Jamie xx - Good Times (feat. Young Thug and Popcaan)
Reverential club nostalgia is the thread tying together the last year of Jamie xx tracks, but it’s always countered by a calm, clear understanding of where we are right now. The gap between the then and the now is smaller than ever on "I Know There’s Gonna Be (Good Times)", the latest and, on paper, strangest offering from his first solo LP. Where other tracks reminisce on the glory days of rave, or even those of his band, Jamie described the song's inspiration as a drive from Manhattan to Brooklyn with Hot 97 blasting, a moment that could have been yesterday, or hours ago.pagebreak
There’s no better freeze-frame of where we are now: not just in terms of the instant-onset nostalgia that social media prompts, but in terms of Young Thug, the most “now” artist we’ve got. (I already expect that, looking back on the music of 2015 a decade from now, Thugger’s “dork!” adlib will be the first bit to bubble into my consciousness.) “Good Times” is the best presentation of Thug’s pop appeal since “Lifestyle”, over snappy steel drum synths that Jamie thankfully didn’t leave back in 2011. And braided around the soul sample is Popcaan, who made last year’s best dancehall album*and who,*like Thugger, has never let a famous mentor keep him from throwing time-tested rules out the window.
Too often, these world-beating fusion attempts seem to exist more because they can than because they should, but this grouping feels particularly thoughtful (as supported by the far inferior, Popcaan-less early leak). Thug, who is Haitian, has been incorporating abstractions of Afro-Caribbean music into his own for years—on “Haiti Slang” and “Jamaican Slang” more literally, but in the ghosts of dancehall in his half-sung delivery, too. Here, though, Thug reframes the wistful romance of his ultimate pop ballad, “Keep In Touch”; but where that song had him clinging to a fading, temporary love, here he giddily awaits the, err, “stroller rides” of the near future. After all the love letters to the past, “Good Times” looks optimistically ahead, **** a FOMO: “I know there’s gonna be good times.”
Travis Scott - Oh My Dis Side (feat, Quavo)
"Oh My Dis Side" featuring Quavo is a perfectly balanced track. In the beginning it's hard-hitting and menacing and in the second half it's the lighter side of this. Breaking the song into two sides is a pretty clever approach to getting the point of the song across.
Miguel - Simplethings
While the still-ascendent Miguel has the chops to craft gleaming pop, the rougher-hewn, riffier textures of songs like "Do You" and "***** is Mine" is where he's distanced himself from others. In the R&B landscape filled with Suits &/or Ties, Miguel is the fringy-leather-jacket-bedecked flower child. The chugging rock song "Simplethings" is probably his finest foray into this territory yet, bouncing Miguel's emotionally charged vocals with some tower of power guitar chug. "I just want the simple things," he screams. "I just want you!" Don't be an asshole. Give Miguel your heart.
Drake - Hotline Bling
The lyrics are not the story—this is an old-model Drake song, the pre-If You're Reading This Drake who plucks women's cell phones out of bags to scroll through numbers and concern-trolls them about how they're "wearing less and going out more." But the bump and shuffle of the beat, muted and intimate, is gorgeous and aching. It could be Timmy Thomas' "Why Can’t We Live Together", or it could be Shuggie Otis' "Aht Uh Mi Hed". Either way, it sounds like a candlelit dinner in an attic. Stripped to its husk, it could be a rewrite of the Police’s "Roxanne"—another halting, aching song about a guy who was probably a little too concerned about you, girl
Justin Bieber - What Do You Mean
"What Do You Mean?," which follows Bieber's surprise hit and is positioned as his huge comeback bid, synthesizes the positive components of "Where Are U Now" and presents something warmer and friendlier, but no less nuanced or impressive. Opening with dramatic piano keys and ticking woodblock percussion, the single guides the listener through a safari of rhythms and synth hooks but remains unafraid to pivot back to the minimalism of the starting position. The electronic iciness of the "Where Are U Now" hook has been swapped out with a lush groove, while the arrangement smartly avoids the maximalism of his past productions but still has a high-enough BPM to inspire movement.
Favourite Albums
Drake and Future - What A Time To Be Alive
Although What a Time has quickly garnered unfair comparisons to Watch the Throne, way before it was even released to the general public, unlike Jay Z and Kanye West neither Drake nor Future sounds like they’re trying to jump over each other to get to the microphone. Instead, each rapper here gives the other plenty of room to think clearly, breathe easy, lay down crisp verses, deliver hooks for mantras, which ultimately outlines a final product with enough structural variety to keep the listener engaged despite being recorded in less than week. Jay Z and Kanye? Well, they almost couldn’t complete Watch the Throne, having been at each others throats during the year-long recording sessions. And at forty minutes, What a Time offers just enough time for both Drake and Future to get some things off of their chest: “When I was sleepin’ on the floor you should’a seen how they treat me,” Future laminates on “Digital Dash”; “Back in the city, **** is getting brutal,” Drake reflects on his hometown on “30 for 30 Freestyle”. “This **** shouldn’t’a never happened,” Future proclaims in a video previewing What a Time, and it’s summer’s end with Mercury apparently being in retrograde, too. That’s an awful lot to deal with, so it makes all the more sense for these artists to expunge their internal conflicts together in order to move forward.
Jeremih - Late Nights
There is almost no continuity between this album and Jeremih's last, 2010's paint-by-numbers All About You. With its dim-lit crackle and delicate suggestions of beats, Late Nights' only real predecessor is his 2012 mixtape of the same title—one he released for free against the guidance of Def Jam, who seemed unwilling to give Jeremih the benefit of the doubt. To be fair, no one could have seen it coming: impeccably produced, subtle, and hot as ****, it showed Jeremih like no one had seen before. Parts of Late Nights, the album, feel like direct continuations of that tape's sound: third single "Oui" builds on the delicate doo-wop of "Rosa Acosta" like a gently-traced impression of a Terius Nash creation. But then the bottom drops out, and Jeremih slips into a momentary interpolation of Shai's "If I Ever Fall in Love". It's easy to see what draws him to the 1992 hit: a wisp of a backdrop, over which the quartet's harmonies defy gravity.
But Late Nights' most stunning moments take the mixtape's best ideas and strip them down further than seemed possible. "Pass Dat" is little more than suggestive synth echo and bass tremor; "Woosah" rations percussion like there was a drought, sustaining itself off muted finger-snaps and the flick of a lighter. More than ever, Jeremih—who taught himself the drums at three years old—has learned to use his own voice as a rhythmic element, redefining the idea of "flow" for the R&B set. It's the logical reverse of the direction rap's been moving in for most of the 2010s, blurring rapped and sung delivery to indistinguishability; on "Drank", he skips nimbly from rap-inspired staccato to half-chanted dancehall melodies, the R&B equivalent of Young Thug's "Stoner".*Late Nights' most overt hip-hop crossovers ("Giv No ****s", "Royalty") feel less essential, but to watch Jeremih approach rap and R&B's midpoint from the opposite direction as rhythmic innovators like Future, Migos, and Twista is a fascinating study in contrasts.
It feels like poetic justice that the high point of Late Nights—an album about patience, space, the agonizing tease of perfectionism—is saved for its final track. Over nothing more than an acoustic guitar, Jeremih yawns blearily at his beachside paradise, kind of faded, the only one still awake. He pops some Tylenol, revisits the preceding night's debauchery, smiles. "Sooooo ****in' wasted," he harmonizes like a delinquent angel choir.*It's a derelict canticle, a lullaby for the perpetually hungover, a deep breath. It took him long enough to get here, and he's going to savor the moment for as long as he possibly can, in the little universe he's carved out because the industry didn't have space for him. Late Nights, in its subtle seduction, feels all the more special in an era that increasingly rewards artists who shout the loudest. Jeremih makes you shut everything else out so that you can hear him whisper in your ear. It was worth the wait.
Drake - If You’re Reading This Its Too Late
If You’re Reading This arouses many unanswered questions on a business front, but where it truly delivers is giving Drake room to breathe outside of the lumbering commercialism of his retail albums. There’s little in the way of obvious singles here, (though the Ibiza bop "Preach" might find a chart by accident). Instead we get a spectral late-night longing not unlike that of So Far Gone touchstones "Lust for Life" and "Successful". The pre-fame queasiness of early Drake is now the loneliness of a distrustful despot. On "10 Bands" he’s holed up in a home studio for weeks pushing himself to create ("Drapes closed, I don’t know what time it is/ I’m still awake, I gotta shine this year"). "Know Yourself" celebrates the thrill of mobbing through a city that’s his for the taking, but even in joy there’s a note of tension and the ever-present possibility of actual danger. ("I ain’t rock my jewelry, and that’s on purpose/ ****** want my spot and don’t deserve it.") Success creates as many problems as it solves.
Music is the real joy for Drake, and If You’re Reading This It’s Too Late is best enjoyed as an exercise in the casual excellence of the artist as rhymer and purveyor of hooks. The vocals are often just vampy flow experiments, but at their best these verses exhibit the weightless exhilaration of a technician at work. Drake’s never more formidable than when he’s shadowboxing, and at its flashiest, If You’re Reading This It’s Too Late feels like his Rocky run. Inspired by gauntlet tosses from adversaries high and low, Drake uses the mixtape to toast and taunt a rogue’s gallery of industry frenemies. For Diddy, who reportedly punched him over ownership of the beat for "0 to 100/The Catch Up": "Real quick, man, you couldn’t’ve hated that/ Let’s be real, *****, you couldn’t’ve made it that." For disgruntled labelmate Tyga, who insulted Drake in a Vibe magazine feature: "You need to act your age and not your girl’s age." For friend-turned-rival Kendrick Lamar: "They gon’ say your name on them airwaves/ They gon hit you after like it’s only rap."
Kendrick Lamar - To Pimp A Butterfly
Lamar’s new album, To Pimp a Butterfly,*doesn’t explicitly bill itself as a movie like good kid, m.A.A.d city*did, but the network of interlocking dramas explored here feels filmic nonetheless, and a variety of characters appear across the album’s expanse. The opener, "Wesley’s Theory", turns the downfall of action-star-turned-convicted-tax-dodger Wesley Snipes into a kind of Faustian parable.*Snoop drops by on "Institutionalized"; Dre himself phones in on "Wesley". The mood is wry, theatrical, chaotic, ironic, and mournful, often all at once: On "For Free? (Interlude)" an impatient woman ticks off a laundry list of material demands before Kendrick snaps back that "This dick ain’t free!" and thunders through a history of black oppression, spoken-word style, as if to say, "This money you crave, it’s blood money."*The album is dotted with surreal grace notes, like a parable: God appears in the guise of a homeless man in "How Much a Dollar Cost", and closer "Mortal Man" ends on a lengthy, unnerving fever-dream interview with the ghost of 2Pac.
The music, meanwhile, follows a long line of genre-busting freakouts (The Roots’ Phrenology, Common’s Electric Circus, Q-Tip’s Kamaal the Abstract, André 3000’s The Love Below) in kicking at the confines of rap music presentation. There’s half a jazz band present at all times; pianist Robert Glasper, producer/sax player Terrace Martin and bass wizard Thundercat give Butterfly a loose, fluid undertow every bit as tempestuous and unpredictable as the army of flows at Kendrick’s disposal. The rapper’s branching out, too, exploding into spastic slam poetry on "For Free?", switching from shouty gymnastics to drunken sobs on "u" and even effecting the lilt of a caring mother on "You Ain’t Gotta Lie (Momma Said)". It turns out Kendrick’s new direction was every direction at once.
Future - Dirty Sprite 2
This isn’t an album that giddily champions substance abuse as a rock star trait, as his Future Hendrix persona once may have. Reckless drug talk and boilerplate trap themes are undercut by incessant bitterness, loathing, and nausea. "God blessing all the trap ******" is more than just a shout-out to people who grew up like he did, it’s a sincere plea. "I know the devil is real," he promises on "Blood on the Money", one of the album’s most stunning productions, somehow austere and baroque at the same damn time. Future thumbs through blood-stained bills, reminded of the life from which he ascended but can’t ever really escape, as much as he may have tried.
Donnie Trumpet and The Social Experiment - Surf
Chance the Rapper's success allowed the group the space to take such a purposefully meandering approach.*In the wake of his hugely successful sophomore tape Acid Rap, Chance ignored the industry's baits and lures. Freed from its constraints and pressures, with a devoted flock waiting eagerly behind him, he's directed his time and energy to his friends. So as you may have heard, this album does not belong to Chance the Rapper, but to Donnie Trumpet and the Social Experiment (that's Nico Segal and Peter "Cottontale" Wilkins, Nate Fox, Greg "Stix" Landfair Jr., and Chancelor Bennett himself). The group has extraordinary range, and thanks to time on the road as Chance's touring band, the chops to execute. But whatever the name on the packaging, this project does belong to Chance the Rapper: He is still the album's main draw, and despite the number of guests and the cover art billing, its guiding spirit feels reflective of his own ideas and values—albeit in a less intensive, less personal form than on Acid Rap.
Donnie Trumpet, though, is our official headliner, and as such, the album intermittently features his horn's impressionistic interludes. On "Nothing Came to Me" and "Something Came to Me", his smeared, effects-laden playing recalls Don Ellis or Jon Hassell. But Donnie Trumpet also makes his presence known throughout the record, punctuating the marching band-meets-MJ dancefloor record "Slip Slide", or taking a fiery solo on "Just Wait". The overall sonic blueprint coheres gradually, as a diverse range of records bundle up a diverse range of sounds: say, a Bone Thugs-style harmony ("Just Wait"), a Rick James-style funk groove ("Wanna Be Cool"), or an "American Boy"-style disco record ("Go").
Despite the variety of influences and ideas, the vision coheres in the details: use of space, rhythmic variation, creative whimsy, a musicality that feels consciously shaped to convey levity, comfort, and freedom. Certain tracks feel more like frames without pictures, melted sandcastles rather than the fully functioning parapets of actual songs. In some sense, the constellation of sounds isn't far from a DJ mix. Think, maybe, of the beachfront party eclecticism of the Avalanches as produced by the Mizell Brothers and Kirk Franklin, heavily featuring the Art Ensemble of Chicago's Lester Bowie.
But these pieces are linked in large part by the quirks of Chance's personality. And these quirks can sometimes be divisive. It's hard to imagine anyone could be mad at Chance: as rap stars go, he appears about as decent and well-adjusted as a person can possibly be. But he boldly and unapologetically embraces aesthetics that, historically, aren't fashionable, or are seen as uncool:*the affected staginess of musical theater, the lyrical pretensions of slam poetry, a nostalgia not just for the memories of childhood, but the very feelings of childhood innocence. His debut project 10 Day*stood out so starkly in its innocence, it was easy to see it as unconscious naivete; now, it seems quite purposeful, a point Chance makes explicit on "Wanna Be Cool", a song featuring Big Sean and KYLE with vocals from Jeremih. The record's message of self-love in the face of social pressure, and the fruitlessness of cool-chasing, aren't merely "Hip to Be Square" updates for 2015, but represents Chance's wider philosophical approach.
Fetty Wap - Fetty Wap
With Fetty Wap, released through the tech-savvy but still-transitional 300 Entertainment imprint, the rappa-turnt-sanga finally has the platform to show he's more than a singles guy. To that end, he put out a 20-song album with no new friends and no big-name producers—in short, this is the album he probably would have made with his RGF Productions squad in Paterson were there no label involved at all. Those looking for a new direction from Fetty, or who've already mined the depths of his prolific SoundCloud, may find this a letdown. But those who've embraced his loyalty and radical self-love should be delighted: Is there a more quintessentially Fetty Wap move than turning the year's biggest major label rap debut into a self-directed Paterson block party?
The first thing you might notice on Fetty Wap's tracklist isn't what's there—if you've kept up with his output over the last year and a half, there's a lot you'll recognize here—but who isn't. Drake's*hastily added guest verse to*"My Way"*from earlier this year is missing; the album version features a verse from Remy Boyz' Monty, who appears on nine of the album's 20 tracks, the only guest aside from relatively unknown M80. As a whole, Fetty Wap adopts the same self-assured stance: Fetty's formula definitely ain't broke, and he doesn't seem in a hurry to fix it. In what can only be described as a flex, he opens the album with "Trap Queen", a seemingly audacious move he knows full well he can back up. Why coyly tease out your first and biggest hit when you've got 19 more just like it?
That's the thing: you could shuffle these tracks endlessly and the album would probably have the same effect. It's not that there are any missteps here, really; if you like what you've already heard from Fetty, you'll like these songs. There are variations, to be sure—second single "679" borrows some West Coast bounce, functioning as a clubby palate cleanser in the way that "Fight Night" did for Migos. "I Wonder" and "Boomin" successfully skulk into drill's shadowy corners. But for the most part, Fetty doesn't venture too far outside his comfort zone.
Still, when the highs are this high, it's hard to complain. "My Way" is still 2015's ultimate trap lullaby, lilting in hypnotic spirals. "RGF Island" turns somber keys into a hard-earned celebration, and "I'm Straight" dials the exuberance further up with triumphant steel drums. And though he's a much more natural singer, "Again" is Fetty's best rap performance. "I'm tryna finish who I started with/ I'm tryna spend it all who I got it with," he crows, reassuring his fed-up trap queen that his crazy life will all be worth it when they can enjoy it together. Fetty approaches everything in his music with the earnest devotion of matrimony: his trap queen, his money, his beloved Remy Boyz. So though it's tempting to wonder what may have happened had 300 recruited labelmates Young Thug or Quavo, or beatmakers du jour like Metro Boomin or Zaytoven, it's only right Fetty insisted on keeping things in the 1738 family.
Artist to Watch:
GoldLink
On*GoldLink's*2014 debut mixtape The God Complex,*the then-20-year-old rapper nailed a difficult balance: soft sounds, hard rhymes. The music—an uptempo mixture of house music and hip-hop signifiers (GoldLink coined the term*"future bounce" for it)—offset lyrics full of hypermasculine, purposefully exaggerated sexual boasts and street-savvy narratives. There was something indescribable about hearing the high-voiced rapper spit something like "Dick to the face, might choke" 0ver bubbly champagne synths, and the tape caught on, along with its signature hit "Ay Ay". The Washington, D.C. rapper toured alongside Mac Miller, as well as electronic producers like*SBTRKT*and*Kaytranada. He even caught the attention of Def Jam founder/music visionary*Rick Rubin, who has served as a mentor for his debut album,*And After That, We Didn't Talk.
And After That, We Didn't Talk is not a significant sonic departure from Link's previous work, but it carries more thematic*weight. The album concerns a relationship and subsequent breakup he had when he was 16, but telling a six-year-old story also leaves the door open for very selective memory. The woman in question remains nameless throughout the album, and though he freely talks about a "Que" (with whom she was cheating on Link), an "Allan" (a likely previous boyfriend), and sprinkles other biographical notes, the bigger picture of why this moment and this person matter so much to Link that he dedicated his first studio album to her is often missing.
Instead, And After That communicates GoldLink's state of mind. He is reflective on the opening track, "After You Left", hopeful on "Zipporah", with its gospel chant bridge, "Lord, Lord, I need your help, Lord." The following three songs ("Dark Skin Women", "Spectrum", and "Dance on Me") best encapsulate his hip-hop/dance hybrid sound, and find Link returning to the sexual braggadocio of The God Complex, which is often where he finds the most joy as a writer (listen to his very vivid description of cunnilingus on "Dance on Me").
Toward the album's end, Link ventures into R&B and, at times, completely abandons rapping. He sings about his obsessive love on "Palm Trees", and while it's still unclear why he's obsessed, his pained vocals make you believe. The same emotion comes through on "Polarized" when he sings, "Go down South to Atlanta with your sister and/ I'll fly you myself, if I have to." In that song, all we learn about the subject is that she's a 5'7" model, but Link is convincing enough as a communicator to make up for the lyrical gaps.
I hated Hotline Bling at first but right now is one of my most played songs on my iPod
Bieber was a nice surprise this year! His latest music has been good
Thank you so much for all the positive comments, it is all much appreciated. Tomorrow (Dec. 31st) i will unveil my favourite album and song. I cannot wait to share it with you. If I wasn't afraid of being sued, i would share 'ANTi' and my favourite song off that album. But yeah that's not happening.
Please also share some of your favourite songs, or link me to your Best Of Pages.
The renewed critical interest in soul and R&B music that sprung up around the rise of Miguel, Frank Ocean, and the like over the last four years has helped award some much-deserved prestige on the form after years of undue neglect, but the push broke as much as it fixed. The music commands more respect now, but the accolades are disproportionately showered on a boy’s club of talented, offbeat songwriters circuitously linked together under the banner of "alternative R&B" by little else than the fact they all had very good albums out the same year. "Alt-R&B" isn’t just circuitous, though; it’s not real. Cordoning off and lionizing an alternative quadrant of R&B dismisses gifted but traditional singers like K. Michelle as plebeian, and worse, it carries the subtle insinuation that this music can’t be—and hasn’t always been—delightfully weird.
California soul collective the Internet frequently weather the alternative R&B tag, but hopefully their new album Ego Death will help shake the descriptor. It made sense around the group’s 2011 debut Purple Naked Ladies, a quiet collaboration between Odd Future affiliates Syd tha Kyd and Jet Age of Tomorrow architect Matt Martians. On Purple, Syd stepped out of her role as Odd Future’s house engineer into that of singer-songwriter for a batch of quirky, sometimes-crass tunes about the peaks and pitfalls of love and sex. Since then, Syd and Matt have expanded the project into a fully functional band. While the arrangements grew more accomplished between Purple and 2013’s Feel Good, the songwriting lagged, sultry and intimate, if, at times, not much else. Syd comes into her own as a writer on Ego Death, and the band steps up and reins Feel Good’s jazz-chords-for-jazz-chords’-sake extravagance into tight, hooky hip-hop soul.
Ego Death is both spare and quietly musical, its crisp low end anchored in hip-hop as the rest of the band coolly branches out into jazz, funk, and rock. Think of it as an offspring of early neo-soul pillars like Groove Theory and Maxwell’s Urban Hang Suite, bedroomy but also lush and progressive. Ego Death is leagues too studiously retro to fit anyone’s idea of "alternative," but it’s still plenty odd. These songs frequently take hard, unexpected turns: Opener "Get Away" is a tribal bass and percussion stomp in the verses (twice as sinister live) but gossamer and pretty around the choruses. "Gabby"’s hip-hop strut melts into a psychedelic waltz-timed coda adorned with pretty, wordless melodies from Janelle Monáe. "Girl", the album’s Kaytranada-assisted centerpiece, hangs spectral keys over thick, heavy bass until the groove trails off into a spacey interlude. Ego Death’s short cuts get straight to the point, while the longer ones tease out instrumental sections without coming apart at the seams.
The economic, purposeful instrumentation clears ample room to showcase Syd’s writing, and she’s got a war story here for every stage of love and loss: "Special Affair" and "Go With It" are horned-up player’s anthems ("**** what’s in your phone, I wanna take you home."), while "Get Away" and "Under Control" beg a suspicious lover to stop nagging about girls she’s not cheating with. "Girl" is the big syrupy cohabitation ballad, the song couples will hug and sway through at the live show, but "Partners in Crime Part Three" raises the stakes, testing our duo’s mettle with a Thelma & Louise police chase. Syd taunts an old flame on "Just Sayin/I Tried", chanting "You f*cked up," but ultimately coming to peace with the break because she did everything in her power to stop it. Parsing Syd’s lyrics can feel like eavesdropping on a lover’s quarrel in a restaurant; she’s adept at tackling complex matters of the heart in a voice that’s both relatable and conversational. The Internet’s songs have always felt like scenes of salaciousness happening just out of earshot. Ego Death finally pulls us into the maelstrom.
Great perspective on the state of current R&B music and the use of the alternative R&B label. The genre is without a doubt constantly evolving
The Internet really did deliver an excellent album with Ego Death. I feel like there's a lot of interesting material coming out of the LA area in general right now and Ego Death is one of the best of the best.
Fantastic song choice also
This has been my favorite Best Of. Thank you for hosting, I had a great time reading through your observations and opinions.
Great perspective on the state of current R&B music and the use of the alternative R&B label. The genre is without a doubt constantly evolving
The Internet really did deliver an excellent album with Ego Death. I feel like there's a lot of interesting material coming out of the LA area in general right now and Ego Death is one of the best of the best.
Fantastic song choice also
This has been my favorite Best Of. Thank you for hosting, I had a great time reading through your observations and opinions.
Happy New Year.
Thanks you so much for all the kind comments and all the views. Happy new year to you too