Charli XCX upended the foundation of her artistry three years ago by partnering with the enigmatic SOPHIE to create the 

 EP, a whiplash-inducing collection released to mixed reception because people simply didn’t realize the greatness of what they were listening to. Charli was undeterred; it served as the blueprint for her future works, and began her partnership with artists, producers, and affiliates of PC Music, a U.K.-based record label that seeks to create glitchy, noisy, and sugary sweet pop music as both a love letter to and repudiation of contemporary pop distilled to its purest components. 

 is her long-awaited third album and is a bold synthesis of her experimental vision while sacrificing little in the way of mainstream appeal.

Charli’s third album took many forms over the years, beleaguered by 

pressure from her label, Atlantic Records, and a deluge of leaks

 of songs intended for it. Perhaps mirroring this behavior in a controlled manner, she drip-fed fans a collection of tracks last summer which were certainly infectious bops, even if they didn’t exactly reach the highs present on 2017’s 

. This year’s “Gone,” featuring Christine and the Queens, bucked the trend with the movingly sparse production of A.G. Cook that had the morose pair contemplating why they even bother with public discomfort. It was at precisely this point that I stopped listening to the singles, in equal parts because I wanted to keep the majority of the album a surprise and that I had complete confidence in Charli after listening to it.

Fortunately, this trust was not misplaced, and the album continually surprised and pleased me at its various turns. “Next Level Charli” is a treadmill Charli pushes forward on before crescendoing amidst familiar tags “XCX” and “It’s Charli, baby,” just in case you didn’t realize who you were listening to. The hangover following this track is nicely captured across the next two songs “Gone” and “Cross You Out” with Sky Ferreira, where on the latter the two convince themselves to leave behind the toxic people in their lives, though this track’s equally-sparse production isn’t as well-matched to the song as it is to “Gone.”

Things quickly pick back up with “Click,” an intricately produced absolute banger featuring two previous collaborators of Charli’s: the German pop sensation Kim Petras and Estonian rapper Tommy Cash. Long menacing notes precede Charli’s intro, dripping with swagger, as does her confident verse where she boasts “I’m so 2020, when I wanna go pop/I’ll pop, I got them hits,” indicating her futuristic sound takes precedence over a desire to achieve mainstream appeal. The song’s production gets progressively more industrial as the song continues, before a chaotic outro orchestrated by Dylan Brady of 100 gecs blows the top off the song (and a few speakers in the process).

“Shake It” and “2099” are the other two songs on the album that truly share the same energy as “Click.” The former is an expansive posse cut hosted by Charli on the chorus that features four explosive verses: Big Freedia busts onto the scene and scolds you for “drinking water when you should be drinking alcohol,” and Pabllo Vittar concludes the song with a Brazilian Portuguese verse over thumping drums. “2099,” meanwhile, is somewhat of a misnomer. It virtually jerks the listener into the next millennium with a chorus that hits similarly to how lethargic, overconfident, and blissful, riding on a wave of futuristic and glitchy pop perfection.

Charli’s musical heart may lie in these subversive anthems, but she is adept at showcasing her songwriting versatility on the handful of solo songs on this album. Syrupy synths build “Thoughts,” an almost stream-of-consciousness style song where Charli reflects on the vices and relationships that she consumes and that consume her in her fast-paced lifestyle. On the back-to-back “I Don’t Wanna Know” and “Official,” she alternates between hurt and, on the latter, hopeful of reconciliation with her former lover. The cold “I Don’t Wanna Know” also contrasts heavily with the HAIM-assisted “Warm,” a track with almost a bit of dancehall flavor where Charli implores, “You gotta tell me the reason/Why we can’t fall in love.”“Silver Cross” is an uplifting anthem that, despite ostensibly being about crying all night, has a mainstream appeal that’s vexingly easy to party to.

“Blame It On Your Love,” however, is the weakest song on the album. There exists much confusion between it and “Track 10,” the booming, avant-garde, showstopping and wig-snatching closing track of 

, because “Blame” is the original song to which “10” is the A.G. Cook remix, even though “10” came out two years prior to “Blame.” It’s not her fault, but the 

 version of the song pales in comparison to “Track 10” and is brought down further by a frankly bad Lizzo feature that is over before you know it and clearly written when she and her team thought “Juice” would be her breakout single instead of “Truth Hurts.” Carly Rae Jepsen, herself known for light-hearted bops, could have fit the track much better by dropping a verse a la “Boy Problems” from her sophomore 

, and would be a highly anticipated second collaboration between the two.

In the opener, Charli XCX commands the listener to “turn the volume up in your Prius,” on the surface a cheeky aside to the economic status of Toyota’s hybrid, but actually meaningfully acknowledges the approach that she takes with her music. The average person doesn’t have a Wraith, also referenced in the song, or a “White Mercedes,” but they do have a bedroom and a set of speakers with which to blast Charli’s music. 

 is for the people: her people, her fans that loyally support her unique style of pop, and is a powerful punctuation on her previous works that is hopefully just the beginning of a blossoming new creative chapter.

Charli XCX’s ‘Charli’ is a bold synthesis of her experimental vision

Dreamville/Interscope · September 6, 2019

EARTHGANG members Johnny Venus and Doctur Dot, otherwise individually known as Olu and WowGr8, have been steadily churning out a number of projects seasoned with their distinct flavor of southern hip hop since joining forces 11 years ago. They injected fresh capital and newfound promotional ability into their enterprise by inking a deal with Dreamville two years ago, which led to a trio of mixtapes and an appearance alongside labelmates JID and Cozz, among others, on the intensely collaborative 

 released earlier this summer. Taking back the wheel for their full-length major label debut, 

 is a faithful representation of the raw skill and potential of the rappers whose careers have been elevated through this major milestone.

Over the years Venus and Dot have successfully carved out a lane for themselves, which they have largely accomplished through playful and varied delivery, an arsenal of beats acutely matched to their style, and by drawing heavily to the cultural roots of their hometown of Atlanta. It is no surprise that the group has been compared to the legendary duo Outkast in numerous articles, reviews, and tweets, like one from social media power user YesJulz who 

 that EARTHGANG is “the OutKast of this generation only with two Andre’s.” It does a disservice to both groups to introduce such a sweeping comparison. EARTHGANG is not on Outkast’s level, or most generously not yet. Given that Outkast had released their first five studio albums, each arguably a hip-hop classic, within 11 years, Outkast’s level is likely out of reach.

That being said, while it is overbearing to compare these groups in broad strokes, one can definitely see parallels in the fine brush technique of these artists’ works. 

 opener “LaLa Challenge” has a dramatic breakdown concluding the song that reminded me of Outkast track“B.O.B.,” except I found it rather grating compared to the psychedelic sweetness of Andre and Big Boi. Venus seems to be the more spirited of the duo. He particularly showcases his ability to slow down and speed up his flow just as a car would in bumper-to-bumper traffic, but both employ an irregular cadence as practiced by André 3000.

Despite EARTHGANG’s penchant for eccentric emceeing, some of the more notable songs could be considered the more conventional. A standout in the middle act of the album is “This Side,” where Venus and Dot carefully consider the negative implications of fame over a plucky bassline. The listener is adequately primed for the explosive beat switch and energetic verse from Dot that closes out the song and alludes to the intoxicating nature of fame. The set of introspective tracks that follow return to mellow form and feature the duo exchanging verses where they ruminate on the hardship and paranoias they grew up with.

Most of the final tracks of the album are more melodic and pack most of the album’s features into songs with greater potential for commercial success, though not all meet the mark. Songs like “Trippin” and “Stuck” may find some appeal, but are more forgettable than the songs comprising the first two thirds of the album. “Tequila,” an ode to the alcoholic beverage over Latin horns, bucks the trend and is a tempting exit point for abridged repeated listens with its flavorful beat and excellent T-Pain guest verse. The puzzling decision of incorporating a recurrent scream in the background of the beat for “Top Down” make the strong start imperfect as well. Ultimately a well-put together project, 

 reflects a solid continued output from the Atlanta duo and bodes well for their future projects under the Dreamville partnership.

EARTHGANG’s ‘Mirrorland’ bodes well for future projects

Among those who comprise the star-studded feature list of Kendrick Lamar’s seminal 

, only one artist was asked to drop a guest verse alongside him. In my first introduction to Rapsody, she effortlessly rose to Kendrick’s call and professed on the dreamlike “Complexion (A Zulu Love)” the fullest kind of self-love that people of color, including herself, have struggled practicing in the face of white-centric standards of beauty. By that time she was already an accomplished artist in her own right with two EPs and an album under her belt. Now, 

 presents itself as both a victory lap and only the beginning for the North Carolina-born emcee. The project expands on many of the themes she explored in her “Complexion” verse and previous releases. With a tight focus and intriguing concept, Rapsody continues to prove that she is one of the more compelling hip hop artists in her lane and is showing no signs of slowing down.

, Rapsody takes the name of the prototypical woman and flips the implied analogy on its head by centering the album around influential black women that have inspired her through their courage and unabashed successes in fields like business, music, and sport. Originally seeking to title the record 

ation of black women in America – Rapsody revealed 

 with The Breakfast Club that Queen Latifah prodded her to come up with its more meaningful release title that challenges the ahistorical notions of a white Adam and Eve. By going one step further and naming each track (sans one interlude) after fifteen such women, Rapsody sets up her album with a strong theme before the listener even begins to digest it.

Fortunately, Rapsody ensures her concept for the project does not die in the water by weaving into the DNA of each track a piece of each of the women she seeks to honor. This is manifested by styling her delivery on the tracks after the demeanor of these progenitors, like “Nina” Simone’s steadfastness and “Whoopi” Goldberg’s ever-cool swagger, or by incorporating the life experiences of prolific activists like Myrlie Evers and Sojourner Truth in bars that don’t feel forced or biographical in nature, instead organic in the context of her broader messages and parallels to events of the present day. Indeed, Rapsody’s lyricism is top notch across the entire album, and it is especially commendable how she manages to never let her bars dip past tribute into trite.

As many of the women Rapsody honors engaged in pursuits under the common umbrella of advocacy and activism, 

 could easily have been bloated and repetitive; yet, with Rapsody’s skill as an emcee, she manages to keep things fresh with clever wordplay and sharp delivery that speeds up and slows down as a given track requires. 9th Wonder and Eric G handle the bulk of production on this album, and they do a fine job for the most part, helping Rapsody craft nostalgic, thoughtful, and poignant, soundscapes on “Aaliyah,”, “Maya,” and “Myrlie,” respectively. The three song stretch between “Oprah” and “Serena” feels a bit bare, but sampling GZA’s “Liquid Swords” on a song about fencer and first Muslim woman to represent the United States in a hijab “Ibtihaj” Muhammad, is a stroke of genius creativity on the part of 9th Wonder.

, Rapsody chooses to send her album off with the help of some words from Tupac Shakur – in this case, from his well-known “Keep Ya Head Up,” itself is a tribute to black women, so Tupac probably wouldn’t mind that the track is named after his mother and famed activist “Afeni” Shakur. To match the various pursuits and kinds of lives her inspirations led, Rapsody manages to create a gamut of moods on this album and recruit a range of guest artists like the legendary Queen Latifah, fellow N.C.-native J. Cole, and up-and-coming JID, with whom she shares a humorous back-and-forth quip at the end of the track “Iman.” 

 is great not just due to the fact that on it Rapsody brings increased visibility to a cohort of deserving black icons, but that it is a stellar hip hop album first that simultaneously manages to lift the messages of its namesakes in a fresh way for a new generation.

Rapsody runs this: ‘Eve’ is a masterclass in hip hop

Freddie Gibbs and Madlib caught lightning in a bottle with their 2014 collaborative debut 

, lauded by critics and listeners alike for its rugged authenticity and punchy execution. In the years since, fans have been eager for a second helping from the Gary, Indiana emcee and Oxnard, California rapper-producer who operate together under the alias MadGibbs. Fortunately, 

’s strengths to deliver a project that is on the same level as, if not superior to, its predecessor.

, strangely enough, is an album that almost never got made. Madlib, who purportedly produced all of the instrumentals 

, originally gave the bulk of the beats that would appear on the album to Kanye West for his 

 sessions in 2016. That same year, Freddie Gibbs was arrested in France and later extradited to Austria, alleged to have committed rape and sexual assault. Soon acquitted of all charges, Gibbs wrote the majority of the album while held 

 where he was offered few amenities and had to recall the beats Madlib gave him from memory.

The effect of this harrowing experience on Gibbs is manifested on many of 

’s tracks. He is angry and determined on the venomous pair “Half Manne Half Cocaine” and “Flat Tummy Tea,” making sure his words are heard at all costs. Meanwhile, “Fake Names” and “Situations” are just two of many tracks on this album where Freddie ruminates, in a manner that could almost be confused for remorse, on the cutthroat nature of his illicit business dealings. Like many maturing emcees, he has become a father in recent years, and explores his complex familial relationships on songs like “Practice” and through these lethal juxtaposed bars on “Giannis:” “Every mornin’ I wake up with my daughter, Dora Explorer/Then I get right back to the pot/Kitchen stankin’, that’s potty trainin’.”

Indeed, Gibbs seldom falters lyrically on this album, experimenting with fast and ferocious flows and choosing to share the stage with a select five guest artists, a paltry few in comparison to 

. “Palmolive,” featuring Killer Mike and Pusha T, is a face-melting masterclass in gritty coke rap from the three emcees. Listeners may recall the sample for “Education” also being used on “Bonjour” from Nas’s 2018 full-length 

, but Kanye and co.’s lighthearted interpretation of the source contrasts heavily with Madlib’s menacing flip on which Yasiin Bey, formerly known as Mos Def, and Black Thought of Blackstar fame omit choruses and assist Gibbs in a scathing commentary on societal injustice.

 would only be a half-complete project without Madlib’s legendary production, drawing samples from Bollywood and soul music alike to assemble an impressive foundation for the record. Beat switches are plentiful and illustrate not only Madlib’s skill as a producer for blending disparate sounds, but Freddie’s ability to turn his flow on a dime. This is perhaps best exemplified on “Fake Names” where laid-back bars over a brooding saxophone make way for curt triplets atop a flute, right in the middle of his verse. The fact that the album was produced on an iPad is no weakness here, as Madlib’s intricate soundscape slowly reveals itself to the listener upon multiple listens, especially through a decent pair of headphones. The album-encompassing warm, low fidelity mix is reminiscent of Madlib’s earlier work on his 2006 

 anthologies and handily adds to the grimy aesthetic without detracting from the sound quality. The most glaring misstep is perhaps the selection of bookending skits, since hearing the Cussing Pastor’s morning sermon can become grating after the tenth listen due to his gratuitous cursing and rather vacuous message. Other skits, like the charming but questionably appropriate text-to-speech robotic narrator with a thick Japanese accent at the end of “Fake Names,” add a certain calm before the storm seen in songs like the blistering “Flat Tummy Tea.”

Gibbs poses the following question before the beat kicks in on standout track “Palmolive:” “It should speak for itself, you know what I mean?” By employing a no-frills approach and delivering razor sharp lyricism atop best-in-class production, MadGibbs’ work here certainly does speak for itself. With 

, the pair have shown that lightning can indeed strike in the same place twice, and once again offer a compelling candidate for album of the year.

On ‘Bandana,’ Freddie Gibbs and Madlib do what they do best

As the album progresses, it becomes evident that despite his group members’ absence, it is still a Migos album through and through.

 is the most recent release in a string of albums that feature the members of Atlanta trap trio Migos branching out into independence. After their breakout #1 single ‘Bad and Boujee’ from the warmly received 

, they have wasted no time attempting to replicate their success and, in the process, have saturated the market with their style of music by releasing some of the longest albums to come out in recent memory. Takeoff, who usually has a less prominent role compared to fellow members Quavo and Offset, seizes the pilot’s seat here to lead a project that does not have much, if anything, to offer over an album with the full trio.

 begins with a skit narrating a launch sequence in the opener ‘Martian – Intro.’ It raises eyebrows, and a few questions, given the album’s title and Takeoff’s own pen name. Is he exploring new territory for the Migos by laying down elements for a concept album? Soon enough, we receive our answer in the form of a resounding negation. A couple of skits bookending the album and a NASA bar or two throughout are about the most that it offers, leaving an attempt that is clumsily executed at best and downright confusing at worst since by the end it’s easy to forget that the album opened with this “theme” in the first place.

As the album progresses, it becomes evident that despite his group members’ absence, (save for an unlisted Quavo feature on ‘She Gon Wink’) it is still a Migos album through and through. The subject matter rarely deviates beyond the group’s standard repertoire of material possessions, drugs, and women, such that each chorus of the first five songs straight could reasonably be exchanged for one another. Takeoff switches things up on the sixth track, ‘I Remember,’ but with it he begins a streak of songs with highly repetitive choruses that almost makes you wish he’d go back to the formula of the first five since hearing eight bars, an entire half verse, of the track’s name on repeat is even less interesting.

Old ad-libs and bars about smoking cookie that we’ve already heard on countless songs detract from the album where no innovation is presented on top of them. The opening to the third track ‘None To Me’ gives the hopeful impression that Takeoff might dwell on a different topic – perhaps how his newfound material possessions mean nothing to him in comparison to maintaining the relationships he forged during the years when he was coming up. Instead, on the sole verse he brags about how he can buy any car he wants to and manages to pack in an entire two bars talking about how he can’t explain the way a particular Rolex feels to wear. Many songs feature this simple chorus-verse-chorus structure, which if utilized well would entice the listener back in the future, but here simply relieves the listener of having to sit through the same song for too long.

, ‘Infatuation,’ reveals the album’s main issue as featured artist Dayytona Fox manages to steal the show with just a passable contribution consisting of him crooning over retro, synth-laden production. Quite simply, Takeoff is not able to generate enough interest by himself to make even this 38-minute project exciting. He is an effective foil on a Migos album due to his stern delivery and lyrically dense bars that contrast Quavo’s and Offset’s styles, but here they become monotonous and a chore to listen to. Die-hard Migos fans may be able to find some tracks here to enjoy if not for any reason other than Takeoff presents more music that follows the same formula they already love. Ultimately, however, 

Takeoff releases solo effort ‘The Last Rocket’

“You are now about to witness the strength of street knowledge.”

Dr. Dre’s opening words on N.W.A.’s debut is a proclamation that bites just as hard today as it did thirty years ago. Hip hop had just hit its teen years: DJ Kool Herc’s seminal 1973 block party was already fifteen years in the rearview mirror; Rakim had just permanently raised the bar with 

, featuring extensive use of innovative rhyme schemes that put his lyricism lightyears ahead of his contemporaries’; and on the other side of the country, a group of five hailing from Compton were poised to release a documentary that described their experiences and exploits in explicit detail. Indeed, one of the first albums required to feature a Parental Advisory sticker emblazoned on its cover, 

proved to be both vicious and visceral in its unapologetic execution.

The album’s production is laced with hard-hitting drums, shrieking vinyl scratches, and liberal use of a dazzling array of samples carefully curated and flipped by Dr. Dre and DJ Yella. Some tracks sound a little empty today, but each features rattling percussion underneath sharp lyricism. Ice Cube has unquenchable anger, MC Ren’s collectedness drips through his verses, and Eazy-E’s cold-blooded delivery makes his threats sound more like sure chronicles of previous escapades. The former two penned most of the lyrics on 

, leaving Eazy the odd man out. His contribution was capital and publishing through his label Ruthless Records, a collaborative pursuit with the opportunistic Jerry Heller which resulted in quick resentment among N.W.A.’s members, leading to the untimely splintering of the group.

Past the album’s title track, iconic anthem ‘Fuck Tha Police,’ and smooth Charles Wright flip ‘Express Yourself,’ no other songs have ingrained themselves in the cultural consciousness – but perhaps no others have needed to. This is not to say other songs aren’t notable. Sure, MC Ren’s scheming solo track ‘If It Ain’t Ruff’ might not generate much excitement, but it’s immediately followed by ‘Parental Discretion Iz Advised,’ a whopping posse cut where the group’s four emcees trade verses with a little help from The D.O.C. ‘Something 2 Dance 2’ is certainly the odd one out on 

due to the electro-hop influence of one-time group member Arabian Prince – he’s the sixth man on the cover who left N.W.A. shortly before 

’s release, in case you were wondering – but ‘Gangsta Gangsta’ is more the album’s speed with provocative lyrics from Eazy and Ren matched by all the funk bells and whistles you could want.

More notable is the storm of controversy the album generated upon release that ensured its instant infamy. 

launched the group into unrelenting scrutiny, something which immediately cemented the album’s legacy. Beyond just that, iconic whistles reflect its proto-G-funk style that Dr. Dre would go on to perfect with 1992’s 

. Ice Cube’s skill with the pen handily translated to various solo efforts and even the silver screen, allowing him to pump out cult classics like 

with ease. In his last days he managed to mend ties with his former group members, but Eazy-E’s untimely death put a full stop on his solo career punctuated by the venomous 1993 

, featuring no shortage of attacks towards his then-adversaries. While MC Ren and DJ Yella were not as able to catalyze N.W.A.’s success into solo careers, it would be a profound mistake to disregard their contributions to the album since they played just as large a part in its success as did its other members. No less at the center of everyone’s attention during the release of their biopic in 2015 than they were in 1988, the phenomenon that is N.W.A.’s 

stands as a venerable hip hop classic and cultural cornerstone to this day.

N.W.A’s ‘Straight Outta Compton’ turns 30

1st and 15th Productions · September 21st, 2018

While we will never know how Lupe’s career might have unfolded under a different record label, we do know that an independent Lupe can still reliably deliver his fans a great product.

Lupe Fiasco has had a tumultuous relationship with his former label Atlantic Records, to say the least. After largely stripping him of creative autonomy following his sophomore release 

, he was forced to indefinitely shelve a planned triple-disc retirement album in favor of 

Food & Liquor II: The Great American Rap Album Pt. 1

, generally regarded as his weakest bodies of work. Free from the grips of a major label, 

is Lupe’s seventh full-length album and his first as an independent artist. On it, we see the Chicago emcee at his most comfortable, exploring a new grandiose theme with slick lyricism while still managing to bring some new things to the table.

over the past year, Lupe revealed that the inspiration for its title comes from his myth of 

– captive slaves thrown overboard that escaped death and continued purposeful lives both on the sea floor and elsewhere. He has woven this mythos by incorporating stories from his two first releases and dissects it over the front half of the album where each track builds on the one previous. The story begins with the punchy ‘Manilla,’ laying ground by rooting modern-day materialism with the currency for which African slaves were traded. He continues with ‘Gold vs the Right Things to Do,’ an oral history with Jamaican patois flavor, which leads into the expansive ‘WAV Files,’ performed from the perspective of The LongChains and peppered with more instances of wordplay than there are droplets of water in the Atlantic Ocean.

Lupe manages to keep things fresh by experimenting with his flow and delivery on the front half. It’s most notable on the album’s first proper track ‘Drogas,’ performed entirely in Spanish atop a fiery beat. His mythos gains weight on the syrupy ‘Down,’ where he readily connects the plight of The LongChains to the modern-day struggles of those affected by Katrina – poignantly linked by the flooding of New Orleans leaving its residents literally underwater – and Native Americans, another race of peoples subjugated in the New World. Acknowledging the tendency for those at the bottom of society to be ignored, whether underwater or under socioeconomic burden, through The LongChains he seeks to amplify their struggle.

After an interlude, the album becomes loosely connected by the overarching 

, how both drugs and human nature result in the tendency for ruin. It is a collection of tracks that, regrettably, makes 

the latest casualty of the trend of nearly two-hour long albums. Here, however, the album suffers because tight beats paired with clever lyrics form the blueprint for songs that are still good on their own yet become overshadowed by standout cuts like ‘Jonylah Forever,’ ‘Stack That Cheese,’ ‘King Nas,’ and ‘Quotations from Chairman Fred.’ I can’t listen to ‘Stack That Cheese,’ a lighthearted reprise of his powerful ballad ‘Hip-Hop Saved My Life,’ without a stupid grin on my face. Meanwhile, ‘Jonylah Forever’ showcases Lupe’s incredible storytelling skill as he takes us through the life the six-month old Jonylah Watkins, killed in a drive-by shooting, could have had if she had lived.

At one point, Lupe advertised his post-2015 output as a trio of albums. Perhaps he should have stuck with that plan, as a split 

would both be made stronger by concision. Nevertheless, past its daunting presentation, 

comfortable rests among Lupe’s finer releases. While there was something truly special in the way an early Lupe was able to masterfully craft bars and navigate the pockets of any beat with unyielding precision, he has, for the most part, yet to lose his touch. On ‘Imagine,’ he remembers the relationship he had with his former label – curiously tying himself in with The LongChains who also wrestled with the Atlantic – and explains that they sought to permanently withhold his fifth studio album from release until hackers threatened to leak it. While we will never know how Lupe’s career might have unfolded under a different record label, we do know that an independent Lupe can still reliably deliver his fans a great product.

Lupe Fiasco strikes a new path with ‘DROGAS WAVE’

, Travis has crafted a worthy spiritual successor to his debut 

 and a thoroughly enjoyable album in its own right.

Having first teased what would become his third album over two years ago, Travis Scott has finally released his highly anticipated 

. It’s named for Six Flags AstroWorld, a former staple of Scott’s hometown of Houston until it was shuttered in 2005. His stated goal for the record was to explore the feeling of having an element as integral to one’s childhood as AstroWorld was to his permanently taken away. Not only is the album is packed with references to his hometown, but Travis also manages to impart that fleeting emotion to the listener. With 

The opener, ‘Stargazing,’ quickly provides us a microcosm of the rest of the album. A sparse, dark beat gives way to a familiar Travis Scott melody, which is immediately followed by a pitched-up cry for help, readily mixing old with the new. However, disagreements arise arguing how much familiarity is too much: While Travis utilizes recognizable ad-libs and flows on 

, it would be a disservice to the album to assert that they negate the notable fresh elements he incorporates. Inorganic beat switches manufacture a dynamic backbone on several tracks and nearly every feature is utilized excellently. On the whiplash-inducing ‘Sicko Mode,’ Drake adds a tantalizing opener and the penultimate verse. Kid Cudi’s contributions to standout ‘Stop Trying To Be God’ solely consist of hums, but it’s strangely acceptable amid James Blake and Stevie Wonder on harmonica coming together to form this haunting rumination on checking one’s ego.

Travis pulls in plenty of love for his city by collaborating with Houston artists like Wonder and showing respect for legends who preceded him. The utterly smooth ‘R.I.P. Screw,’ pays respects to the late pioneering Houston DJ, while ‘Houstonfornication’ features a contemplative Travis over distorted keys and rumbling bass. Don Toliver’s distinct voice adds another hometown collaboration to the album on ‘Can’t Say,’ nestled amid the stretch of the shortest songs on 

 – ‘NC-17’ through ‘Who? What?’ – where we find Travis throwing sonic concepts at the wall. These songs contrast against the album’s more cohesive first half, where the brooding tracks complement one another well. Take exceptional ‘Skeletons,’ which features a brief but welcome appearance from The Weeknd accenting Kevin Parker’s excellent psychedelic production. Parker, better known as the frontman of Tame Impala, has said he hopes to release another album under the Tame Impala name before next June – could his presence here indicate future collaborations between Parker and other rappers on this as-of-yet unannounced project?

Travis, now a father, expectedly references his girlfriend, Kylie Jenner, and daughter on this release. These mentions are sparse beyond ‘Stargazing,’ where he chillingly attributes his daughter’s presence in his life as a catalyst for self-reform. This is rather disappointing given the album’s potential for a broader attempt at an exploration of maturity, but is mitigated by the closer ‘Coffee Bean,’ which features loose rapping reminiscent of Kanye West’s on ‘30 Hours’ over laid-back Nineteen85 production. It’s a rare glimpse into Scott’s personal life and it works well, even if his overall treatment of his fatherhood mirrors Drake’s approach on 

On the third track, Travis boasts, “Who put this shit together? I’m the glue.” He certifies this assertion by pairing top-notch production with great contributions from him and a cast of features that even pick up the slack from Travis should he falter. To those that dismiss him for his rapping ability, he reminds them that since 

 he hasn’t billed himself as a top lyricist. Rather, he plays to different strengths and with 

 has successfully crafted an impressive album that will be appreciated by many for a long time to come.

Daniel Paskowski