The RX

Quavo Dedicates His New Album ‘Rocket Power’ To The Late Takeoff And Shows Growth In The Process

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quavo rocket power review
Quavo / Derrick Rossignol

The RX is Uproxx Music’s stamp of approval for the best albums, songs, and music stories throughout the year. Inclusion in this category is the highest distinction we can bestow and signals the most important music being released throughout the year. The RX is the music you need, right now.

I guess this is the new normal. Migos, as a group, is definitely gone. The trio’s surviving members, Quavo and Offset, may have resolved whatever bad blood caused the split in the first place (or at least resolved to move forward in the wake of tragedy), but with Takeoff no longer available to offer the third dimension to their music, even a reunion between them just wouldn’t be the same. A few years ago, this might have spelled disaster for both Quavo and Offset as solo artists. This may be harsh, but Quavo’s 2018 solo debut Quavo Huncho just didn’t display the sort of depth to suggest that his artistic output would continue to match his personal charisma for very long.

But Quavo’s latest solo project, Rocket Power, showcases a tremendous amount of growth. Here, he sounds hungry and engaged again, and he has just enough to talk about outside his typical range of wealth and gang talk to carry the majority of the album’s 17 songs. Unfortunately, that “just enough” includes the recent violent death of his close friend, nephew, and bandmate, Takeoff. It feels vaguely icky to attribute his artistic evolution to personal trauma — something the journalism industry does way too much of to begin with, if you ask me — and yet, there are now undeniably added facets and shades to Quavo’s music that weren’t there before.

Of course, in the five years since Huncho, Quavo, like all of us, had a lot of time to sit around, and it could be that he just spent that time sharpening his craft. He also got into a high-profile relationship with a fellow rapper, Saweetie, as well as an equally public breakup. He has, in short, lived a bit, and I think that has always been the primary component of constructing a long-lasting and compelling catalog of albums. The other half of that is, of course, technique. Quavo always came in third among the Migos’ brotherhood in that respect, with Takeoff coming off more practiced, and Offset sounding more wise. The songs on Quavo’s debut just wound up sounding hollow by comparison, and it didn’t help that the album was weighed down by so many guest stars.

On Rocket Power, Quavo pares back the call list, restricting the invites to Atlanta natives. Future makes two appearances, as does the late Takeoff (on one song, together), while the incarcerated Young Thug reminds us why he has such a passionate following on “Focused.” Two younger artists, BabyDrill and the fortuitously named Hunxho, show up on “Stain,” reflecting Quavo’s willingness to pick up the torch once passed to him by Gucci Mane and mentor the next generation of his hometown’s rap talent. Otherwise, Quavo is the sole voice on Rocket Power, which puts greater pressure on him to actually hold the listener’s attention for almost the full 50 minutes. Miraculously, that’s what he does for much of the runtime, although the album is still somehow a hair too long, even clocking in at under an hour.

Quavo manages this feat by employing a new tool in his increasingly diverse kit: vulnerability. He’s always been a bit vague as a storyteller, more prone to setting up pristine tableaus from a rags-to-riches story, but on songs like “Mama Told Me,” he finally provides the connective tissue to fill in the blanks. On “Greatness,” he directly addresses the fate of his band and admits “I don’t got all the answers.” “Hold Me,” while unfolding an otherwise rote “gangsta’s pain” style meditation, lines like “lost my nephew to gunplay and smoke sh*t” lend the song an air of authenticity. It sucks that we can’t necessarily buy such expressions without seeing the physical and psychic damage for ourselves, but that’s what happens when they usually only warrant one or two songs and a couple of throwaway lines amid a non-stop ball-off.

The celebration songs, like “Turn Yo Clic Up” with Future and “Who Wit Me,” have the benefit of Quavo’s gift for writing quirky, inescapable hooks, but the songs worth returning to are the more reflective ones like “Rocket Power.” That certainly says something about when Quavo — or really, any rapper — is at his best. Flexing is fine, but the element that makes us fall in love with these artists, that makes them so intrinsic to the fabric of our everyday lives despite the differences in circumstances with the artists themselves, is their ability to tell us who they are. With Rocket Power, Quavo finally offers a glimpse of the man behind the ad-libs, and gives us more reason to follow along as he keeps Takeoff’s memory alive.

Rocket Power is out now via Quality Control Music / Motown Records.

Leon Thomas’ ‘Electric Dusk’ Rolls The Tapes On A Consuming Life In Hollywood With A Cinematic Touch

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Leon Thomas 'Electric Dusk' review
Merle Cooper/Motown Records

The RX is Uproxx Music’s stamp of approval for the best albums, songs, and music stories throughout the year. Inclusion in this category is the highest distinction we can bestow, and signals the most important music being released throughout the year. The RX is the music you need, right now.

On “Fade To Black” off Leon Thomas’ Electric Dusk debut, lives a quote that is ultimately the foundation of his debut album. “Absolute power corrupts absolutely.” Bones McCoy from Star Trek: The Original Series is the voice behind this clip, and the quote itself dates back to the 19th century via a letter from British politician Lord Acton to Bishop Mandell Creighton in 1887. In full, the quote reads, “Power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely. Great men are almost always bad men.” Here, “great” isn’t synonymous with behavior or quality, but rather, strength, power, and influence. Leon Thomas knows those three things all too well as a member of Hollywood, in both the metaphorical and literal sense.

Leon Thomas the solo artist may be new to some people, but Hollywood and the big life aren’t new to him. His time in the spotlight dates back to 2010, following a stint on Broadway, as he landed a role on Nickelodeon’s Victorious, a show that allowed him to put his acting and singing skills on display. By the time that series came to a close, Thomas was co-writing records with his then-Victorious co-star and now-pop superstar Ariana Grande for her debut album Yours Truly. That album, which will celebrate its tenth anniversary in the coming days, has six writing credits from Thomas and the credits would continue to pour in for him over the next decade. He worked as a solo writer and as one-half of The Rascals duo beside names like Drake (“Pipe Down”), Toni Braxton (“I’d Rather Be Broke”), Post Malone (“Yours Truly, Austin Post”), Giveon (“For Tonight”), SZA, (“Snooze”), and Rick Ross (“Gold Roses”).

A decade after that started, we’ve arrived at Electric Dusk, where Leon Thomas rolls the tape to explain how love in the hills has played out for him. With songwriting that proves why he’s one of the best in the industry, Thomas also crafted the album with the idea that it could be presented at the Electric Dusk theater he named it after. He isn’t just overwhelmed with life in the hills on “Crash & Burn,” he’s buried so deeply under it that a move to Mississippi, a state he seemingly has no connection to, and a fiery crash on the interstate sound like the escape he needs. There’s merely saying a relationship has reached its end and then there’s “slow dancing in a burning house,” as he sings on “Breaking Point.” Sharp imagery like this makes it so that Thomas is not only heard but seen and felt as well.

Though love is a dominant topic on Electric Dusk, the element of power stands right beside it. Aligned with Acton’s theory, Thomas seems to accept that power does corrupt, an experience he has as both a victim and a perpetrator. His sense of control vanishes on “My Will,” leaving him to write one final message to the world a request “no cat fights at my funeral” and not be “dressed up in no corny sh*t.” You’re initially led to believe that the song is about the loss of artistic freedom when it’s really Thomas holding a funeral for his playboy lifestyle. Money is his power on “Blue Hundreds” as he leads a rugged march towards a lavish night that could also be troublesome. Thomas reigns supreme in intimacy as he’s successfully corralled a taken woman on “Sneak” into consistently giving him her “sweet, sweet peach” for some “afternoon delight.” Though powerful men may be bad men as Acton posed, Thomas seemingly retorts that surrendering that power leaves one in turmoil. You’re left to think: to corrupt or to be corrupted?

On Electric Dusk, Leon Thomas speaks to those in and by the limelight – whether it be at its center, its edges, or just outside of it where many long to step into it for a moment of their own. Acknowledging that final piece is what makes Electric Dusk so captivating. It’s a message that’s about himself as it is one to others; a reminder that it’s never as good as it seems under the bright lights. Leon Thomas and Electric Dusk make an official entry to the R&B world that’s a bit reminiscent of Lucky Daye’s own in 2019 with Painted. Though both releases as more different than they are similar, in both cases, you’re left with the idea that a new mainstay in R&B has arrived. Leon Thomas’ fingerprints can be found in various corners of the music world over the past decade, but none were truly his own. Now, he has that with his stellar debut album, and ladies and gentlemen, there’s power in that.

Electric Dusk is out now via EZMNY Records and Motown Records. Stream it here.

Ty Dolla Sign is a Warner Music artist. Uproxx is an independent subsidiary of Warner Music Group.

Noname’s ‘Sundial’ Is 100 Percent Honest — Even When It Hurts

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Noname Sundial Review
Noname / Derrick Rossignol

The RX is Uproxx Music’s stamp of approval for the best albums, songs, and music stories throughout the year. Inclusion in this category is the highest distinction we can bestow and signals the most important music being released throughout the year. The RX is the music you need, right now.

“Escapism is better livin’ than this,” Noname chants on the second song from her new album, Sundial, adding, “Better be honest, baby / We better when we admit.” This juxtaposition is the crux of Noname’s political beliefs, for better or worse. Sure, it exemplifies the beating heart at the center of Sundial‘s intricate web of incisive social commentary and cutting self-recrimination, but it also captures who Noname is as an artist, and ultimately as a human being.

This is the Chicago rapper who first rose to prominence on a wave of support from fellow Chicago rising stars like Chance The Rapper and Saba, only to threaten multiple times to leave the music industry behind entirely. She changed her original name from Noname Gypsy upon learning one of the more negative interpretations of the second half of her nome de guerre. But she wasn’t above sparring with North Carolina fan favorite J. Cole when he seemingly called out her prickly online demeanor in his 2021 throwaway “Snow On Tha Bluff.”

She’s quick to call out Black celebrities like Jay-Z and Beyoncé for embracing the master’s tools in the pursuit of dismantling the master’s house — even here, where she critiques them in the song “Namesake” — but just as swift to refuse to apologize for including a potentially offensive guest MC in Jay Electronica on “Balloons.” She, like many, is a living contradiction, a person whose impulses clash with her beliefs, who falls short of her own standards, but pursues progress over perfection as often as she can.

Throughout Sundial‘s 11 tracks, she excavates and explicates this idea in ways that often seem just as paradoxical as her personality. The production, provided by a list of longtime collaborators and jazz revivalist like Daoud, Slimwav, and Yussef Dayes, offers lullaby-like coos and chords, with soothing strains more suggestive of a cozy night in with a mug of hot chocolate and romance fantasy than fiery anti-capitalist diatribes. Likewise, Noname’s singsong delivery and poetic pen maneuvers hide the points and edges of the acid-dipped darts and daggers deliberately placed across these delicate soundscapes like intellectual booby traps.

The softness of the sounds lulls listeners into sedate comfort before pricking and prodding them to wakefulness like the pea did to the princess. So, when Noname snips, “You could squabble in the comments, bitch, you are a comet,” on “Afro Futurism,” the dualism couldn’t be clearer. She has to jolt her listeners every so often so they might consider the words rather than let them wash over them. A quote that springs to mind comes from an equally enigmatic and controversial woman in rap, Lauryn Hill, via her verse from The Fugees’ “Zealots”: “And even after all my logic and my theory, I add a ‘motherfucker’ so you ignorant niggas hear me.”

That’s why it’s certainly worth considering that Jay Electronica is far from the first or worst rapper to embrace the teachings of the Nation of Islam or the Five-Percent Nation in his rhymes — or why Noname should receive a far greater backlash than any number of others who’ve featured such subject matter throughout rap’s 50 years of existence. Or that Noname, despite embodying so many of the attributes “real hip-hop heads” claim they prefer in women rappers over the more aggressively sexualized postures of MCs like Cardi B and Megan Thee Stallion, that she receives no more support from those hip-hop heads than the women they pit her against.

Noname considers it not just her job but her duty to point out these discrepancies — even when it makes her the villain in her own story. She’s quick to accept that label herself here from the outset; on album opener “Black Mirror,” she calls herself a contrarian. She’s an avowed socialist/anarchist who must embrace some of the principles of a capitalist system to survive as an artist and continue her liberation efforts such as Noname’s Book Club, which sends such texts to inmates (which they are often barred from receiving).

And while many of her choices can be off-putting, such as including the aforementioned Jay Elec or jotting off cynical-seeming dismissals of perhaps sincere inquiries on Twitter, or rhyming in that off-kilter spoken-word flow which isn’t likely to resonate with the folks who need to hear her message most, it’s all honest. Noname herself has already told us; more than anything else, it’s better to be true than to be loved. Ironically, that’s why she’s so beloved in the first place.

Sundial is out now via Noname, Inc. / AWAL Recordings. You can get it here.

Travis Scott’s Fascinating View Of ‘Utopia’ Might Just Be Too Ahead Of Its Time

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travis scott utopia review
Travis Scott / Derrick Rossignol for Uproxx Studios

The RX is Uproxx Music’s stamp of approval for the best albums, songs, and music stories throughout the year. Inclusion in this category is the highest distinction we can bestow and signals the most important music being released throughout the year. The RX is the music you need, right now.

For a little under a decade now, Texas rapper Travis Scott has had his fingers firmly on the pulse of the hip-hop zeitgeist. Starting with his second mixtape Days Before Rodeo in 2014, Travis has embodied the sort of chaotic, disaffected energy anyone born after Y2K finds intrinsic to their nature. It’s sort of a combination of the shoulder-shrugging nihilism of Generation X, multiplied by the molar-grinding anxiety of the millennial generation, cut with the hyperspeed stream of always-on, instantly gratifying internet culture. The dude always seemed great at aesthetics and giving the impression of perspective without really having much to say, and that seems to be catnip for the algorithmically programmed YouTube junkies we’re all turning into.

Travis’ ascension to hip-hop supremacy seemed certified with 2018’s Astroworld, which finally alchemized all the components and influences he’d always jammed together into more than the sum of its parts. Hip-hop, for the better part of the next couple of years, sounded like Astroworld. Travis became the influence instead of just the living mood board showcasing his inspirations. His dominance appeared inevitable. Then, a pandemic happened. Then, just when it seemed things might be getting back to normal, Travis’ 2021 Astroworld Festival ended in disaster, and he was semi-forced into a year of exile, just when he was prepared to present the next phase of his stylistic evolution and pay off his potential in full.

Now, five years after Astroworld, Travis finally presents his vision of Utopia — and it seems that his aim, once so very true, is off for the first time in his career. The thing is, I’m not sure in which direction. It’s obviously forward facing, positing a view of hip-hop very different from its current trajectory. On the other hand, it seems like Travis has once again presented a project that is the sum of its influences, without being sublime enough to portend the future of the culture and the genre. Maybe it’s a dud or maybe, as with so many works of true genius, it’s just too ahead of its time.

It’s said in the fashion world — another realm in which Travis has always appeared to be intensely interested — if something goes out of style, just wait. In a decade or so, it’ll be back in style with a vengeance. In the case of Utopia, the common consensus appears to be that Travis is once again being moved by the spirit of his greatest inspiration, Kanye West. Unfortunately, it’s at a time when Kanye is not the hero to the world at large that he once was. Even worse, the album Travis chose to channel was one of Ye’s most controversial: Yeezus, the mercurial Chicago producer’s 2013 attempt at being deconstructionist and avant garde.

Like Yeezus, Mike Dean’s fingerprints are all over Utopia; distorted drum breaks blast through “Hyaena,” ghostly, stripped-down synths under-gird “My Eyes,” even a broken Nina Simone sample appears on “I Know?” It’s like Travis and Dean took the maximalist-minimalist approach from Yeezus and wrought it on a more massive canvas. Rather than the zoned-out groove of Astroworld, we’ve got the twitchy, nervous energy of Kanye right before his first breakdown, when it seemed like he stopped trying to impress us and started trying to see just what we’d let him get away with.

The thing is, Yeezus, for better or worse, was never really in style. Some critics loved it, some listeners hated it, but the thing is, there has never really been anything else that sounded like it in hip-hop since — until now. The culture, whether you believe it’s a hivemind or an algorithm or just advertising dollars being spent, went in other directions. In fact, Travis Scott’s sound was the one that seemed most in-demand, spawning a horde of imitators and collaborators from Future and Nav to Quavo and Young Thug. Everyone incorporated a little of what Travis did from 2014 to 2020, while Kanye seemingly moved on from his own experimentation by his next album, 2016’s The Life Of Pablo.

That avant-garde style sounds just as out-of-step now as it did ten years ago. Where hip-hop has decided to reincorporate its ’80s club sister sounds like house and techno (perhaps in an escapist effort to shake off the world’s looming problems through cathartic dance), Utopia perhaps more closely reflects the anxious, apocalyptic times we’re currently living through. If music is supposed to be an escape, Utopia sounds less like its namesake than a sharp-angled, iron-walled maze, a gilded cage, or a chair made of swords. It’s jagged and concussive and claustrophobic, while Travis’ raps haven’t really improved enough to feel like he’s trying to make any kind of a coherent statement about all of this.

So, I don’t see this album having the impact of an Astroworld. It’ll likely go No. 1, because in the world where listeners are fans of the person (or the persona, rather — cults of personality abound on Elon Musk’s Twitter) more than the music, there will surely be those who “Emperor’s New Clothes” their way into convincing themselves they’re enjoying the listen. But I can’t help but wonder if, should we wait another decade, we’ll finally start to see the true influence of Utopia — even if the world itself seems further away from the concept than ever.

Utopia is out now via Cactus Jack Records / Epic Records.

J Hus’ Villainous Reign On ‘Beautiful And Brutal Yard’ Is A Telling Tale In His Fascinating Rise

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J Hus 'Beautiful And Brutal Yard' artwork
Epic Records

The RX is Uproxx Music’s stamp of approval for the best albums, songs, and music stories throughout the year. Inclusion in this category is the highest distinction we can bestow, and signals the most important music being released throughout the year. The RX is the music you need, right now.

The most fascinating thing about J Hus’ third album Beautiful And Brutal Yard is that the rapper rarely faces a loss. Sure, the British rapper has had to put his career on pause at times, most notably to serve a five-month sentence after the release of his 2018 debut album Common Sense for carrying a knife in public. For the most part, he’s a villain with no chinks in his armor, but one that has inflicted damage to varying levels against his enemies. He has neverending stories about finding himself in the middle of crossfire, self-induced or not, but through it all, he’s in control of the beautiful and brutal yard he lives in. The beauty is clear as J Hus charms as a slick-talking and charismatic man with all the talents and lines to whisk away the woman of his choice. On the flip side, the brutal moments come from the rapper’s villainous reign as an authority too fearless, too relentless, and too equipped to be removed from his throne.

The qualities mentioned above aren’t exclusive to the beauty or brute of J Hus and his world and that’s what adds to the fascination of Beautiful And Brutal Yard. They play equal roles to both sides of the coin. J Hus strives for a new level of fearlessness as he raps about his brute upbringing on “Come Look” over haunting production that sprays a dark overcast over him. In this same sense, the rapper’s daring approach to a woman he desires on “Safa Kara” is the epitome of fearless. Take your pick at lines like “Call me daddy, that’s an ego booster / Call me papa, come have me for supper,” as proof of it.

For the beauty of it all, he stares in deep admiration at an out-of-this-world woman on “Alien Girl” and aims to charm another one with risque solar system metaphors like “Take you somewhere no one can see / We go to Uranus” and “Put on a sex tune while I sex you in Neptune / This comes around only once in a blue moon.” The same charm is applied to “It’s Crazy” where he raps in sarcastic disbelief at his ability to effortlessly take down his perpetrators.

This duality is what makes Beautiful And Brutal Yard so enjoyable. With an album that fires off 19 songs across 63 minutes, enough has to be done to keep listeners interested and locked in, and J Hus accomplishes this pretty effortlessly. The early parts of the album supply infectious production and catchy hooks for records (“Who Told You” and “Militerian”) that will find as much trouble excelling in summer as day parties and tequila do. It’s within the same album that J Hus also taps in drill rap (“Cream”), introspective rap (“Playing Chess & “Come Look”), Rap&B (“My Baby”), and melodic rap (“Alien Girl”). In most cases, this would make for a disjointed album, but not for J Hus. He achieves cohesivity thanks to maintaining an authoritative tone that maintains his sinister even on its brightest days.

J Hus not only accepts the villain role on Beautiful And Brutal Yard, he fully embraces it in an attempt to take it to a newer and dark level. With that, the album leaves us with a clear image of the rapper: seated on his throne with a grimacing smile as he readjusts his crown and twirls his staff, daring anyone to take him down successfully. The album’s opening record “Intro (The Goat)” is a perfect example of this. Though it’s a short verse that launches the album, it’s one that succinctly captures J Hus’ villainous ways. “If I got my nose in your business, you know it’s a snub,” he fires off before concluding with, “My bredrin’s carryin’ ’cause I can’t afford to have it / But when it’s time for action, feel like I’m born to bang it.”

Stepping back from J Hus’ discography for a second, Beautiful And Brutal Yard is the latest offering from the British rap world that proves the genre is excelling across the pond without conforming to standards in the States. J Hus joins names like Dave, Stormzy, Central Cee, Headie One, and more who’ve made waves while staying true to themselves. It’s an observation worth noting as hip-hop, a genre that’s expanded in numerous ways since its start, crosses its 50th-anniversary mark this year. Even in this crowd, J Hus’ Beautiful And Brutal Yard stands out as a body of work that uses various sounds from the rapper’s cultural background, like afrobeats and afro-swing, as an ingredient to spice up and amplify his projects.

From a closer point of view, J Hus uses his third album to provide a vivid and detailed account of his roots and upbringing, giving equal attention to all that’s beautiful and brutal. This duality contributes to everything on the album: its sonic appeal, the thrill of J Hus’ narratives, and the rapper’s overall artistic vision. Furthermore, J Hus excels thanks to a bigger chip on his shoulder and the goal to go to all necessary lengths to prove himself, just as a villain would in their attempt to reign supreme in their beautiful and brutal yard.

Beautiful And Brutal Yard is out now via Black Butter Ltd. and Epic Records. Find out more information here.

Mahalia Is Putting Herself First In Music And ‘In Real Life’

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Mahalia 2023 press image
Atlantic Records

The RX is Uproxx Music’s stamp of approval for the best albums, songs, and music stories throughout the year. Inclusion in this category is the highest distinction we can bestow, and signals the most important music being released throughout the year. The RX is the music you need, right now.

For someone whose debut album is titled Love And Compromise, there isn’t much compromising on Mahalia’s second album IRL (In Real Life). The British singer laughs as I make note of this during our Zoom call as she heads to LAX for a flight back home after a month in the States.

It’s been four years since Mahalia released Love And Compromise, and since that album’s release, the singer and the rest of the world have gone through a lot. In credit to things like the obvious effects of the pandemic as well as more personal experiences, Mahalia, now 25 years old, is far removed from the 21-year-old woman who released that breakthrough collection.

Growing up is just one of the things that allowed her to make IRL. “Therapy got me here for sure,” she adds. “Therapy was probably the biggest catalyst for me. I think it was the one thing that really allowed me to understand myself. That’s why making this album was so interesting because I really felt like I was reflecting the whole time.”

Throughout the 13 songs that make up IRL, Mahalia couldn’t be more aware of herself and her surroundings and both the good and bad within them. She’s so deeply in love with Stormzy on “November” that she fears missing a moment of this romance by blinking or dozing off into sleep. “Isn’t It Strange” highlights the contradicting moments in her behavior but she blankets it with nonchalance as to do nothing more than acknowledge its existence. It’s a level of honesty and bluntness that emphasizes the “real” aspect of the album title. “I think that’s why this album maybe means so much to me because I think it actually does feel like diary entries,” she says.

Elsewhere, we meet the new Mahalia, the one who refuses to compromise for the things she wants. The one who lays down “Terms And Conditions” for love and warns that a potential lover will have to endure a vetting process conducted by her closest girls. The same who one found the courage to say “It’s Not Me, It’s You” to a man who made her wrongly believe that she was insufficient for a relationship. Despite this, Mahalia admits that often slips back to her old ways. “Even sometimes, now I find myself compromising on things and going, ‘what the f*ck am I doing?” Mahalia notes. “Like this is not what I’ve agreed with myself.”

Mahalia doesn’t attempt to hide the moments she goes against her own terms and conditions on IRL, and it’s that authenticity that adds to the album. After four years without an album, the British singer could have presented herself as a flawless woman who learned from her past to conquer anything her future threw her way. Instead, we get the very real back-and-forth moments of laying firm rules on “Terms And Conditions” all to hopefully bend them on “In My Head” with Joyce Wrice. “Wassup” with Kojey Radical celebrates freedom from an insufficient lover with a fun night on the town all for “Lose Lose” to follow and present Mahalia’s reluctance to put herself first and end a relationship that is riddled with too many problems. Through these instances, you may think that Mahalia is a bit fearful of change, but it was quite the opposite for her.

“My partner and I have now been together for coming up on three years,” she says. “Before that, I only made it to about 10 or 11 months, three times. When I got to that point with my partner, I remember having an internal freakout because I was like I don’t think I can go past that point or I’m feeling like I need to change and feeling like I need to alter something so that I can grow artistically.”

That feeling didn’t last too long as Mahalia admits that she’s “very scared of change now.” She is currently working towards splitting her time between homes in New York and London, a transition that she admits “freaked” her out at its start. “As you get older and figure out your comfort and the things that make you bounce, I think you don’t really want to change that because it’s taken you 25 years to find that sweet spot.”

This relationship has also allowed Mahalia, for the first time in her career, to create an album from the perspective of someone in a stable relationship. Staying on the topic of change, it’s been quite an adjustment for her to write from this new point of view. “I’m so used to just writing about the guys that do the sh*tty things and the guys that leave,” she says. “This was the time to be able to talk about all the intricacies of long-term relationships. They are just as crazy as being single and dating and being in the streets.” It’s a change that Mahalia not only fully embraced, but enjoyed as well. “The process itself was really, genuinely fun. Like, just really fun,” she admits. “I laughed [and] cried a lot while I was writing and creating, and I think that’s maybe why I’m so proud of it.”

During an interview with Evening Standard earlier this year, Mahalia admitted that she “probably wouldn’t have written this same album” if not for the pandemic. It’s an unsurprising note from the singer for a few reasons. First, the pandemic change a lot of things in a lot of areas for people all over the world, changes that were temporary and others that were permanent. Secondly, Mahalia’s almost three-year relationship means that it began in the heart of the pandemic, so who knows how it would’ve existed, if at all, if not for this time that forced the world to come to a standstill. These points aside, Mahalia also credits the “post”-pandemic moments for helping her find a direction for her sophomore album.

“Through the pandemic, we obviously couldn’t go into studios and stuff,” she recalls. “So when, when that time was over, I was working with loads of different people. I wasn’t really taking the time to sit and think, ‘This is my second album, what do I want to say?’ So after that immediate rush of being outside again, I decided that I kind of wanted that. I missed that feeling, I missed the four walls, I miss seeing the same people every single day.”

What came out of that was the decision to work with a small circle of three people to create IRL, and through that, comes an album that she feels is more cohesive than her debut. “[Without that], I would have just been going in the studio with everyone and just making a bunch of music which is kind of how Love & Compromise felt to me,” she admits. “I love that record and I always will because it was my first, but it definitely felt disjointed to me because I wasn’t learning with people and I wasn’t creating with people in that way. I was just creating to create.”

So what is it that Mahalia wants to say on IRL? Through all the changes she’s experienced in her life (multiple managers, boyfriends, and friends), Mahalia wanted to showcase her newfound independence and the benefits that come from it. “I really wanted people to get a sense of independence from this record,” she says. “Even though there are moments when I talk about relationships and people that I do depend on, I think you can really hear that I am depending on myself to get through this life and human experience.” She later adds, “I’m in that phase of my life where I’m like, I can do this sh*t on my own.”

Compromise is a thing of the past for Mahalia. Now, she’s putting herself first, both in her music and in real life.

IRL is out now via Atlantic Records. Find out more information about it here.

Killer Mike Paints A Compelling Self-Portrait — Flaws And All — With ‘Michael’

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killer mike michael review
Loma Vista/Derrick Rossignol

The RX is Uproxx Music’s stamp of approval for the best albums, songs, and music stories throughout the year. Inclusion in this category is the highest distinction we can bestow and signals the most important music being released throughout the year. The RX is the music you need, right now.

For two-plus decades, Killer Mike has existed at the periphery of the mainstream’s perception of Atlanta rap, despite being widely acknowledged by fans within the culture as one of the scene’s most talented members. There was Mike’s association with Outkast, the forebears of Atlanta’s rise to national prominence, and his tag-team duo, Run The Jewels with El-P, opening a whole new market of festival appearances and hipster blogger love.

He was even given one of rap’s ultimate blessings; on Kendrick Lamar’s 2015 To Pimp A Butterfly standout “Hood Politics,” the Pulitzer Prize-winning Comptonite throws Mike a lyrical shout-out while denouncing the hypocritical elitism within the hip-hop community. “Critics want to mention that they miss when hip-hop was rappin’,” he rails. “Motherfucker, if you did, then Killer Mike’d be platinum.”

To hear Mike himself tell it, though, there’s another reason behind the lack of hardware denoting his sales achievements. “My first record deal damaged me,” he told Spin in an interview this year promoting Michael, his first solo album in over a decade. “It made me afraid, it pulled me back. I hadn’t done terribly on the major. I just, you know, I came out the same year as 50 [Cent] selling 10 million f*cking records. I sold, you know, 500,000.”

While going gold with your debut album (2003’s Monster, which features the millennial-era sex-rap favorite “A.D.I.D.A.S.”) is no small accomplishment, Mike became convinced he belonged on the underground circuit, where his rap prowess could lead to all the critical acclaim that pursuing greater sales goals might cost him. So, he became a bit trapped between the two worlds; a charismatic would-be star content to grind it out below the radar where his talents might be better appreciated.

In all of this, he admits, it seems he never quite got around to introducing the audience to Michael Render, the man behind the Killer Mike persona — and maybe that’s why he never connected with audiences the same way that Kendrick Lamar would, despite sharing his fiery resolve and unapologetic outlook toward presenting his unvarnished view of the world around him. And so, Michael, released Friday via Via Loma after Mike spent half-a-million dollars of his own money recording and producing it, attempts to do that, explaining how and why Killer Mike came to be, and what he’s truly capable of when not relegated to a sidekick or partner role.

First of all, Mike’s Dungeon Family DNA runs throughout the project; it opens with an appearance from CeeLo Green in “Down By Law” and flourishes on “Scientists & Engineers” with features from the elusive André 3000 and fellow wayward Dungeon cousin Future. The album also embraces Mike’s more recent forays into the chaotic doom funk of his longtime production partner El-P on “Two Days.” But the prevailing musical thread that ties Michael together is the gospel of his youth.

Beginning with the ferocious “Shed Tears” and continuing through the defiant “Run,” picking up in the maudlin “Motherless” and piercing through the production of the album in its haunting use of organs and clips of passionate sermons from Malcolm X, the influence of the South’s church-steeped culture undergirds Mike’s tearful reflections and assertive remonstrations as he recounts his evolution from nihilistic drug dealer to community leader and unofficial poet laureate of Atlanta.

There are slip-ups, of course. A questionable reference to Brokeback Mountain on “Talk’n That Sh*t” undermines Mike’s coalition rhetoric (hard to form a coalition if you’re still so committed to dehumanizing at least 10 percent of any group of people working toward a supposedly common goal; as a resident of the city with one of the largest LGBTQ populations in the nation, Mike should know better), and occasionally, his real-life actions, however well-intentioned, come off as contradictory of the revolutionary bars he rattles off on nearly every song.

But if you’re going to paint a picture of a person, their flaws are necessarily going to be part and parcel of the completed image. That Mike refuses to shy away from even the most unflattering self-portrayals are a huge reason why he’s got so much support from the artistic community and from critics. He’s showing us just who Michael Render is, even if that’s just something we’ve all always known.

Michael is out now on Loma Vista Records.

Kiana Ledé Named Her ‘Grudges’ To Move Forward As A Hopeful Romantic

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Kiana Lede RX Press photo
Katia Temkin

The RX is Uproxx Music’s stamp of approval for the best albums, songs, and music stories throughout the year. Inclusion in this category is the highest distinction we can bestow, and signals the most important music being released throughout the year. The RX is the music you need, right now.

Inconsistency, inconsideration, and indecisiveness. Kiana Ledé names those as her “biggest pet peeves” during an interview with Uproxx ahead of her second album Grudges. Throughout the album’s 17 songs, Ledé journeys through past relationships that left her to deal with those bad qualities. However, it doesn’t stop there. Ledé also lists the grudges she has against men overall and herself as well. “I’m naming my grudges and calling them out so that I can move forward with my life,” she says.

Grudges is Ledé’s first album since her 2020 debut Kiki. That project presented a young adult who sought a fairy tale love story and believed that it could exist for her. Even the album’s low moments amounted to nothing but a brief bump in the road as it concludes with “Separation” and “No Takebacks,” which proved that Lede’s hopes and dreams were reasonable and not the result of youthful naivety. Three years later, things are much different for her. The novelty behind romance has lost its shine a bit and the frustration that she can’t have this thing that so many other people can indulge in is more present than ever.

“As a mature young woman, if I seem to be in a relationship with someone, I’m agreeing to meet in the middle, not compromise, but meet in the middle,” Ledé says. “So when you’re not helping me help us or help you, I can’t have that and I don’t like things that are out of my control. So yes, it frustrates me when I don’t know what someone’s thinking.”

These frustrations make for the foundation of “Irresponsible” and “Gemini Slander” on the album. The former blends anger and disappointment for a message penned directly to an unnamed lover who failed to live up to the adult task of being transparent, mature, and honest in love. “Gemini Slander” places Ledé in the driver’s seat as she walks away from a man who lacks the consistency and decisiveness required for love. Through a listen of Grudges, it’s clear that Ledé’s pains in love weren’t a brief or occasional occurrence. She has enough stories to tell because she’s been through it.

“I went through a breakup actually, during COVID I went through two breakups, so I don’t know if I got the world record for modern relationships you can have in quarantine,” Ledé recalls with a laugh. “Was in both of them, and clearly they did not go so great, but it’s okay. It left me with great music.” Though it wasn’t immediately that Ledé knew these songs would become what we now know as Grudges.

“Maybe [after] a year, a year and a half of making the album we were just like, these are grudges,” she says. “It wasn’t just about me having a grudge about my [exes], it really just created this perfect headline of the grudges I hold against the world and everything that it encompasses.”

Kiana Ledé’s growth from her early days helped her reach this point of vulnerable and sheer honesty about herself and others. Even throughout Grudges, there isn’t a point where she is spiteful toward those who contributed to qualms in love. It comes from a level of accountability that exists in these situations, especially ones that the singer herself had a hand in creating.

“I think as I’ve gotten older, no matter how big my role was, in those relationships, and this way, I can acknowledge and accept the part that I played,” she notes. “Too Far” is a perfect example of this as she acknowledges the effects of crossing the friendship barrier to explore the once-forbidden fruit of intimacy.

Though spite and retaliation were absent, a loss of faith in love, people, and trust took its place for some time as she details on the album’s title track. “I went through so much and was put through so much pain by the people that I thought loved me the most,” she remembers. “When that sort of betrayal happens, it’s really hard to think – like if these people were supposed to love me, how will this person that I met on Tuesday that I think is a good person and could be a good friend, how are they not gonna screw me over?” In naming and eventually freeing her grudges, Kiana also found it necessary to do the same to overcome doubts.

“I realized that you can build a good community by just trying,” she says. “I had to accept that with love of any kind, is going to come pain, and we can’t escape loss. That’s just a part of life.” Here, Ledé speaks of having hope, hope that tomorrow will be better, hope that you’ll receive what you prayed would be eventually, and hope that it’ll all be okay. “My friends and my mom are like you just are hopeful,” she says. “I just hope that people are who they say they are. There’s gonna be that one in a million that really is, so there is some hope and love somewhere.”

Despite all that she goes through on Grudges, this hope comes alive to conclude the album with “Magic.” It plays a role similar to that of “No Takebacks” on Kiki, a record that pours out the hopes for a forever romance, and while “Magic” looks to do the same for Grudges, it does so with a new sense of reality.

I label Ledé as a bit of a hopeless romantic, a title she fully accepts and credits for her ability to hold a grudge so well. However, when Grudges comes to a close, we’re left with the feeling that Ledé wants to be more of a hopeful romantic – optimistic about love’s potential while being a bit more practical about its arrival. Look no further than “Where You Go” with Khalid for evidence of this transition Ledé wants to make in the future. Though that record is certainly romantic on the surface, underneath that is the reminder of an unhealthy codependence that Ledé used to have in a previous relationship.

“I do hold a grudge against my younger self that was codependent with people that I was in a relationship with,” she admits. “It feels so good to be able to rely on someone right? But once it gets a little too codependent, like ‘I go where you go,’ it can be a lot.” Simply put, recognizing your faults is the first step in eventually correcting them.

At the end of the day, Grudges is Ledé’s moment of self-reflection and self-work and the pressures of getting it all done to overcome the past and reach what is destined for you. We see this through the intricate and well-thought-out artwork for Grudges. “The mirrors are a representation of a self-reflection, looking at yourself, and also who you are presently in that moment,” Ledé says. “The cameras are a representation of there being a lot of pressure while you’re looking at yourself, everyone else is looking at you, while you’re just trying to figure it out.” Overall, it’s a “clusterf*ck of sh*t around you” that hones in on the overwhelming feeling of working on yourself as the world watches and expects you to show up and simultaneously meet their own expectations.

In these moments, as Kiana Ledé has proven, the best thing you can do with flaws (and grudges) is to name them, acknowledge them, and set them free. But whatever you do, try your best to not hold on to them.

Grudges is out now via The Heavy Group/Republic Records. Find out more information here.

Janelle Monáe’s ‘The Age Of Pleasure’ Channels Freedom and Euphoria As Acts Of Resistance

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Janelle Monae
Atlantic

Over the last five years, Janelle Monáe’s brand as a creative force to be reckoned with hasn’t gone unnoticed. However, after dipping her toes into new experiences like acting and writing, she’s getting back to her musical roots. Much like the Kansas City-bred, ATL-cultivated musician herself, The Age Of Pleasure (which clocks in at just over 32 minutes) is sweet and petite. Yet, despite its length, her fourth studio-album serves as a jam-packed, Pan-African-spanning ode to finding pleasure in everyday moments.

Released June 9, The Age Of Pleasure creates a comforting space for Monáe and her beloved “Fandroids” to live out loud. Crafted in response to the pandemic and influenced by “Everyday People,” a globally-recognized cultural gathering and love letter to the Black community, the project showcases the 37-year-old’s evolution as a “free-ass motherf*cker.” Pleasure’s varied yet succinct production traverses the Black diaspora across 14 songs — Afrobeats, Ampiano, Lover’s Rock reggae, and trap-infused tunes showcase the artist’s creative license to do whatever the hell she feels like doing, in the name of artistic and individual gratification.

Though lyrics were crucial to Pleasure’s predecessor, 2018’s Grammy-nominated Dirty Computer, they don’t demand the spotlight here. Instead, the music — and the communal energy it ultimately stands for — speaks volumes. While outside ears may have felt that Dirty Computer’s content wasn’t “for them” for whatever reason, Pleasure makes it clear that anyone — regardless of gender identity or affirmation — is welcome to toast to life’s delights and concede to the rhythms. (“I want all of us (Black and Brown people, specifically) to have a soundtrack to this lifestyle,” Monáe told Angie Martinez in May.)

But this is not to say that Pleasure is devoid of queer moments, which should not come as a surprise considering the mechanisms of Monáe’s catalog and personal life. (The artist uses she/they pronouns, and identifies as non-binary.) For instance, the “Vivrant Thing”-interpolating “The Rush” featuring Amaarae and Nia Long is a call-out to the “pretty girl” who’s caught her eye. The runway-ready “Haute” nods to gender-fluidity. (“A bitch look pretty, a bitch look handsome,” Monáe says.)

The island-tinged single “Lipstick Lover” celebrates queer Black bodies, and the buzz surrounding its “controversial” music video (which showcases those bodies and much more) ultimately forced the multihyphenate to create a censored version for virgin eyes. Despite the new visual’s slight deviation from full-out freedom, the point still stands firm through Pleasure’s music. Monáe urges listeners to give in to enjoyment of self and with others, whether it’s emotionally or sexually.

This could be through Issa Rae-in-the-mirror-style affirmations (“I’m looking at a thousand versions of myself, and we’re all fine as f*ck,” she states in “Phenomenal,” which features TDE’s Doechii), or through commemorations of personal growth. The album opener “Float” finds the artist applauding her wins over an infectious trap beat created by Nate Wonder and Nana Kwabena, and horns provided by Seun Kuti and his band, Egypt 80. (Pleasure largely feels Fela Kuti-esque through grandiose instrumentation, so the sonic support from the legend’s son feels especially apropos.) And obviously, pleasure can also be found through physical self-exploration. (“If I could f*ck me right here, right now, I would do that,” Monáe admits on the aquatic, autoerotic “Water Slide.”)

But The Age Of Pleasure is best represented through songs illustrating the importance of community — the hallmark of “Everyday People” bashes. Monáe has been open about her past experiences living with a perfectionist complex. Through healing, she’s learning to enjoy the present without edits or filters, and she encourages others to do the same. (“I’m working on the balance of knowing that some things are just beyond your control and you’ve got to be in the moment and roll with the punches,” she said of her journey back in 2018.)

The dropping of this shield is most evident during The Age Of Pleasure’s trifecta of tracks: the CKay-assisted “Know Better” (which samples a hip-hop favorite: “Darkest Light” by the Lafayette Afro Rock Band), the bouncy “Paid In Pleasure,” and “Only Have Eyes 42,” a cheeky nod to polyamory that concludes with a euphoric string outro. This particular trio amplifies the notion of loosened inhibitions, forcing us to surrender to the moment and just have fun soaking up the company of others.

Given the internet discourse surrounding Monáe’s expression of her autonomy after years of donning (and shedding) her iconic tuxedo uniform, the growth of her individual freedom and self-understanding feels affirmed through The Age Of Pleasure. It can be anxiety-provoking to let your guard down, let people in, or to show up completely as yourself, but it can also be liberating to be exactly who you want to be in a world that doesn’t want you to do so.

The album captures what we all aim to experience at the end of the day. In this mid-to-post-pandemic era, it amplifies a new definition of freedom for many. The attacks on Black, Brown, and queer Americans is a daily concern. (A centuries-long one for all, but especially within the last several years.) Considering the constant diversions from the real national issues at hand, art celebrating the euphoria of authentic humanity, even with the threat of Right-winged erasure congregating in the distance, is resistance at its finest.

Throughout history’s most unsavory moments, music has always been there for minorities in particular to feel safe and seen. As someone who has never been a stranger to creating art reflective of The Times™, Janelle Monáe’s The Age Of Pleasure maintains the musician’s crusade of using her work to allow any and all “dirty computers” to remember that there is indeed a place for them in the world, and on the dancefloor.

Janelle Monáe is a Warner Music artist. Uproxx is an independent subsidiary of Warner Music Group.

Metro Boomin’s ‘Across The Spider-Verse’ Soundtrack Lives Up To The Incredible Film

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metro boomin across the spider verse soundtrack
Boominati/Republic/Freepik/Derrick Rossignol

The RX is Uproxx Music’s stamp of approval for the best albums, songs, and music stories throughout the year. Inclusion in this category is the highest distinction we can bestow and signals the most important music being released throughout the year. The RX is the music you need, right now.

Five years ago, I reviewed the soundtrack from Spider-Man: Into The Spider-Verse, a film that blew my mind and instantly became ingrained as not just one of my favorite Spider-Man or Marvel or superhero films but one of my favorite films, period. Five days ago, I watched that film’s sequel, Spider-Man: Across The Spider-Verse, and now, as I write this, I’m still buzzing from the high of watching it again just hours ago.

The sequel isn’t so much a continuation of the first story as it is its own evolved organism. Like how life started with aquatic creatures and eventually became the wildly diverse array of species and body plans we see today. There’s shared DNA, but you can see how things have adapted and changed and grown into much more complex lifeforms — not necessarily, better, per se, but totally different in endlessly fascinating new ways.

Here’s what I wrote about the first soundtrack: “Like the Black Panther soundtrack before it, the film understands its cultural relevance, the moment it speaks to, and the world it must represent, and does so, making it one of the best hip-hop-oriented film soundtracks ever created.” With that in mind, writing about the second soundtrack, which was produced and curated by St. Louis superproducer Metro Boomin, begs for the sort of reinvention and deconstruction that the second film does.

Fortunately, the new soundtrack offers the perfect opportunity for it. Unlike the first Spider-Verse soundtrack, Metro Boomin Presents Spider-Man: Across The Spider-Verse plays as more of a straightforward album than its predecessor. While the original presented a diverse slate of artists and styles reflecting and deepening the themes of the movie, listening to the second, you might forget that it’s a soundtrack at all. Nobody mentions Spider-Man, the character, or says the word “superhero” across its 13 tracks (19 on the deluxe version released just days later).

But while each of those tracks slots perfectly into its respective needle-drop moment in the film, here, there’s a sense of cohesion that the first one lacked — for certain, a product of having a single producer curating tracks with his favorite collaborators. Where the first featured a number of rising stars who might not be instantly recognizable — one breakout song, “What’s Up Danger,” was performed by Blackway, who isn’t exactly a marquee star — this one is littered with A-list talent, from 21 Savage and ASAP Rocky to James Blake and Nas.

Fittingly, though, there is some continuity: Coi Leray returns here for the reflective “Self Love.” She’s seen a similar rise in popularity since the first movie, just like the franchise itself (the first film opened at $35.4 million for the weekend; the new one grossed $120.7 million in the same span). Metro also wisely expands his own range, continuing the first soundtrack’s nods to the multi-cultural Brooklyn setting of the film with forays into dancehall (“Silk & Cologne” with Ei8ht and Offset), Afrobeats (“Link Up” with Don Toliver and Wizkid), and alt-pop (the standout “Hummingbird” with James Blake).

And where the first film dazzled with entirely new animation techniques and novel production design, the second, without the element of surprise that the first one had, deepened and expanded its use of these elements to enrich the visual storytelling (in Spider-Gwen’s world, the watercolor backgrounds shapeshift to reflect the characters’ emotional conflicts — strong stuff). Likewise, Across The Spider-Verse‘s soundtrack doesn’t get to blow us away with a “Sunflower,” the Post Malone and Swae Lee collab that went 18 times platinum while becoming a soundtrack earworm on the scale of “Don’t You Forget About Me” or “Danger Zone.”

So, instead, Metro and friends spread the inescapable catchiness across the tracklist as a whole. In the past seven days, I have been stuck, alternately, on ASAP Rocky and Roisee’s “Am I Dreaming,” whose strings pulsate with emotion; Swae Lee, Nav, and A Boogie wit da Hoodie’s “Calling,” which may mark my first time actually enjoying a Nav song; and Dominic Fike’s deluxe edition addition “Mona Lisa,” the very definition of a bop. My neighbors are undoubtedly sick of all three by now, but I’ve considerately varied the playlist with Future and Lil Uzi Vert’s “All The Way Live,” Offset and JID’s (!!) “Danger (Spider),” and “Silk & Cologne.”

Throughout the album, it’s clear that Metro, like the Sony Pictures Animation studio, stepped up his game tremendously. We’re well used to his thumping 808s and haunting samples by now; this time, he adds soaring strings, blaring, superheroic horns, subtle synths, and sprinkles of dialogue from the film to his formula, crafting candy-coated musical concoctions that sit as easily aside each other as they do the frenetic animation and heartfelt scenes on the screen.

If Enter The Spider-Verse produced one of my favorite superhero film soundtracks, Across The Spider-Verse presents one of the best — no caveats or categories needed. It may not feel as groundbreaking as its predecessor, but it is an album that compels repeat listening and rewards it every time. Tasked with producing a soundtrack worthy of the mighty leap forward the sequel has made, the artist whose oeuvre includes not just one superhero-themed album but two (with another on the way) proves himself up to the Herculean task and, like the film itself, leaves listeners desperate for more.

Metro Boomin Presents Spider-Man: Across The Spider-Verse is out now on Boominati/Republic.

Some artists covered here are Warner Music artists. Uproxx is an independent subsidiary of Warner Music Group.