Mainstream of Consciousness

Out of all the musical genres, the most ambidextrous is hip-hop. Anything with a pulse can be sampled underneath a rhyme, as rap is essentially poetry with a backbone. And as technology advances, we have been capable of even more extraneous production: sampling music from across the world, from any time period, and creating new, obscurely unique sub-hip-hop genres and exploring the many moods and emotions that come attached with each new additive. But this far push from hip-hop’s roots may not be as easily introduced. Inching further away from the machismo that douses your standard booming bass and degrading lyrics by sampling piano keys and violins ultimately add a negative connotation to the genre: soft.

           

The occasional hip-hop ballad has been the rap artist's way to slam-dunk a one-hit wonder since 1990s slowjammer LL Cool J paved the way for hip-hop/R&B artists to follow. However, the lines between romantic ballads and a deeper contextual version of what braggadocio hip-hop used to be are becoming more and more blurred.

           

Although rap artists have continually produced more melodic tunes with R&B choruses, artists such as Kanye West, Snoop Dogg and Nelly have gone as far not only as singing the hooks themselves, but singing entire songs and albums while still classifying themselves as hip-hop artists. Additionally, almost across the board, rappers from T.I. to Drake write lyrics with female fans in mind, both by expressing their sensitive side and by boasting about their ability to satisfy women.

           

This is where controversies rise and the war in hip-hop draws between the classic standby and the frontier runners: what does it ultimately mean for hip-hop to have feelings?

           

Kanye West’s techno-motional “808s & Heartbreak,” Drake’s expressive rap/R&B “Take Care,” and Lupe Fiasco’s “Cool” are three albums that prove an open imagination and creative ProTools work can push hip-hop from “Hot in Herre” to a ever-evolving artistically literate genre.

Kanye West, “808s & Heartbreak” (Rock-A-Fella Records, 2008)

           

Kanye West may never be satisfied. Grieving over his materialistic consumption in one moment then boasting about his wealth the next, he is driven by ego and plagued by doubt—contradicting the expected feigned composure of your standard pop star. He hides behind no pseudonyms or characters, and will not hold back from telling you how he truly feels about everything. West is also noted to have the most creative and competitive drive to recombine ideas, challenging hip-hop’s standards: making the only constant theme throughout all of his albums being the experience of Being Kayne West.

           

In the year of 2008, however, West had nothing to brag about. He and his fiancée broke up, and his mother Donda West, who raised Kanye alone from the age of three, died from complications after cosmetic surgery. This whirlwind of sadness caused West to create the melancholic electronic album, “808s & Heartbreak,” where he sings through the entire album. Steeped in regret and pain, this introspective, minimal electro-pop record contains even more self-examination than a typical Kanye West album and is prime example of the many directions hip-hop can go if we release it from its cage.  

At this point in time, the vocal synthesizer auto tune was relatively new on the hip-hop scene. Used most famously by the lyrically shallowest rap artists such as T-Pain, auto tune wanes on the tacky side of hip-hop traits. But in the context of West’s “808s & Heartbreak,” (and aside from hiding behind it as a vocal crutch) his cyborg-soul software almost feels like an “if you can’t beat ‘em join ‘em” approach to the technique: West, however, finding a new way to it better. He embraces the different ways the cyborg-soul software sounds to his advantage in this new genre of emo-electro-R&B, upping the pathos and embodying a cadenced cry.

           

Through first collective listen, the album gives off a monotonic drone of the pitch-corrected technology, orchestral strings, and constant bass underlining erratic beep-boop-bops. But if each song is taken in separately, the album reveals folds and layers that shows West actually paid close attention to each production detail—it just needed a little selfless detangling. The record “Street Lights” has an invigoratingly-pattering drum pulse that beats through atmospheric vocals and piano scales underneath his vocodored cadence “life’s just not fair” and perfectly embodies West’s depressed stage.

The track “Coldest Winter,” dedicated to his late mother, also effortlessly translates West’s emotional outcry. Its haunting refrains that inhale and exhale in between bursts of static and chilly '80s synths display the complicated frustration and sadness that comes with losing someone.

“Heartless” and “Love Lockdown” are the album’s most car-stereo capable and glimpses of what this album could’ve looked like if West set his ego aside and was willing to do further editing. Between tribal drums thundering and vocal twitches, “Love Lockdown” successfully samples this new concoction without being too much. “Robocop” is disappointingly close to being another successful groove with hints of West’s trademark snarky lyrics and punchy violins, but sinks to a self-indulgent jam session during the awkwardly endless bridge when West laments how he will “never be a ruh-roh-bot.”

West’s idea to invite 5-foot-nothing Top 40 jester Lil Wayne to this complex release is another obvious misstep. As proven later in 2010 with his failed rock attempt “Rebirth,” Wayne is only successful at his staple version of rap: sex, drugs and yes, gaudy auto tune. Their duet on this album, “See You In My Knightmares,” is horribly one-note and edging on immature and dorky. “You think your shit don't stank, but you are Mrs. P-U” Wayne recites. Any attempt for this song to be on any level of sophistication is immediately lost after his verse, as presumably predicted when first seeing “Featuring Lil Wayne” tacked on the title.

But, if you’re willing to hear this thug-you-can-hug through this new context and are open to his less-than-American-Idol quality of singing, “808s & Heartbreak” fosters one of the most expressive and vulnerable releases from the otherwise showoff-y genre.

Drake, “Take Care” (Young Money Entertainment and Cash Money Records 2011)

As another one of hip-hop’s most groundbreaking artists of today, Canadian actor-turned-rapper Aubrey “Drake” Graham has raised eyebrows nationwide. Loved by some, loathed by others, his arrival to success has sparked conversation on the contemporary convergence hip-hop and R&B, making Drake the figurehead with his sweet singing and sensitive rhymes. But with as much attention comes criticism: Drake is easily labeled as incompetent. Lil’ Kim stated he “just wasn’t built for this hood shit,” and Common admitted that his 2011 critical release “Sweet” was inspired by him. The opinion has been voiced that Drake’s singing has made him less of an MC, and that he is perhaps too cuddly to be a Young Money contender.

           

Both his nonexistent criminal record and privileged childhood have also forced Drake’s credibility as a rapper into discussion. However, Drake’s success in not only mainstream audiences but also in underground fans is the most telling thing about him. His way of blending soulful sing-song slow-jams with expressive rhymes and lyrics appeals to an indefinable demographic, proving that pushing hip-hop boundaries can create an entirely new ball game—one where Drake is now MVP.

           

Through a brief history of the sensitive rapper, it all began with his mixtapes released and promoted via MySpace in 2007. Lil Wayne stumbled upon his music and helped shape Drake’s third mixtape, “So Far Gone” in 2009 with his single “Best I Ever Had” nominated for a Grammy with no thanks to any major label. Literally an overnight success, Drake then joined the Young Money Entertainment forces alongside Wanye, T-Pain and later, Minaj, and released his first studio album “Thank Me Later” in 2010. This album showcased the Toronto rapper's tales of his quick and unprepared stumbling into the high life that is underlined with regret.

           

In his newest 2011 release “Take Care,” we are taken further into the trappings of his unfortunately famous psyche. Pushing to luxe and expansive production this time around, his futile experiences at exclusive after-parties with cocaine and hookers have an extra kick of sadness throughout the echoed synth. Though the immorality of his lush lifestyle he continually references seems far from relatable, his emotions are translated so matter-of-factly that you actually feel a mutual pain when he vents about his drunk-dials and ones-that-got-away. “Too many drinks have been given to me/ I got some women that’s living off me/Paid for their flights and hotels I’m ashamed/… Having a hard time adjusting to fame:” He has become increasingly more intoxicated, and, simultaneously, self-aware, coming to terms that he’s losing his grip and drowning in guilt.

           

In “Over My Dead Body,” he honestly admits to his shattered conscience:  “I thought I found the girl of my dreams at a strip club… I was wrong, though.” He effortlessly blends the emotions of being cocky, sad, and affectionate, using this album as both an inner diary and an outward “fuck you” to people who misread him.

           

Phone conversations outer-luding songs such as “Look What You’ve Done” add this genuine touch; Drake whispers to himself alone with a piano, and through analyzing past issues via playback of a voicemail where his distant dad “knows to get in touch,” he paints the scarring impact of his father by allowing the audience in so personally.

           

What is also concurrently so relatable about the aloof MC is that his raps that flow so effortlessly conversational that listening to him is like hearing a friend lament about his life so authentically. You know it is all real because his rhymes never translate to feel forced—they flow from the heart—unlike rhymes from rappers like Lil Wayne (who unfortunately makes a few unwelcome cameos on “Take Care.”) “My nuts hang like ain’t no curfew, bitch, if you wave then I will surf you,” he immaturely taunts on “HYFR.”

           

The rest of the members of the star-studded crew to make appearances throughout the album, however, add to its depth. From the mind-blowing verses Minaj spits on Drake’s cadenced “Proud,” to his duo with Rick Ross on the album’s single flashy record, each new person adds complexity to Drake’s expressions. His endearing sampled cover on the title track with Rihanna of Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie XX's "I'll Take Care of U" and his attempt at letting a girl down easy by saying "we live in a generation of not being in love” echoed by Stevie Wonder harmonics also push the album farther along conceptually.

           

Though Drake’s continuous slow jam feels thick in the difference of temperature from usual hip-hop, the interworking’s of Drake’s honest outlook on his new lifestyle is a refreshing match with the genre’s bass-heavy persona. Because he makes “Take Care” so accessible to virtually anyone who listens, it is an undeniably successful album.

Kid Cudi, “Man On The Moon: The End of the Day” (Universal Republic 2009)

A third new flavor to the hip-hop scope comes from the Cleveland drug-infused philosopher and rapper Scott Mescudi, née Kid Cudi. With his first release, “Man On The Moon: The End of the Day,” he mixes trippy atmospheric production with similar singsong choruses and the blunt words of a realistic stoner, adding a further dimension to the traditional scene.

           

The album is a concept album, which in itself can be difficult to be seen as a credible artwork through the hip-hop audience. We are taken though first-hit on the album’s intro song “In My Dreams (Cudder Anthem),” where Cudi expresses that he likes to drift into fantasy because he can escape from life’s truthful anguishes, “Right here in my dreams/Everything is a-okay…/Cause every day, every day, every day is sunny…/ Everything plays out exactly how I want them to.”

           

Still falling under the soft-stereotype, Cudi handles his emotions differently than his sensitive counterparts. Instead of admitting to his sadness, he substantially dilutes his feelings and finds new psychological truths. Interweaved throughout the album are Common’s narrations that carry the storyline. We begin with him admitting, “We live in a world where it's more okay to follow than to lead…This is the story of a young man who not only believed in himself, but his dreams too.” Though in “Take Care” we find some of this honest philosophy, in fact even a similar lyric: “I heard once that they'd…rather hear about finding yourself [than] how you lost you;” as well as in West’s “808s & Heartbreak:” “What does it feel like to live real life to be real?/Not some facade on TV that no can really feel;” Cudi pushes this outlook into an entire collective idea, making the emotion of being “soft” actually beneficial.

           

This doesn’t mean the softness doesn’t exist, however. The album’s most poignant track “Sky Might Fall,” not surprisingly produced by Kanye West himself, is Kid Cudi’s essential proof of the saying that “drunk words are sober thoughts.” “What a world that I'm livin' in, will the rainstorms ever end…Still I feel my heart stronger then its ever been, strong will to my journey ends/ 'Til then I roll more then I've ever rolled…” The sadness is there whether or not he can mask it with hallucinating to fantasy.

On “Soundtrack 2 My Life” Cudi admits to his family issues. “No sitcom could teach Scott about the drama/ Or even explain the troubles that haunted my mom.” Elaborating on this childhood and how his family shaped him, Cudi allows us into the crux of his pain. And this otherwise-masked family drama is consequently linear in all three albums, additionally found in “Take Care,” and “808s & Heartbreak,” even though hip-hop tries to avoid the softhearted side that family truthfully exposes.

           

The eerie echoes of the techno-hip-hop-rock that compose the record also translate its emotion, just as the productions did through “Take Care” and “808s & Heartbreak.” With help from West, psychedelic rock-techno duo Ratatat, and Cudi’s future rock-duo “WZRD” bandmate Dot da Genius, the album is pushed into the faraway place Cudi finds himself. And while listening, it’s hard not to drift off into dark daydream.

           

The album’s song that sheds the most positive light is “Make Her Say” that features verses from Common and Kanye West with a fun back-and-forth sample from Lady Gaga’s a capella version of “Pokerface.” Though the radio-readiness disrupts the flow of the rest of the sinuous record, West’s dependably “got-em!” lyrics are nothing but gratifying.

What sets Kid Cudi apart from the other two front men is his ability to admit that he will eventually turn out ok. On the track “Pursuit of Happiness,” he explains that although this moment may not be ideal, there has to be light at the end of the tunnel. “I'm on the pursuit of happiness and I know everything that shine ain't always gonna be gold/I'll be fine once I get it, I'll be good.” Today is tough, but life goes on: there is more optimism throughout “Man On The Moon: End of the Day.”

           

Ultimately, looking back at the journey we have taken since mainstream hip-hop’s roots incepted, much has changed. Whether or not it’s going to be accepted, it is impossible to try and hold together one genre from evolving artistically. If we are willing to untie the genre’s unspoken rules, we can allow new ways for music to progress and develop. And, we can find inspirationally profound art that is honest to the different emotions found throughout life.