No Frills Reviews

Vince Staples Dark Times

As you could probably guess from the title, Dark Times continues in the more reflective vein of Vince Staples’ recent work. Coming on the back of an eponymous Netflix show, you could be forgiven for expecting an attempt to capitalise on that spotlight, but it’s clear that Staples has no interest in that game. Instead, this is some of his least immediate work, you won’t find a Norf Norf or a Big Fish here. That’s not to say it’s without its hooks, they just take a little longer to reveal themselves.

It’s in this slow-burning nature where the power of Dark Times lies. It’s an introspective exploration where Staples seems to be simultaneously attempting to escape and embrace the past. There’s moments that hint at guilt for those left behind or trust issues tied to ill-fated relationships that never were. Elsewhere he seeks solace in nostalgia or pride in his rise from humble beginnings. The mood spans dejection to triumph, without ever committing too hard to either. Staples is restless; in constant pursuit of something more. But there’s a certain contentment underneath it all; a realisation that the desire for more never disappears.

Yeah, there’s no bangers here; but Dark Times is never too concerned with short-term gratification. It’s about the long-term journey and finding meaning within creativity, even if that never quite means finding a conclusion.

Best tunes: Black&Blue, Étouffée, Little Homies

Honourable Mentions

Mach-Hommy #RICHAXXHAITIAN: The latest from the enigmatic Haitian-born rapper combines his intricate snaking rhyme schemes with gently wandering beats; like a freeform jazz-soul opus.

Chief Keef Almighty So 2: This could have been an instant classic, containing some of the hardest production of Keef’s career as he once again pushes Chicago drill into new territory. While excess is kind of the point, it’s still to its detriment, with songs regularly stretching 1-2 minutes longer than needed. It just goes too hard for a bit too long. To be enjoyed in short doses.

Rapsody Please Don’t Cry: A character study into the woman behind the Rapsody stage name. Deeply personal and thoughtful, she cements her place as one of hip-hop’s most insightful lyricists over a selection of soothing R&B beats. But like Chief Keef, there’s too much of a good thing; it goes too soft for a bit too long.

ian Valedictorian

Yes, there’s a rapper called ian. Yes, he’s white. Yes, he’s terrible. Based on the name and visuals, you’d think there’d be some irony and a sense of humour to help explain the appeal of the TikTok sensation, but there just isn’t anything going on here. Even at a brief 19 minutes, this debut mixtape is a monotonous drag. Musically, an obvious recent comparison is Yeat. Like him, ian serves up a sonic assault of hip-hop’s worst trends. But at least Yeat offers hints of originality and a distinct identity. This is completely derivative, vapid, nothingness; an imitation of an imitation of an imitation of an…

As I get older, I increasingly have to consider that maybe I’m just out of touch …but, nah, it’s definitely the children who are wrong here.

Sexyy Red In Sexyy We Trust

For the benefit of the uninitiated, St Louis rapper Sexyy Red blew up last year, gaining a reputation for her sexually explicit content. It’s earned her the tag of “pussy rap” in some quarters, which she’s pushed back on. But, on this evidence, it seems difficult to deny. There’s fun to be had; with plenty of shout-along hooks, simple but effective hard-hitting beats, and genuinely funny punchlines. It’s honestly impressive just how many ways she can express that her coochie doesn’t stink. However, it’s extremely one-note and she risks quickly devolving into a caricature of herself. Everything feels like a minor variation on what you’ve just heard, to the point it becomes tedious.

The other notable point is Drake popping up to add a footnote to the Kendrick beef. He raps over the viral BBL Drizzy beat, in what could have been a cleverly subversive moment if his verse wasn’t so uninteresting. It’s also completely tacked on and out of place; feeling like another instance of him stepping over a younger artist’s moment for his own benefit. Once again, he misses the point while kinda proving Kendrick’s for him.

* And just as I’m about to publish this, Drake has now dropped an absolute howler, with a patois variation on the fucking Plain White T’s Delilah (which may or not be AI – although the fact we can’t tell is bad enough). Kendrick really might have destroyed the whole psyche of the dude.

Rhys Langston & Steel Tipped Dove Polyglot on Chloroform

Certain lyricists can make you feel a bit stupid. It’s not just his occasional diversions into Spanish that might leave you lost amidst the abstract poetry of LA’s Rhys Langston. Almost every other line feels like he’s dropping deep prophetic wisdom on topics I don’t even have a rudimentary knowledge of. This isn’t a bad thing; there’s a comfort in relatability, but finding the relatability amongst the unrelatable is something far rarer. The beauty is that Langston makes you want to understand.

For all of his erudite wordplay, there’s always a humanity and humour which shines through. You can’t really take a song-title like loftily I do abstain as anything other than a self-deprecating nod to one’s own self-importance. And there’s something entrancing in his shape-shifting delivery; from casual spoken-word, to machine-gun bursts, to airy harmonies. It may be challenging lyrically, but it’s never a difficult listen.

That’s in no small part to the production of NYC underground veteran, Steel Tipped Dove. I hesitate to say easy-listening because nobody wants that, but there’s a lightness in the production that provides Langston with all the room he needs to breathe. From the opening moments where you’re gently absorbed into his world, the music seems to be at once completely independent yet also a perfect reflection of Langston’s mood. A masterclass in minimalism providing the backdrop for a lyrical maximalist.

Best tunes: still to this day, polyglot on chloroform

Wavy Bagels & Driveby A Carfull

In the opening moments of A Carfull, Queens’ artist Wavy Bagels croons sweetly over a warped beat from New Jersey producer Driveby. It sets a dreamlike tone; there’s snippets of real life here but they play out under a psychedelic haze. The album is primarily concerned with breakfast foods, and a loose narrative about transporting a car full of them, as mundanity is pushed to the point of surrealism. In trying to explain its charm, I think that this should really be too quaint to work, but there’s a playful nonchalance that makes Carfull eminently listenable in all its eccentricities.

Wavy is an easy guide along the journey; his verses are rapped in a laid-back, conversational tone. But he’s also prone to bursts of quavering falsetto, not unlike DRAM; the dude has a decent set of pipes. Many of the songs have the feel of R&B oldies; just instead of undying love, they’re singing about pancakes. The often otherworldly, Fatboi Sharif even appears and delivers a feature which is outright soulful. Beneath it all, lurks a subtle eclecticism as Driveby delivers straight boom-bap, chopped-up jazz, and sparse eery beats. Which merge into a breezily off-kilter whole.

Probably the best breakfast-based album you’ll hear this year.

Best tunes: Struggle Meal, Pancakes!, Come to Me (Oh Baby)