2010 Rerun: Wake Up! - John Legend & The Roots

Here it is, the first of the Record Rerun series.  Beginning with 2010, I'll be moving backwards, picking an album from every year.

It could be a little tricky to predict that an album less than 2 years old will be one I listen to for years to come.  2010 was a decent year for music, but I have to admit, this decision wasn’t so difficult for me.  Although there were a fair amount of stand-out albums - Sufjan, Kanye, Janelle Monae, Erykah Badu, Beyonce, Cee-Lo, Arcade Fire and The Black Keys, to name a few – still, Wake Up! was a relatively quick pick.  It did help that I’ve written about a few of the albums above already.  But ultimately, this gospel-saturated collaboration between John Legend and The Roots (and a few other guests) gives off the sense that it intends not only to be a great album of its year, but an all-time classic.

In 2010, I so anticipated this record.  I love John Legend's voice and style, but am often let down by his actual song choices, so I was stoked for him to work with The Roots on some soul covers.  I picked it up immediately, and was not disappointed.  The animated cover art is beautiful, and the music is even better.  I suggest a relatively high volume for your ideal listening experiece.  Speaking of, if you want to listen along, here's the soundcloud link: http://soundcloud.com/billboard/sets/wake-up-john-legend-and-the-roots

“Hard Times” kicks off the album with some brief reflection time, as ?uestlove gives us some cymbal love, and John Legend freestyles a bit before the beat drops.  And when it does, it drops hard.  Nearly every beat is accented by something, whether it’s the drums, horns, or bass.  It's a full song, with a lot of anger-release potential, showing off just how tight The Roots can be.

“Compared to What” settles into a groove, without ever letting go of the drive already established.  As it fades out, piano runs and tambourines give us a decidedly philly-style introduction to the title track, “Wake Up Everybody”.  The duet features Melanie Fiona, who sounds best when harmonizing with Legend, but I am probably biased.  Common also makes an appearance, which is also just fine with me.  I feel like it would be a good idea for him to collaborate with John Legend more in the future.  The call to “Wake Up” continues into “Our Generation”, with the punchy response of, “let’s straighten it out”.  The invitation to accept responsibility and make things better is refreshing, and the baritone saxophone doesn't hurt either.

“Little Ghetto Boy” – first the prelude, which comes across more as a spoken word over piano and drums, and then the song – begin Side B of the record.  The song flows seamlessly, and kicks in with Black Thought rapping over a progression led by an organ.  These two related tracks represent what this album is all about: optimism in the face of pain and suffering.  Never does “Little Ghetto Boy” excuse the kid to spiral – he's expected to grow up and change his situation – but neither does it minimize the difficulty that his situation presents.  Like in “Our Generation”, a the choral response is repeated, but instead of an imperative, a different kind of hope is offered: “everything has got to get better”.

I somehow always miss the next song on Wake Up!  Even when I intentionally listen to it, by the time “Humanity” drops its reggae feel, and talking “about love the way it should be…” and I forget all about “Hang In There”.  Both songs offer optimistic hope and encouragement, and feel laid-back, which you should enjoy before you're taken to church on Side C & D of the vinyls.  

“Wholly Holy” is a song I would legitimately love to hear in a church.  On this record that calls us to not only believe, but act towards making our world more live-able, it makes sense that the spiritual overtones would be given some explicit reference.

I have a sneaky suspicion that “I Can’t Write Left Handed” was The Roots' favourite song to record.  Legend opens it up with some preamble, recognizing that, “war is always hell.  It always will and it always has been”, before launching into to this beautiful soul-folk song, telling the story of a man shot in the arm.  This song is long, builds slowly, and is performed in every imaginable collection of dynamics.  John Legend shows what he’s made of, as he repeats a lot of the story several times, yet every time brings the lyrics alongside a deep-seated emotion and soul.

One last time, I flip the vinyl over for the shortest Side of the record.  “I Wish I Knew How It Would Feel to be Free”, and “Shine” complete the song cycle, by moving the focus not just to ourselves, but letting stifled voices heard.  You should probably listen to Nina Simone doing “I Wish I Knew…” as well, because she is the bomb.  "Shine" works almost as a benediction, or a modern day version of "This Little Light of Mine".  While we move out to Wake Up the world around us, and make it better, "Shine" reminds us not to write anyone off, and let them shine on.

It is so easy to complain about everything and anything, but this album inspires hope in a way that few have the confidence to do.  Happy listening, and I'll try to be quick with posting my 2009 rerun.  Peace out.

The Score - The Fugees, 1996

As I continue to reflect on the past year, I love to remember great concerts.  I had the great privilege of seeing the magnificent Ms. Hill at the Commodore – it may no longer have bouncy floors, but it’s still my favorite Vancouver venue - last spring.  The best surprise of the night – after discovering it was her birthday and having the crowd burst into song for her – was L. Boogie’s presentation of material from The Score.  She did a total of 5 songs from the album and owned everything.  Regardless of whether verses were originally spat by Wyclef or Pras, she would authoritatively rap every bit of the song at nearly double speed.  The songs lost some of their groove this way – the familiar rap felt a little less melodic than I was used to - and yet it had a new kind of forceful power. 

Anyway, this is not a concert blog, but seeing Lauryn Hill in 2011 brought her work with Fugees back into my regular playlists over the past several months, and most recently I even made The Score my alarm CD to wake up to.  At Lauryn's show, I was reminded not only how deeply Miseducation shaped and spoke to my adolescent self, but how her role in the Fugees introduced me a world of socially conscious rap.  Not that I would have called it that in Jr. High, but even in 1996 I could tell The Score was different than Snoop’s Doggy Style.   

Suprisingly, it was never Lauryn alone that made The Fugees attractive to a 13 year old white girl from the burbs.  Wyclef Jean allows his sense of humor shine through even the most serious verse, giving a sense of playfulness in “Fu-Gee-La” especially.  Pras sounds like a man with a lot of anger, but is too stoned to do anything about it.  Together they made a loveable trio, who though clearly intelligent, never lost their ability to have a good time.  When I bought the album, I had only heard the two radio-played covers: “Killing Me Softly” and “No Woman No Cry”.  Although hearing Ms. Hill sing the Roberta Flack tune would alter whatever actions I had been in the middle of, it was Wyclef’s guitar and vocals on the Bob Marley cover that drew the money out of my pocket. 

At the time, I didn’t know much about these refugees (other than having loved Lauryn Hill's performance in Sister Act II), but soon the first half of the album would open up my understanding of what music could be.  “How Many Mics”, “Ready Or Not”, and “Zealots” quickly became my favorite 13ish minutes.  To this day, I love how the three MCs share the songs; No one gets more mic time than anyone else, even though there are admittedly “too many MC’s, not enough mics”.  References are thick and plenty, whether it’s to Marcus Garvey or Corey Hart, and rhymes are effortlessly smooth.  Choruses are crooned, and I momentarily forget that this isn’t a classic R&B album.  Momentarily until “Ready or Not” reminds us, which is home to my favorite Lauryn line ever: “So while you imitating Al Capone, I’ll be Nina Simone and defecating on your microphone.”  Ok, one of my favorites.  She’s got a lot (oh yeah).  ;)

It took me some time to appreciate “The Beast”, even though I loved to imitate the beastly-noises that Wyclef makes.  I don't think, at the time, that I picked up on the comic-feel of this song, even though it's constantly referencing super heroes and sci-fi characters. Now when I listen to this frustration rant against greed and corruption in government and policing.
  

Like Miseducation, most songs on The Score are punctuated by spoken scenes emphasizing the down-to-earth style of the Fugees.  "The Beast" is followed by possibly the oddest and funniest sketch, set in a Chinese restaurant that is "like burger king, have it your way".  

At a younger age, both “The Mask” and “Cowboys” always felt awkward to me.  “The Mask” is one of my favorites now because it is positively brilliant, showing off the Fugees ability to use extended metaphor.  Cowboys is also an example of this, although lacking in groove. “Cowboys” allows the three MCs to have some fun with the plethora of Western clichés and cowboy media references.  It’s a bringing together of Reggae and Country in a way that I can stomach, and on top of it, critiquing drug culture.  Fave line: “F*** the Sheriff, I shot John Wayne”.   LOVE it. 

Fu-Gee-Las (the original and the three remixes provided) never get old to me.  Sometimes I'll plan to skip one of the versions, but it’s hard – they’re each unique enough to require a listen.  Actually, I take that back.  Now that I’m listening through it all again, I know the Sly & Robbie mix the least.  I think I would tend to listen to the first Refugee Camp Remix and than skip ahead to “Mista Mista”, which is eerily beautiful.  When I was younger I thought it was a joke – every time Wyclef answers himself with “Hell No Mutha*****”, it would tickle my funnybone.  Now I hear it as a musical conversation that can be seen on a regular basis in my neighborhood, and the questions so many of us in any city have to ask ourselves: when do we help those we see in need, and what is helping?  Money?  Food?  A fix to forget? 

Finally, they end on a happy note, with the last Fu-Gee-La remix.  It's possible that 4 versions of the same song on a full length album is overkill, but at least it's a good, catchy song.  Or maybe we should just consider ourselves lucky that in The Score you received both an LP and a single.  Either way, it's not worth a complaint.  If you're not sick of it yet, you should probably watch this video.

Earlier I mentioned that all 3 Fugees share the microphone well.  Still, I can’t help but notice that Ms. Hill is already hitting the hardest.  And she gets away with some of the best words.  I mean, Poli-trick-cians?  And rhyming galaxy with phalaxy?  Awesome, right?  She is a phenomenon, and high on my list of hopes for 2012/beyond is a full comeback for this talented woman we grew to love, respect, and groove to.  Until then, I'll keep returning to The Score, far more than other rap albums from the mid-90's, most of which was about hating on MC peers, at the height of the East-West tensions (Tupac died later that year).  While the majority of the rap world was focused on destruction and self-promotion, The Fugees attempted to spit some positivity and call out the larger systems to blame, rather than simply slamming their own competition. And when they did address their peers in rap, they called them to maturity instead of violence.  Sounds like something worth listening to, both now and then.    

Undun - The Roots, 2011

I've been meaning to go back a little and give you reason to pull an older slightly-neglected album off the shelves again, but new music has been so good lately!  Undun is the record I can't get enough of right now, and I want to offer it up as an alternative to Kanye's My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy as an album that attempts to push rap music in a new direction.  The Roots, however, are able to do so far more narratively and positively on Undun, which focuses on a man - Redford Stevens - who dies at the beginning of the album, and everything we hear after that looks back to what led up to that particular moment.  And that's about as much pre-amble as I want to give you, because something tells me Undun is the kind of thing that we'll enjoy as we discover new things each time we listen.

The first thing I notice, before I even hit play, is the album art depicting a kid "flipping in the ghetto on a dirty mattress" as Lauryn Hill so eloquently describes.  Like any great rap album, Undun is full of reference, even in its few, but intentional visuals.  The first track, "Dun", builds (or fades out backwards-ly) sonically toward the first full song, "Sleep": stunning in its short and slow depiction of Redford looking on his own death through incredibly poetic rap.  Similarly, "Make My" is Redford's coming to terms with his near-approaching life's end.  This song is so beautiful, and strikes me as brutally honest in its ability to realistically capture someone's final song or word.  As conceptual as Undun is, I can't get over how catchy the music is throughout.  The Roots are relatively un-rivalled in the arena of instrumental hip-hop (heck, they created it), and prove they are still on top.  The bass line from "Make My"slips and slides around everywhere, and "One Time" is driven forward by percussive piano chords that, although with a low bpm, force physical movement out of its listener.

"Kool On" introduces a completely different beat with one of the slickest transitions I can remember - and it's just a fade in!  And let's face it, using an old-school vocal line as a rhythmic beat is so awesome right now, whether it's on Watch the Throne or not.  This and the next, "The OtherSide" is the closest track to a dance groove that you'll find on the album, but they are not really for dancing at all since they are gritty looks at a life of chasing drugs and money.  Greg Porn has some of the most direct and simple phrases, like "I'm on the edge of my bed making love to my meds".  

I keep thinking that the worst must be over; Redford is dead, so eventually we'll get to some happy memories, right?  On the contrary, it seems like his death is the most peaceful moment on the album, and "Stomp" definitely intensifies things, and gets the physicality of life, viscerally describing "blood sweat and tears, broken teeth and spit".  "Lighthouse" continues that theme as guest rapper Dice Raw asks us to "take a look at my lungs and my liver - it's disgusting".  Again, the rawness of the story is never abandoned in the midst of thoughtful and catchy hooks that can be played anywhere.  I have cooked and cleaned and just chilled out to this record, and it all works.  

"I Remember" suggests that Redford never really had a chance, drawing "a two from the deck" and continues to be fairly aware that death is not too far off.  "Tip the Scale" is the last track that gives us any lyrics, and I suppose it can be seen as the beginning of the end in multiple ways.  It reveals either a real or felt decision he is making between a friend's life and his own.  Knowing the end outcome gives this song even more dramatic weight.  And we are left to contemplate the short life of a thug over Sufjan Stevens' "Redford (for Yia Yia & Pappou)", and its 3 variations in the form of movements.  Each take a very different approach while holding a recognizable piece of Sufjan's original: "Possibility" is high and dream-like, "Will to Power" is is dark and jazzy, and ends with chaotic chordal clusters, and finally "Finality" feels much like a string quartet at a funeral, yet ends with a low hammer on the piano.  

Undun allowed us to peer into a common character's last bits of life, but Redford's stereotypical thug-like behaviour never distracted me from his humanity.  Nothing about this album felt like every other rap about money, drugs, sex, and death.  It was neither braggy nor preachy, yet honestly looked at nothing less than the meaning of life, and I'm left wanting to have another listen.  Don't mind if I do...  

My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy - Kanye West, 2010

*Note: I wrote this blog draft back in November and forgot to finish/post it!  Better late than never...

I have been thinking about Kanye West quite a bit lately.  Perhaps because of my favorite November game - attempting to predict the Grammy nominations - and now that they have been announced, My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy has become the most talked about album, not only because of the nominations it has received, but also those it has evaded (namely, Album of the Year).

What do I like about Kanye's Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy?  Well, to begin with, it's a great title.  The album not only embodies each descriptor, but holds them in tension with one another.  The fantasy often leaves us (and Kanye himself) wondering if he's bat-poop crazy, yet always in awe of the demented beauty in his stories and sounds.  And sights too, if we've watched "Runaway", the accompanying short film that makes use of all but 4 of MBDFT's songs.  

But for now, this is a post about the listening experience, and the album begins with Nicki Minaj quoting(ish) from Roald Dahl's "Revolting Rhymes", setting MBDTF up as one of those classic, twisted nursery rhymes that we routinely censor and disney-fy.  Not that I think we try to child-proof Kanye, but perhaps it's on this album where he most deeply attempts to come to terms with the person that he feels he truly is, with the person of his celebrity.  "Dark Fantasy" kicks off the album with an almost Moby-esque repeated line over piano chords, long before he funnels to the center of his psyche, peaking at "Monster" and then spirals back along a slightly different path, getting "Lost in the Woods" along the way, and finally wondering who can survive America - perhaps the source of his insanity.

Kanye can't help but offend most people at some point.  He certainly would like to. But I appreciate that the shock is rarely for shock value alone; He actually has some really great motivations. The song that is getting the most Grammy attention, "All of the Lights", is epically full of everything: guest appearances, horns, catchy hooks, and an anthemic sense of greatness.  At face value, the song is about Kanye walking in on his girlfriend cheating with someone else, and him wanting to reveal the truth with the brightest lights possible.  It may seem hypocritical if he weren't starkly honest with his own imperfections on tracks like "Runaway" and "The Blame Game". The whole album is really a call for turning on the lights - to quit hiding what we're not proud of.

I am finding it difficult to write about Kanye's Fantasy in a linear fashion, and I wonder if the songs simply aren't meant to interact with one another that way.  We are meant to think of "All of the Lights" during "Hell of Life", and we are meant to hear "Gorgeous" echoing in our mind when listening to "The Blame Game". Kanye has provided transitions with intentionality and artistry that is hard to beat - it seems he is following a true and free flow of his own thoughts.  The songs and themes feed into one another. Together the songs work at getting to the bottom of what makes Kanye West tick: they explore a mourning of his two greatest role models (his mother and MJ), his experience of celebrity, and his incredibly dysfunctional relationships with all female creatures; They bring some of the best and most eclectic artists in the business together, from Bon Iver to John Legend, to create something even better than Kanye could do by himself (GASP!?); They creatively combine all the things Kanye has done best on his previous 4 albums: the raw, catchy hooks of College Dropout and Late Registration, the dark and epic sense from Graduation, and the experimentation of 808's and Heartbreak.  And I know I could say that he has done all of these things more successfully together on My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy.

Let's rewind to some of the stand-out moments on the album.  Because it was leaked early, many of us heard "Power" before anything else, and while it sounds like a political question, there is something personal about it as well.  What is the power we have handed over to Kanye himself, or any one person for that matter, why do we do it, and does anyone deserve it?  Meanwhile, KWest is not about to let go of any he finds.  Even when he offers a confession of sorts in "Runaway", we know it is a backhanded apology, as it proves that none of us are actually ready to run away from him.  He knows he deserves to be dropped, but lets us know on an addictive beat and catchy hook.

Recently for my birthday I was given Blood Bank, The Bon Iver EP from which "Lost in the World" gets its foundation (the song "Woods").  I keep listening to this song, trying to imagine Kanye hearing it and thinking, "I can make that even better".  In its own right, it is hauntingly beautiful.  And although I know several haters (or Indie purists?) who will vehemently disagree with me on this, but there is something that Kanye really does add to this track.  He seems to have made it his own, and although very different from Bon Iver stylistically, both artists seem to deeply wrestle with and understand the concept of lost in a deep way.  For me, "Lost in the World" holds its own more than any other track on the album, and yet every song is given context within this bizarrely personal and introspective Kanye collection.  Whatever you think of this egotistically, self-proclaimed workaholic jerk-off, MBDTF is an honest look at a complicated man that at its best calls us to question our own motives and behaviour, and at its worst sounds good.  Sounds like a grammy-contender to me.

Lauryn Hill: The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill, 1998

I know, you thought I had completely given up on this venture. Well, so had I. Not intentionally. I can't exactly blame business for my lack of writing, because the truth is, I wrote the most when I had the most school work to do, and since graduating I haven't had nearly the deadlines! Perhaps I've been at least partially word-paralyzed by the immensity of the album that has for months now been my next listening project: The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill.

Miseducation is an album that I never need a reason to play. In 1998 it rightly swept the Grammies, and gave a ridiculous know-it-all teenager a strong down-to-earth and talented female role-model. Although I hadn't experienced half of the life Lauryn sings about (love, motherhood...) I felt as though she was singing words from my own soul. Maybe she was just showing me where my English-raised soul was located. Either way, it was an experience of something much deeper than cool sounds.

So I will try my best not to wax sentimental here. Without the nostalgia, which I do realize can be terribly powerful, there is plenty to appreciate. Let's start with the cover art. We find ourselves looking down on a sloped wooden desk, like many times before, oblivious to the lesson spouting at us, tracing with our finger the outlines scratched by earlier students, and wondering who sat here before us. It's clear what we have in our hands is a story of a student who has become the teacher. As soon as the record begins our interest is peaked even further when we realize that our protagonist is missing from the roll call... and my mind's camera seems to pan out and zoom to the real location of Lauryn.

And this is when I tend to wake up. Whenever The Lost Ones kicks in as my alarm, Lauryn spits words at me with a beat that makes it very hard to remain horizontal. Her words are harsh and motivating with a "wake up and pay attention" feel, as she calls her listeners on every mistake of pride and hypocrisy. We're getting ready for a lesson. And it's clear once we're back to the classroom that the topic of the day is love. The entire album moves between two educational settings: the classroom and wherever Lauryn is, and it seems to frame the record as a lesson or at least discussion on the definition of love.  

Yet Lauryn's first love song of the album is not what we might expect from such a lesson! Instead of being about a beautiful man or incredible sex, it's about choosing to keep her child, Zion, and finds her focus on spirituality, complete with a backing gospel choir and the prayer-like solos of Carlos Santana. Meanwhile back in class the kids are talking about what it's like to be in love.

Superstar and Final Hour have always felt like a pair to me and even though they have entirely different feels, they are connected by their concern with being real, calling artists away from selling out with choruses like, "Music is supposed to inspire," and "You can get the money, you can get the power, but keep your eyes on the final hour". She draws attention away from celebrity to personal integrity ("I'm about to change the focus from the richest to the brokest") warning us all to "watch out what you cling to".

When It Hurts So Bad begins to sound a little more familiar as an R&B ballad of unrequited love, and has never gripped me like the rest of the album, along with I Used To which I barely noticed. More than that, its seeming fickleness bugged me: She used to love him but now she doesn't? What's that about? Yet I was forced to pay more attention this time considering not only Lauryn, but Mary J. is also belting out the lesson. The song is really about a unhealthy relationship (abusive?) that is suffocating these strong, beautiful women. I wonder if we are meant to experience the juxtaposition of the fickle sounding background hook and the verses that reveal a true salvation song - much like an outsider might react to a breakup, without knowing the whole story.

Forgive Them Father may sound a bit preachy, but it also proves to me that no one can rap biblical references like Lauryn can. Is she a prophet? It could explain the crazy she now finds herself in.

I have only at this point listened to half of the album and still there is plenty left to say! Nothing Even Matters reigns as the most stereotypical love song on the album, completed by dueting Lauryn with D'Angelo who you do not even need to look at to be physically attracted to (although looking wouldn't hurt). Still, organs add a really unique texture to the track, and the finger snaps are as groovy as finger snaps have ever been.

From here on out, we are deep in love, metaphorically and literally. With Lauryn herself. Ex-Factor is a true-to-life reflection on the complications of love and breaking up, where the singer flits between being the one trying to let go to the relationship, and the one desperately hanging on.

Doo Wop was easily the biggest deal from this album. Everyone remembers this song, and everyone should remember the music video. This track is the perfect example of how great Lauryn is at everything she does: we have layers of perfect old-school soul-filled harmonies, exciting energy, and the heaviest fattest rhymes proving that "female rapper" is no oxymoron, all the while spitting a lyrical truth that though we might call it love, some guys/girls are only about that thing.

The retro feel of Doo Wop (That Thing) launches us into the nostalgic track Every Ghetto, Every City, full of references of early hip hop years that give me the imagination that it's where I'm from, even though I'm a white girl from a suburb called New Westminster.

Everything is Everything at the moment does nothing but remind me of Mia Michaels on So You Think You Can Dance. Everything she loves is "everything". Every instrument on this track hits hard, like Lauryn's rhymes, which give a contrasting background to her smooth vocals on the verses and choruses. Ms. Hill  reminds us that change is always around the corner, so we need to take advantage of what we're given in the time being to make that change a good one. Or maybe, slightly more far-fetched, that regardless of how "schooled" we think we are, we always have the chance to be educated by life. Yep, that was far-fetched. Sorry.

The album concludes (but doesn't finish) with the title track, that's given a vinyl record quality, and I'm forced to imagine what it would be like to have this album on vinyl for real. The organ and keyboard are superfluous and kind of sound like church. Well, what I imagine a black church to sound like. A combination of a black church and my dad. Ok, I'm taking on a bit of Lauryn's crazy now...

Finally The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill wraps up with two bonus tracks: You're Just Too Good to be True, and Tell Him. I think they're bonus because we're not really meant to hear them as a part of the story (whatever that may have been for you), but they're applicable and appropriate. I love these tracks, but I'm going to end this here. I feel as though I've made up for months of missed writing, and these songs are primarily meant to be enjoyed and not talked about.

Peace out,
Danice

#8) Justin Timberlake: FutureSex/LoveSounds, 2006

So now it is officially official: I am behind.  Christmas Day was a lot more tiring than I thought it would be, and blogging was simply not an option at the end of it.  Have no fear though, the list will go on, and if I must I will spend all of New Year’s Day counting down to #1. 

Although I knew quite early that this would make my list, I haven't had the chance to listen to it straight through in the last month, so tonight after work I listened, sitting on my bed, drinking lemon ginger tea (because for Christmas, I got a cold) as I wrote this blog.  My first thought as I began was remembering a conversation I recently had with my niece.  She insisted that Timbaland’s real name is “Justin Timberland”, just like Justin Timberlake.  I don't think she can fully tell the two apart!  And why should she be able to, with the incredible partnership they built up on this album? 

Right from the get-go FutureSex/LoveSounds (the song and album) is like nothing we had ever heard before from a boy-band member, or from Justin himself.  It has darker and sexier tones, that are only given more weight by Timbaland’s heavy bass and diverse sounds.  And then, as if he needed to state the obvious, Justin announces that he has brought Sexy Back.  As hot as this track was the first time I heard it on the radio, it packed way more of a punch on the album.  Naturally, it became one of the biggest dance tracks of the decade, by making each and every one of us want to bring some part of sexy back, in any small way we can. 

Sexy Ladies comes off sounding really cocky, but then he gets away with it by admitting it: “Now it might sound cocky, but is it really cocky if you know it’s true?”  Fine.  You’re forgiven.  I'll even let you put "sexy" in the title of two of your songs back to back.  Who the heck can get away with that?

All of a sudden, I realize I must put joking aside.  Throughout FutureSex/LoveSounds, the Timb's use “interludes” and “preludes” to tie songs together, and therefore contains some of the best transitions on a pop record.  For example the Let Me Talk to You prelude at the end of Sexy Ladies that leads into  My Love is so boss, I actually forget how the whole track goes until it starts up.  And then when it does and I've already heard the chorus several times, I'm not bored by it because of how different it feels.  The movement in the rhythmic synth riff is contagious, and I'm doing a sort of upper body dance that I don't think should ever been seen by human eyes. 

And soon enough it happens all over again in LoveStoned/I Think She Knows.  Half way through the song, instrumentation strips down to beatbox and strings, and then cuts out again to a solo guitar vamping on the same pattern.  By the time Justin is singing again, it’s hard to remember that I’m actually listening to the same song - the same chorus even!  When he does move on to What Goes Around…/…Comes Back Around, he has to make it unmistakably new, yet I feel as though the semi-continuity of orchestral strings still ties the two tracks together a bit.  What Goes Around... sounds like a predictable pop song for once... until about 5.5 minutes in when you expect the song to round down, and instead and it shifts to an entirely different attitude.  I stop feeling sorry for Justin, and begin to feel his anger.

And anger is a good thing to feel a little of in the dirty sound, which is exactly where we're headed with Chop Me Up.  Timbaland's distorted echo is just nasty on this track.  Mafia Three 6 makes an appearance and slows the bounce considerably, but gets nowhere near stopping anything.  I wish the album could keep on going like this, instead of moving to Damn Girl, which sticks out like a sour thumb.  It’s not that it’s a bad track.  It’s a lot of fun, but it takes me a while to get into the old school groove and harmony after half an album of Timbaland’s unique and futuristic sounding influence.

But don’t worry, Timb's back with Summer Love.  I am strutting all over the kitchen, living room, down the stairs, wherever with this one.  And although the next song, Until the End of Time, has a completely different tone, once again an incredibly crafted transition prepares me and takes me there, without me even realizing it.  The album is funneling down into a new thought and sound, and maybe conclusion, but there's no forced-ness or awkwardness about it.

Loosing My Way comes across as far more humble than the rest of this sexy and confident album, although Justin gives himself the character named George.  This one is saturated with MJ influence, complete even with a children’s choir.  “Can anybody hear me, cause I can’t seem to hear myself…” is a prayer for help and forgiveness, which takes a moment to sink into, but ends up believable. 

Another Song (All Over Again) is the only other track on the album (other than Damn Girl) that is not produced by Timbaland.  And yet here I think it works a little better.  At the end of the album, it hits me as a very honest track: After he has been a love god in his own eyes, bringing sexy back and the whole bit, ultimately he’s left as a boy who’s messed up and is begging for a second chance. 

Another Song is very far from where we began FutureSex/LoveSounds, but one that was made by a journey of transitions.  Just as each track is crafted to perfection, the album is shaped in such a way that I do want to put the album on all over again to see just how they did it.  However, I have 7 more albums to listen to, so a repeat will have to wait. 

#12) Danger Mouse: The Grey Album, 2004

Everything about it sounds like a gimmick.  I mean, really: a cappella rhymes from Jay-Z’s Black Album layered over looped samples from The Beatles’ classic White Album (without permission from EMI) was destined to draw some kind of controversy.  And what an interesting controversy it was, bringing up the increasingly relevant questions of sampling, plagiarism, and ultimately, who deserves credit for what in the music industry.  

I find it a particularly good question to ask in the context of this album, considering that Jay-Z is not bound to make a clear reference of every quote he adopts into his rap.  Rap is all about reference.  There’s no liner note in the Black Album that says “insane in the membrane” is a Cypress Hill line, frankly because that would be ridiculous and unnecessary.  Don’t hear me arguing for any particular ethic on the subject.  I just think it’s an interesting question to ask – where is the line drawn when it comes to copyright? 

Personally, it’s difficult for me to see Danger Mouse’s work as anything other than an art form.  I recently completed a class where we all had to work on a creative project and present our art to one another.  A pattern I quickly noticed was how many of the students had chosen fairly rigid forms to create forced restrictions for themselves to work within, such as the sonnet form.  On the Grey Album, Danger Mouse is only allowing himself to work with two albums from very different artists, and the results are stunning.  Who would have thought that someone could mix Jay-Z with The Beatles in a way that would be even listenable?  Yet here, a whole collection of songs is completed, and for the most part, they work very well, meanwhile making an interesting comment on racism and mainstream pop-culture.  

I was amazed at how often I completely forgot that it was the White Album being sampled; the song felt so cohesive as if meant to originally sound like that.  Even songs that were originally awkward grew comfortable for me, like 99 Problems over Helter Skelter - two very strong tracks on their own.  Most of the listening of this album was on my iPod since my roommates aren’t huge fans of rap, and also because I got these new Sennheiser headphones that I wanted to spend some time with.  Consequently, I was doing a lot of transit riding and walking to the Grey Album.  Several times I felt a little like I was in a Black and White music video – making the album’s title even more appropriate considering Vancouver this time of year.  Seeing the city around me without color hardly took a stretch of my imagination. 

Yet, as grey as it was, I couldn’t help but lift my chin a little higher, walking to Jay-Z’s cocky rhymes, and sometimes brushing that dirt of my shoulder.  At one point I was reflecting on how I felt about Jay-Z regularly using a play on the (mispronounced) name of the biblical God, “Jehovah”.  I’ll admit, sometimes I’m a little uncomfortable with it, but I couldn’t help but notice how he contrasts pride with vulnerability by referring to himself by his birth name, Shawn, especially in December 4th. 

I will always remember this record as a high point of the Ohsies music in that it combined two of the biggest names in music of the decade (Danger Mouse also created Gnarles Barkley), with one of the biggest bands of the century, and is simply hard not respect.  A lot.