Vince Staples emerged in the early 2010s as a precocious wordsmith whose unflinching brand of sardonic realism documented the socioeconomic divide of his native Long Beach. Speaking in an unrushed yet measured delivery, Staples offered a bleak portrait of the despair ravaging his community, where gang violence, poverty, and police brutality created an inescapable cycle of trauma and heartache for residents. Staples illuminated the hopelessness and desperation in strikingly real terms, echoing the neighborhood’s cries for help, but receiving little in the form of aid. On the outro of “TURN,” a standout from his Shyne Coldchain Vol. 2 mixtape, Staples croons “I’m going crazy please somebody save me. Jesus way too far gone for him to reach me.”
Staples’ official debut for Def Jam in 2015, Summertime ‘06, remains a masterclass in grim storytelling. The atmosphere is murky and desolate, the pace creaking along like a slow-burn horror film. Death lurks around every corner, incarceration and addiction tears families apart, and daily survival is the only goal. The stakes are always high on a major label debut, but you’d be hard pressed to find a coming-out-project with a greater sense of urgency than ‘06.
In recent years, Staples’ tenacity as an incisive writer has not waned, but he’s championed a different kind of sonic aesthetic. On his 2021 collaborative album with producer Kenny Beats, Vince Staples, Staples premiered a deadpan cadence over stripped-back and bluesy production. He sounds alarmingly indifferent to the violence and squalor that scarred his upbringing, shrugging off the fact he needs to stash a gun in his trunks when he goes to the beach (“TAKING TRIPS.”) Critics found the plaintive record to be unspoken and lethargic, but fans appreciated its daring nature from a creator who’s never shied away from taking potentially alienating creative risks (See 2017’s Big Fish Theory).
Staples’ new LP, Ramona Park Broke My Heart, is rooted in Southern California’s past and present. Originally slated to succeed VinceStaples in 2021, the project builds off some of the concepts of its predecessor, particularly in regard to pace and song structure, but with more overtly West Coast production. Executive produced by Beats and Michael Uzowuru, RPBMH tinkers with the G-Funk-infused trap sound permeating through much of the contemporary hip-hop scene in Los Angeles. “DJ QUIK” features scratches from the iconic stylist himself, while Staples’ slithering and paranoid flows on “MAMA’s BOY” and “BANG THAT” pay homage to Drakeo the Ruler and ‘03 Greedo. The album captures some pure moments of musical brilliance, with the occasional misstep.
An unexpected career arc in Staples’ artistry has been the penchant he’s developed for reciting earworm hooks with relative ease. The first single, “MAGIC,” features an instantly-quotable chorus over booming 808s and a swirling synth melody from Mustard. “ROSE STREET” boasts classic Staples proverbs that will likely reverberate in subwoofers and Instagram captions for months to come. “I’m married to the money, don’t be playing games. Only bringing flowers to the homies grave.”
The creative apex of the record occurs on the surreal “WHEN SPARKS FLY,” where Staples treats his gun as one typically would a significant other, finding comfort in its protection, security and companionship. The track is centered around a ghostly interpolation of “No Love” by Lyves, whose haunting vocals illuminate the fear of losing oneself in unrequited love. Staples has expressed similar weariness toward romantic partnerships in the past, and early album highlight “AYE! (FREE THE HOMIES)” provides context to this hesitancy. “Every time I fall in love, baby do me bad. Giving up, when I went and gave it all I had.” Tellingly, Staples finds less risk in professing vulnerability toward an inanimate object incapable of rejecting his true self.
Other areas of RPBMH serve as easy listening with less substance, such as the Ty Dolla $ign-assisted “LEMONADE,” and the woozy “PLAYER WAYS.” Striking the balance between the serious and the light-hearted is no easy task, but Staples strives for this achievement on RPBMH.
Similar to previous albums, Staples examines the plight of marginalized communities serving as viewing entertainment for white suburbia, and the closing seconds of “SLIDE” takes the notion to profound new heights. We hear fireworks sounding off interchangeably with gunshots, followed by applause from an unspecified crowd. The vignette could naively be interpreted as the conclusion of a 4th of July firework show. However, in Staples’ world, it could represent America’s infatuation with the sensationalism of gang violence, consuming the tragedies through the lens of a performance rather than the consequences of systemic failures. It’s in these instances of social commentary where Staples separates himself as an original mind in a field of copycats and clout chasers.