of whipped cream. In short, they wanna get freaky with you.
I’m basing this on one song, because I don’t know any other Silk songs. Perhaps this will change one day; maybe I’ll get the itch to dive deep into their discography, but for now, their #1 hit “Freak Me” is the beginning and end of my knowledge of their body of work. They’re probably just a Boyz II Men knock-off with one hit single that was way sexier than the rest of their catalog. That’s very possible, because “Freak Me” is incredibly memorable and it really sticks out. Honestly, “Motownphilly” aside, I might like it more than any Boyz II Men single. And I think that has to do with self-awareness. The modern Boyz II Men have self-awareness about their songs. I’m not sure they did in the 90s, though, and it showed. At least, they didn’t have as much self-awareness as Silk. Because you can’t sing a song like “Freak Me” without it. (It should be noted Keith Sweat co-wrote the song, who was basically the king of 90s slow-tempo sex romps. See “Nobody” for reference.)
I recently wrote about Boyz II Men and how their vocal theatrics and Philly soul chops landed them in the pantheon of top tier R&B groups, but I also wrote about how that sound has devolved into parody. Andy Samberg and Justin Timberlake’s SNL sketches immediately come to mind. The Lonely Island made bank from making fun of this style of 90s R&B. The songs were sexually explicit in a way that is hilarious and ridiculous. But we already knew this was happening. Everyone was already in on the joke. Even Teddy Pendergrass delivered his most dramatic come-ons with a wink. I’d like to think Silk were a little in on the joke, too. “Freak Me” is a jam that sets the mood, and I’m sure it was very effective baby-making music in the early 90s. But on paper, the lyrics are just really funny. Because talking about sex is funny. And I think Silk can have it both ways. They can make an earnest, sexy song that is also cunningly walking the line of self-parody, taking the whole style to its ridiculous extremes.
I’m willing to accept that this is just my projection, as a thirtysomething white guy who analyzes popular music and the culture and conversation around it as a lifelong hobby. A guy who has lived through the rise and fall of Boyz II Men, Silk, Jodeci, H-Town, LSG, and countless other 90s R&B vocal groups. I also witnessed this sound evolve into boy band ballads, and then into a punchline by groups like The Lonely Island. In my mind, Silk already knew this was the logical journey. I listen to “Freak Me” and I hear a group of singers who are in the moment, giving it their very best vocal performance, but who also are taking cues from Pendergrass and Barry White, and recognizing that this is a little silly. That for every couple playing “Freak Me” to warm up in the bedroom, there will be some drunk college student playfully picking the song for karaoke night.
That random person will pick the song because it reminds them of listening to “Freak Me” in the car on the way to school with their mom and feeling very, very uncomfortable. Ok, yeah, this is 100% my projection. But the other reason we remember and love this song, regardless of horniness, or ridiculousness, is because it’s a fucking JAM. “Freak Me” opens with a rhythmic chant that transitions to an instantly unforgettable hook-filled chorus. Even if you don’t remember Silk, you remember “Freak Me,” and I’d argue the lyrics are only partially the reason. The whispered, spoken-word verses are the right combination of sultry and inessential. At one point, you can’t even hear them over the vamping from other members of the group. When the final chorus kicks in, the backing keyboard synths and chimes drop out, leaving only the beat – this is when Silk mean business. In case you didn’t hear it the first time, in case you didn’t get the message. It’s time to get freaked, girl.
Whether they’re in on the joke, whether there was an intended joke to begin with, who cares? Silk were doing god’s work; their hit song made plenty of babies in 1993, and it also made some of us laugh. And when Mom wasn’t in the car, we’d turn the volume up, because that chorus is just too damn good. “Freak Me” may sound like it was made for only one thing, but it has many functions in many settings, and that makes it a freaking great song.
Score: 8/10
Janet Jackson – That’s The Way Love Goes
I have a confession to make – there’s a gap in my Janet Jackson knowledge. I’m very familiar with her iconic, metallic, dance-heavy Control and Rhythm Nation era, and, because I grew up immersed in it, her equally upbeat All For You era. But I was not as familiar with the more erotic janet. era until today, when I heard, for the first time in my life, the lead single from that album. Apparently, it was pretty surprising to hear and see Ms. Jackson, after the abrasive sound of her late-80s work, in a more sexual role, appearing topless on her new album cover and re-introducing herself with an understated, hypnotic, hip-hop based track that contained traces of Sade sensuality and bearing resemblance to Madonna’s erotic hit “Justify My Love.”
The hit song, which stayed at #1 for eight weeks, was an introduction to an edgier, more sultry maturation for the artist and a sharp left turn from her previous work. As a song, it’s a pure mood, but a bit nondescript in terms of memorable melody, and it certainly lacks the punch of the more iconic songs in her catalog. “That’s The Way Love Goes” is a good vibe, but a minor moment compared to the other creations Jackson conjured up with the hitmaking duo of Jimmy Jam and Terry Lewis.
Score: 6/10
NEW MUSIC
Kid Rock – We the People
I don’t know where to begin. At first I thought I would write about Kid Rock’s latest dick-swinging abomination without discussing the politics behind it… you know, just focusing on the song. The musicianship, the instrumentation, the craft, know what I’m sayin? But this “song,” if you wanna call it that, is all about the message. And that message is…. well, actually, I’m not 100% sure. Part of the message seems to be single-minded tropes that we’ve been hearing from the far right ever since Trump lost in 2020. All the dumb shit you expect from your drunk uncle is here: Fuck Fauci, wearing masks is stupid, All Lives Matter, CNN sucks… there’s even a sound byte of “let’s go Brandon” chants at the end. All the fun things people say that make perfect sense if you don’t think about them, even for a second. So about 90% of “We The People” is “us vs. them,” that much is clear. It’s about as subtle as a frying pan to a Biden voter’s face.
But then the song takes a turn; Mr. Rock makes a call to action for “unity” because we “all bleed red.” We need to set sail on a “love boat” and “rock that bitch up and down the coast.” This is all mixed in with the song’s central hook, a chorus of people chanting “let’s go Brandon,” an asinine phrase adopted to signify anything but unity among fellow Americans. Bob Ritchie wants to have his cake and eat it too, probably because he has seen just how far his idiotic message can go (all the way to the Capitol, as we all witnessed on our TVs last January).
Ritchie literally screams his convoluted manifesto alongside an equally dumb combination of heartland rap-rock, a trademark sound for Kid Rock since his “American Bad Ass” days. Think Skynyrd with Bocephus and just a pinch of Beastie Boys cadence (but certainly not ideology) sprinkled on top. The song is busy, with guitar shredding buried behind loud, angry chanting and tirades about how Donald Trump gets called racist too much. This is some tired shit that we’ve heard before, so tired you almost think people would be able to see through it. But as long as there are drunk uncles eating up this dogshit, Kid Rock will be serving it to them in oversized spoonfuls.
Score: 1/10
YUNGBLUD – Fleabag
Give credit where it’s due. YUNGBLUD knows when to switch it up. His bad boy, anti-authoritarian, “sod off” schtick was wearing pretty thin just as the pop-punk revival was revving up. And even though Dominic Harrison (that’s his real name) is known for his camera mugging, Hot Topic fashion, and insane onstage antics, he has only been loosely influenced by the guitar-charged sounds of the 90s and 00s. That changes somewhat on his latest hit single “Fleabag” which directly borrows from apathy-ridden successes like Machine Gun Kelly’s “papercuts” (which for its part directly borrows from Nirvana). More precisely, YUNGBLUD’s newest track sounds identical to something Three Days Grace would have conjured up in their heyday, the type of post-grunge formula that saw big numbers in the first decade of the 21st century.
We may have all heard this before, but it’s likely YUNGBLUD’s (very) young audience hasn’t, and it’s a new approach for the English rocker, who specialized in big bright pop hooks and trap beats before this. It’s clear YUNGBLUD was made for this moment, even if he broke out just a couple years before the sound really took over, and he has wisely chosen to capitalize on it. And for what it is, his contribution is a pretty solid mainstream rock song, with big hooks, pounding drums, and just the right amount of angst.
Score: 6/10
Denzel Curry – Walkin
Curry’s new track gets me all kinds of pumped for 2022. His latest bars show continuing songwriting maturity, alongside a boom-bap beat that transforms halfway through to a slower tempo that hits even harder.
Score: 9/10
Artsick – Ghost of Myself
An effervescent, jangly, and promising indie pop track from this new band out of Oakland.
Score: 7/10
Julmud – Falnukmel
I know little about this artist, or where they’re from, but I’m loving the raps alongside industrial-influenced metallic scraping, akin to something more accessible from Arca.
Score: 7/10
MJ Lenderman – Hangover Game
The opening track from the forthcoming Boat Songs finds Lenderman delivering well-crafted indie pop not unlike the heyday of Matthew Sweet.
Score: 7/10
vein.fm – Fear In Non Fiction
Another monster from vein.fm, this one featuring Geoff Rickly from emo band Thursday, of all people. And it rips.
Score: 8/10
Ex-Void – Churchyard
Former Joanna Gruesome members return with a sound very similar to their previous work, but you won’t find me complaining.
Score: 7/10
Franz Ferdinand – Curious
Nice in theory to have these guys and their back in my queue, though this new single only has faint traces of their peak material, which was unbelievably almost 20 years ago. Still, “Curious” will get your toe tapping, if nothing else.
Score: 6/10
Tove Lo – How Long
Tove Lo’s latest, for the Euphoria soundtrack, is a longing, sharp pop song with just the right amount of foreboding. I haven’t seen the show, or its portrayal of teenage self-destructive excess, but I can imagine this fits well with the vibe.
Score: 7/10
Toro y Moi – Postman
Can’t pretend I’m not a little underwhelmed by this minimal track following the funky fun that was Outer Peace in 2019. Perhaps it will grow on me.
Score: 6/10
Warpaint – Champion
Warpaint return with their minor-key, ominous, neo-psych approach to indie rock. “Champion” is more of the same, which in my opinion is… fine. Doesn’t leave much of an impression.
Score: 5/10
Hyd – Into My Arms
The former PC Music collaborator (aka QT) continues her solo rollout of subversive avant-pop, though the results go down a lot easier than anything AG Cook cooked up. This new one is more in line with the mellow mood of previous track “The Look On Your Face.”
Score: 5/10
Grimes – Shinigami Eyes
This single follows in the footsteps of the club-ready style of Miss Anthropocene, which is fine, but it seems like Grimes is running out of ideas.
Score: 5/10
NOBRO – Bye Bye Baby
A fun shout-along banger from these Canadian punks. Look at the title, you already know the chorus.
Score: 7/10
Two Shell – Home
London’s Two Shell have built a Fucking Great Song, a UK bass banger with pitched-up vocal samples and pure pop accessibility.
Score: 9/10
Widowspeak – While You Wait
I’ve been loving the advance singles from The Jacket – this new swaying bedroom pop number from the Brooklyn-based quartet makes me feel some type of way.
Score: 8/10
Uffie – Dominoes
A bouncy new dance-pop tune from the “Pop the Glock” artist, which sounds like it’d be a fitting addition to your commute playlist.
Score: 7/10
The Smile – The Smoke
The Smile sounds a LOT like Radiohead, which is, of course, a good thing. But it kind of makes me wonder what the rest of the band is doing, and what their current status is?
Score: 7/10
Ducks Ltd. – Sheets of Grey
After a great album last year (Modern Fiction), Ducks LTD. haven’t taken long to jangle their way back into our hearts with this suitable follow-up loosie.
Score: 7/10
Charli XCX w/ Rina Sawayama – Beg For You
After a wave of oddball hyperpop brilliance, it sounds like Charli is going a more straightforward route with her new album Crash. My ears are open, though I don’t find this single as strong as previous ones, particularly “New Shapes.” Also, Rina seems under-utilized here.
Score: 7/10
Saba w/ G Herbo – Survivor’s Guilt
Saba is on fire right now. The Chicago rapper follows up the stellar “Come My Way” with a Kendrick-esque flow, a solid G Herbo feature, and a militant hook on this new one.
Score: 8/10
Alice Glass – Love Is Violence
The obstacles Alice Glass has overcome cannot be understated; I only wish her recent musical output was anything as strong as what came out of those first few Crystal Castles albums.
Score: 5/10
Bloc Party – The Girls Are Fighting
To live in the shadow of an album like Silent Alarm must be exhausting, but after a decent single in “Traps,” this follow-up unfortunately isn’t maintaining the standard, or my weathered expectations.
Score: 4/10
Raveena w/ Vince Staples – Secret
The first of two strong Staples features this week. Raveena delivers another excellent single after the Bollywood-influenced “Rush.” This new track is a little more R&B, but just as flirty.
Score: 7/10
Disclosure & Zedd – You’ve Got To Let Go If You Want To Be Free
Almost a decade after Settle, Disclosure (and Zedd) are on autopilot. This new one is more of the same, which is adequate, though it’s not going to turn any heads, or move many bodies.
Score: 6/10
Viagra Boys – Girls & Boys (Patrik Berger Remix)
This new remix from the deluxe version of Welfare Jazz adds an enticing, creepy element to the band’s unusual, occasionally delightfully obnoxious style.
Score: 7/10
The Cool Kids – It’s Yours Part 2
Don’t call it a comeback. Chuck and Mike have been here for years. And this advance track shows promise for their upcoming project Before Shit Got Weird.
Score: 7/10
ericdoa – sad4whattt
Another one from Euphoria and it’s an outright banger, a further nod in the direction of hyperpop’s biggest names inching toward taking over the zeitgeist. I’m all for it.
Score: 9/10
Kilo Kish & Vince Staples – New Tricks: Art, Aesthetics, And Money
This glitchy track finds Kilo delivering casual bars with Vince providing the hypeman ad-libs. Very effective. Love this one.
Score: 9/10
The Maine – Loved You a Little (w/ Taking Back Sunday & Charlotte Sands)
Two emo mainstays team up with newcomer Charlotte Sands for a pop-punk jam that’s primarily a new Maine song, though Sands, who recently broke out thanks to TikTok, holds her own.
Score: 6/10
The Chainsmokers – High
This is giving me serious Post Malone vibes. Not really in a good way.
Score: 4/10
XXXTENTACION – vice city
Dropped just in time to promote a new documentary at SXSW, this new posthumous track certainly sounds more like a complete statement than anything released after the rapper’s death. But as is the case for most of X’s material, the overall product is unfocused. It’s also hard to imagine the rapper’s contrarian nature approving of this standard boom-bap beat and female vocal melody.
Score: 4/10
Coi Leray – Anxiety
Apparently Leray has faced backlash and bullying on social media based on things other than her music (I think her relationship with Trippie Redd ended poorly, I don’t know the details, fill in the blanks zoomers), but I barely care. “Twininem” was a bop, and this relatable, melodic trap pop single continues her upward momentum.
Score: 7/10
Sueco – Loser
Sueco (fka Sueco the Child, I guess) has hopped on the trend wagon pretty quick, trading in producer tags and trap beats for straight-up trying to sound like Simple Plan. It’s probably great if you were born after 2006. I’m pretty old though, and so is this sound.
Score: 5/10
Amber Mark – One
I was a bit underwhelmed with the overlong, derivative Three Dimensions Deep, but this album opener is a standout, in line with her standout singles from the previous years, like “Competition” and “Trees On Fire.”
To modern ears, at least initially, Tres Hombres probably just sounds like a standard Southern rock album, an eager effort to capitalize on the success of the genre that was beginning to be all the rage in the early 70s. To an extent that’s true – ZZ Top’s third album grabbed hold of the public in a way that their previous efforts did not. But listen closer and you’ll hear something peculiar. Something maybe you can’t put your finger on. That thing is the ZZ Top Of It All, the idiosyncratic tales from Billy Gibbons, the unpolished sound, the supremely fun delivery. It’s a twist on a familiar sound that the trio all but perfected on Tres Hombres.
The lean, half hour album opens with a straight shot of boogie blues on “Waitin’ For the Bus,” which seamlessly segues into another blues rock jam; by this point you might be worried the whole album is going to sound like this, but Gibbons’ raw guitar tone on “Jesus Just Left Chicago” will keep you intrigued. From there, we are driven along a Texas highway via the band’s trademark chugging road trip rhythms on “Beer Drinkers and Hell Raisers.” Later on, things slow down and switch up for the love song “Hot Blue and Righteous.”
There’s a lot of lore among ZZ Top fans (my dad’s favorite band, btw.) Speculation endures regarding whether, in lieu of a pick, Gibbons got his unique, Texas-sized guitar tone from playing with a Mexican peso. Southern rock gives a nod to a lot of things, depending on what band you’ve got on the turntable: Dixieland pride, the joy of making music in the middle of nowhere, the lost desperation of living in the middle of nowhere. ZZ Top were all about mystique and elusiveness; their version of the sound is undeniably Texan, at once boastful, mysterious, rooted in history, familiar yet otherworldly. And like Texans, It can’t be bothered with the other Southern notions; ZZ Top were doing their own thing.
“La Grange,” arguably the band’s signature song, is the best example of this distinct sound, a perfect stew of bouncy blues, erratic drum fills, and barely decipherable lyrics. This song, this style, is paramount to the band’s immortal success; they are a foundational group that dodges pesky things like the passing of time and the rise and fall of surrounding trends. It is why a band so indebted to the blues of B.B. King could influence someone on the other side of the rock spectrum, Steve Albini.
That is the ZZ Top Effect. And it all started with Tres Hombres, a one-two punch of blues, ghost stories, and that trademark Texas charm.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I’d like to introduce… the hi-hat.”
The opening track, lead single, and main event of Raw Like Sushi is “Buffalo Stance,” which is a perfect song. The track is a funky mash of glossy 80s pop and underground hip-hop, an endlessly fun clapback at shady gigolos, and something of a mission statement for Neneh Cherry, a Swedish-born artist who was raised by other artists (and is the half-sister of 90s hitmaker Eagle Eye Cherry). Notably, the album cover features Cherry showing an example of the “buffalo stance,” a mean-mugging pose that, according to her, represented the attitude needed for survival in inner cities.
I intend to give “Buffalo Stance” its own devoted post at some point, so for now I’ll just say I love the song so much I demanded it be played at my wedding. I’ll also say that the song is a hard act to follow, but Cherry is more than ready for the challenge. Raw Like Sushi serves as a voice to marginalized women of color and their male-dominated communities, a refreshing perspective for 80s pop, or any era of pop, really. It’s also an absolute thrill – a head rush of styles and sounds from the world of pop, rap, New Jack Swing, jazz, and other stuff I probably didn’t even catch.
Another excellent single, “Kisses On the Wind” tells the coming-of-age story of a confident woman who learns to control her fate with the men in her life, featuring spoken-word Spanish dialogue throughout and a heavy hip-hop break halfway through. “Inna City Mama,” meanwhile, is deceptively upbeat, with shuffling percussion and hammering piano solos surrounding a treatise on the despair of urban life.
Cherry is dominant and clever in her raps, but also maternal and compassionate; famously, she recorded and promoted the album while pregnant. Alongside dance-heavy bass hits and horn samples, she delivers a message of advice to young women in “The Next Generation.” The carbon-dated 80s production surrounding Cherry may have aged considerably, but the message remains an important one.
“Hearts” shows up a little over halfway thru, a full-on New Jack Swing banger with a schoolyard taunt rap bridge and skittering samples that you won’t find on a Bel Biv Devoe single. Things slow down a bit for the synth-heavy “Phoney Ladies” before kicking back into gear on the Paula Abdul-esque “Outre Risque Locomotive” and the poised closing track “So Here I Come.”
Raw Like Sushi was forward-thinking in 1989 with its melding of genres, and it remains optimistic in its message of female empowerment and assertive display of streetwise swagger. Even in the 21st century, it’s a fun and hopeful body of work. The lyrical realities are vital, but the vibe is club-ready buoyancy. Neneh told you at the beginning: it’s sweetness that she’s thinking of.
It has taken all of my life, but I have finally managed to make time to hear So, the acclaimed 1986 art pop album from former Genesis mastermind-turned worldly solo troubadour Pater Gabriel. The album has always intrigued me, mainly because I love “Sledgehammer,” which was #1 the week I was born and which soundtracks inarguably one of the best music videos of all time. The song is a ton of fun with its horn stabs, bamboo flute intro, and Gabriel’s not-so-cryptic innuendo. The surrounding album itself is immaculately textured, immersed in world music instrumentation and highbrow pop composition, with production by Daniel Lanois. The atmosphere is rich throughout, and there isn’t a skippable song in the bunch.
“Red Rain” features some nice hi-hat work from Stewart Copeland and Gabriel delivering an impassioned statement on the destructive state of our world in a more grisly, gravely register, a particular delivery Dave Matthews would imitate in the next decade. The album smoothly transitions to “Don’t Give Up,” a somber take on rising unemployment featuring guest vocals from fellow audio auteur Kate Bush, who delivers the optimistic rebuttal to Gabriel’s dismay. The song fades with an incredible bass line, then we are rocketed into African rhythms and professional 80s pop sheen courtesy of “That Voice Again.”
Gabriel and Lanois capture a haunting soundscape in “Mercy Street,” perfect for a tribute to the confessional American poet Anne Sexton. The abrupt change in mood to “Big Time” is quite jarring initially, but the single is too fun of a moment to stay in that headspace for long. We’re treated to a satire on yuppies alongside a funk-heavy, bass-led arrangement fit for the topical message. He hit the nail on the head, but many of Gabriel’s quips on consumerism in “Big Time” could easily be applied to the culture of 2022 as well.
“We Do What We’re Told,” meanwhile, serves as a dystopian mantra of sorts that has traces of Pink Floyd’s The Wall, before giving way to Gabriel’s elaboration on the song’s theme of blind obedience. The daring “This Is the Picture (Excellent Birds)” was composed with help from avant-garde visionary Laurie Anderson and features a captivating rhythm that would fit well on the front half of Remain In Light. The album (n its streamable version, at least) closes with Gabriel’s most beautiful work, the massive hit “In Your Eyes,” a flawless realization of the artist’s vision and the album’s focus. The song is a spellbinding mixture of Brazilian rhythm and technologically advanced (for 1986, anyway) Fairlight DMI synths.
With So, Gabriel reached the peak of his commercial and artistic journey – the experimentation and gradual shift to pop songcraft produced what is still regarded as one of the best albums of its era, and Peter Gabriel compromised almost none of his vision to create it. Almost forty years later, it remains an intriguing and rewarding listen.
I was worried we had almost given up on Animal Collective.
After their magnum opus Merriwhether Post Pavilion, which brilliantly melded avant pop (and Panda Bear’s Brian Wilson dalliances) with the experimental side of the band’s previous work, they created a slight misstep: the sharp left turn into inaccessibility, Centipede Hz. After the underrated, but still somewhat underwhelming Painting With, Panda Bear retreated, leaving the remaining members on their own to produce a self-indulgent visual album about coral reefs (Tangerine Reef). They followed this with the inessential film score Crestone. Overall the 2010s were a prolonged journey into the weirder side of their sound. But while that side produced interesting albums earlier in their career, unfortunately in the following decade it had begun to sound like AnCo had lost their way.
I’m happy to report that Time Skiffs reunites the full group for one of the strongest albums of their career, and by far their best since 2009. Animal Collective sound completely rejuvenated and have a more mature, firmer grasp on their strengths individually and as a whole.
Opener “Dragon Slayer” locks the Collective back in step, featuring oddball rhythms, chimes, and sun-soaked harmonies. Those harmonies are even louder and more prominent on “Car Keys,” while lead single “Prester John” is a spaced-out trip in line with the band’s best work. The oddest song on the album, “Strung With Everything,” is a more subdued, toe-tapping approach to the experimental freak-folk tendencies we heard the group perfect in the mid-00s with albums like Feels and Strawberry Jam.
The band’s homage (though not really a musical one) to Scott Walker, aptly titled “Walker” is the album’s most pop-leaning moment, not unlike the band’s most known song, the blissful “My Girls” from Merriwhether Post Pavilion. This is the one that’s gonna make you dance; skittering percussion and a loping bassline accompany energetic xylophone hits and the group’s trademark layers of sunny vocals.
Things get almost outright jazzy on “Cherokee” before transforming into a wave of soaring synths and layered, echo-coated singing. The song is over seven minutes long, but contains none of the noodling that plagued much of Animal Collective’s previous work over the past several years. Things get more melodic and hypnotic on the slow-tempo tune “Passer-by,” while “We Go Back” is a swaying track destined to be a favorite at the band’s live shows.
Time Skiffs is everything longtime, patient AnCo fans were waiting for. The album is never boring, every song is distinct, the forays into ambiance don’t overstay their welcome. Animal Collective do here what they’ve always done best; they strike the right balance between atmosphere and melody, between the challenging and the beautiful. The group has taken a songs-first approach to Time Skiffs, and the result is nothing short of impressive. Who knew Animal Collective still had it in them?
Bizarre Ride kicks off with a jazz interlude, which segues, via record scratching, into the rowdy opener “Oh Shit.” All at once we are introduced to The Pharcyde – a playful, satirical, humorous, rap collective from South Central LA. In the age of gangsta rap, these guys were lowbrow clowns by comparison. But time has treated their debut well – Bizarre Ride and its maximalist melodic layers, lush samples from producer J-Swift, and straight-up funny rhymes sound as fresh as the day the album dropped in the fall of 1992.
Punchlines ensue throughout the album, but let’s be clear: The Pharcyde had something to say. The skit “It’s Jiggaboo Time” is a satirical comment on black caricature, delivered in a fashion only the rambunctious, clever group could bring. “4 Better Or 4 Worse” features big beats and echoing piano lines that remind me of East Coasters A Tribe Called Quest. But the colorful, self-deprecating, and over-the-top lyrics reveal these guys weren’t just copycats from LA. The lyrical dexterity was there, but the Pharcyde went into character in lieu of standing on a soapbox. It was more cartoon than conscious, more Shock G than Q-Tip.
The banter and casual back-and-forth of The Pharcyde is immediately recognizable to younger listeners. Because of my age, they immediately remind me of Jurassic 5, a crew that emerged a few years later (so much so that Jurassic 5 seem shamelessly derivative by comparison). “I’m That Type of Nigga” is a party anthem with carefree charm akin to Slick Rick and Beastie Boys. Fatlip, Slimkid3, Bootie Brown, and Imani trade bars like the Wu Tang without delving into the New York collective’s penchant for street raps. The Pharcyde still have a thesis to convey, but the presentation was more lighthearted than their peers, which was probably why Bizarre Ride II The Pharcyde was only a modest success.
Throughout the album, a sly balancing act between socially conscious rhymes and humorous wordplay is consistent. “Soul Flower” is infectious, from the horn line to a deftly-placed repetitive sample of a woman humming. “On the DL” features incessant record scratching, pleasant piano lines, and background vocals that are reminiscent of vocal R&B groups of the time, like Shai. “Officer” deals with racial profiling by police, and interpolates the style of Public Enemy, from Flava Flav’s hypeman intro to the screeching sound effects. The end result, however, is 100% Pharcyde. Lead single “Ya Mama,” meanwhile is pure comedy, a whole gimmicky song based on, you guessed it, “yo mama” one-liners.
Better, and more successful, is the follow-up single “Passin’ Me By” an immediately recognizable track for even the most casual hip-hop listener. The song deals with each MC commiserating about schoolboy heartbreak. My millennial mind just kept hearing Joe’s “Stutter” the whole time, which heavily interpolated the song years later. Near the end of the album, the full goofy side of The Pharcyde come out in the “Quinton’s On His Way” interlude and the spaced-out weed anthem “Pack the Pipe.” Alternative rap has a tendency to reflect on the past (much like other rigid “alternatives” like alt-country) and the Pharcyde lean toward this on the closer “Return of the B-Boy,” paying homage to the origins of hip-hop and giving notice to “sucker MCs.”
Gangsta rap, at its peak, was about telling sobering tales, evoking masculinity and keeping it real. The Pharcyde, by contrast, were about telling far-fetched stories and keeping it interesting. They didn’t take themselves too seriously, which was not common of rappers in their era. They were a refreshing alternative to the onslaught of mostly humorless G-Funk lyricists.
The Pharcyde never reached the dexterous heights they conjured in their debut. Critical and commercial interest waned with each subsequent release, and slowly the group became a revolving door for members and producers. But when they had their moment, it was a pretty significant one. In the age of The Chronic and Illmatic, The Pharcyde probably sounded pretty… bizarre. But for those who were growing tired of the mean-mugging in rap music, they were likely a breath of fresh air. After the dust had settled, Bizarre Ride II The Pharcyde stands out as one of the best in its lane.
Context is everything. When you’re listening to a landmark album, you have to know the background.
Sure, Big Star’s #1 Record emulates the Byrds and the Beatles. They are kindred spirits with their peers Badfinger. And you can hear faint traces of what they influenced: The Replacements, REM, Tom Petty. The key thing, at least for most people, myself included, is that you’ve already heard all those things before #1 Record. Your brain hears what you heard first. And sometimes it’s hard to parse just exactly how an album influenced others when you heard the later stuff before the classic stuff. It might make you think, “What’s so special? What’s the big deal? This sounds pretty ordinary.”
But the context (which, remember, context is everything) is that nothing else in 1972 sounded like Big Star. They were simultaneously retro and forward-thinking. Power-pop was still in its infancy when #1 Record landed in precious few record stores. While rock was either taking a trip to Laurel Canyon or going full bombastic proto-prog, a group of guys from Memphis were making simple pop with bright melodies and singalong choruses. And the result? Every song shines through as a singular statement, and the album is diverse enough to never lose your attention.
I was surprised, even though I’d never heard the album in full, how I basically knew every song individually at some point in my life. Everything was instantly familiar, either from Big Star themselves or a cover I had heard (example: Cheap Trick’s version of “In the Street” for That 70s Show). The best popular music can evoke that feeling of familiarity, even when it may not be true. Great music can trick your brain.
So many songs on #1 Record do this. “Feel” is a polished, upbeat rocker, while “The Ballad of El Goodo” has an oft-repeated refrain that is sticky enough to rival “Hey Jude.” Speaking of Paul McCartney, his presence is felt on the flawless “Thirteen.”
“Don’t Lie To Me” would fit immaculately in the arena-rock industrial complex that was to come later in the decade, a feel-good, nostalgia-driven, beer-swiggin, shout-along number that reminds me of Free’s “All Right Now,” which, unlike anything Big Star recorded, actually received radio play. “When My Baby’s Beside Me” has a similar feel; it’s like the band conjured up the blueprint for the next decade of rock’n’roll when no one was looking. In one short album, the duo of Chris Bell and Alex Chilton proved they had the goods to rival the songwriting chops of Lennon and McCartney. Chilton brought the best songs, and Bell had the natural knack for sharp production and pristine harmonies.
Even though we’ve heard the influences first, I can’t imagine how a modern listener would be bored with #1 Record. It is a perfect piece of power-pop. Every bit fits, every guitar strum seems obviously placed to maximize the potential for perfection. They make it all sound so simple. But as we know from Big Star’s story, that certainly wasn’t the case, before or after #1 Record.
Actually, maybe context isn’t everything. Because you know a good record when you hear it. It doesn’t matter when it was made. It really doesn’t matter who it influenced. In the moment, when you drop the needle and put on your headphones, all that matters is what you’re hearing. Big Star created 37 minutes of rock’n’roll bliss in 1972. That’s all the background needed to enjoy it, even in the 21st century. #1 Record is ageless.
Like the majority of music fans, I am more familiar with Bleed American, Jimmy Eat World’s breakthrough album from 2001. Their previous effort Clarity, however, is considered very influential, and many claim it was commercially overlooked upon its release in 1999. Having finally heard the effort all the way through, I can attest to the praise: Clarity is a sharp, consistent album with a heavy replay factor.
Before we go any further, I must express my deep-seated bias for energetic pop-punk over the softer emocore. I have dabbled with The Hotelier and Modern Baseball, but I’m a Blue Album guy more than a Pinkerton guy. It’s just in my blood, y’all! But despite my penchant for fast-paced rhythms and chugging power chords, I can appreciate the impact of Clarity, a foundational album that lays the groundwork for an entire subgenre so effectively its imitators have all but rendered its most ingenious elements a cliche.
The album opens with the mellow, introspective “Table For Glasses,” followed by the now-classic single “Lucky Denver Mint.” These two openers set the tone for the rest of Clarity, and Jim Adkins’ and Tom Linton’s vocal harmonies are signature to the unmistakable sound of Jimmy Eat World.
The variety of instrumentation is startling, but not overbearing; this is not a typical guitar-and-drums listen by any stretch. Zach Lind’s electronic percussion programming, particularly on the aforementioned “Mint,” is akin to something a maturing Blink 182 would lift several years later. Lind’s bells and chimes layered throughout bolster the album’s pensive framework, a perfect setting for the existential, sometimes somber lyrics to shine through.
At times, we can hear what was to come: “Your New Aesthetic” features a chugging guitar intro reminiscent of the band’s future blockbuster hit “The Middle.” Unlike that Bleed American single, however, the song isn’t upbeat or optimistic, but rather insular and shoegaze-influenced. But Jimmy Eat World have always been able to tug at the heartstrings, as is clear on the Weezer-esque “Believe What You Want,” sporting screeching guitars and an anthemic chorus. Meanwhile, “A Sunday” is wistful and pensive with just a tinge of outward emotion and melancholy, a style Chris Carrabba of Dashboard Confessional would adopt.
While the arrangements keep us guessing, the mood rarely changes. This hampers the project slightly, as filler starts to creep in near the middle. Thankfully, things pick up near the end with highlight “Just Watch the Fireworks,” featuring violins and other warm instrumentation. The album closes with a series of Clarity’s strongest tracks: fan favorite “For Me This Is Heaven,” the welcome change of pace “Blister,” the riff-heavy title track, and the epic 16-minute “Goodbye Sky Harbor.”
The heart-on-sleeve influence of Clarity cannot be ignored, but the band refined their style and made a better album a couple of years later, one that arrived just in time for them to receive the accolades they deserved. Clarity is Bleed American’s introverted older brother. The latter may have been more outgoing and more popular, but it owes a lot to what came before. In fact, so does all of modern emo.
Rio is considered Duran Duran’s magnum opus, and now that I’ve finally heard it for myself, I wholeheartedly agree. The album is a near-perfect transition from the band’s New Romantic bona fides to the full-on new wave hedonism that was taking hold. When fanatics of this period (read: me) say the 1980s was a great decade for music, we’re talking about shit like this.
Out of the many, many acts that cropped up during this time, Duran Duran probably had one of the more polished approaches to the sound, and their sharp looks and stylish visuals helped them rise to the top of MTV rotation. As is evident throughout Rio, vocalist Simon Le Bon’s confident yelp is paramount to Duran Duran’s distinction from their peers, as are Andy Taylor’s riffs.
But for my money, the backbone of the band is John Taylor’s workmanlike approach. The title track in particular reinforces this, as Rio dances across the Rio Grande to boisterous bass lines, alongside sprinting synths from Nick Rhodes and a sexy sax solo from session player Andy Hamilton. The band knows their way around a hook and an infectious dance beat, as is the case on lead single “My Own Way,” featuring shuffling percussion courtesy of Roger Taylor. (None of the Taylors are related, which is an interesting thing about Duran Duran that doesn’t get talked about nearly enough.)
Then there’s the immortal “Hungry Like the Wolf,” an eternal jam primarily because of that “doo doo doo” hook that carries the verses to infectious heights. The vibe is similar throughout; even deep cuts like “Hold Back the Rain” and “New Religion” are irresistibly danceable jams.
The album is a bit front-loaded, but Side 2 is hardly skippable. The party slows down and draws to a close with the more subdued “Save a Prayer” and “The Chauffeur.” Initially I was disappointed by this change of pace, but these final songs actually function well and mix things up, keeping the listener fairly engaged over nine tracks. What is consistent, however, is the energy; it’s clear the band is having fun, which only adds to the staying power of this classic album. It sounds like 1982, no question, but that’s hardly anything to complain about.
