Pop music is a hybrid of many ideas, factors and trends, all delved and condensed into many sounds that never quite connect as a whole. Therefore, it’s always much more fun and rewarding to dive into the pop phenomenons individually, especially those that shine the brightest. A lot of hip hop on this list, but some projects are on the margins of being something else entirely. That’s part of the fun, isn’t it? Then again, how much fun can you have when your radio is behaving the way it is?
Drake - Certified Lover Boy (hip hop)
It shouldn’t be this difficult to talk about Drake. Sure, he himself has made it complicated, what with the “you are hiding a child” controversy, and the constant delays, and the questionable features he’s been making. Obviously, his pointless, obviously fake beef with Kanye made everyone try to pitch this and the inessential DONDA right next to each other (it served for an intriguing argument, and not much else). Also, his albums since 2016’s Views have been bloated and filled with moments where it seemed like he was flying overboard. Plus, he’s a constantly cheesy presence whose fame has gone to his head, and the notion of good (or decent, or mildly comprehensible) taste is long gone. The thread is complicated, needlessly, so: why Drake now? After so long?
In a word or two: he’s hot. Drake is just really hot.
He’s a sensual presence who carries himself through on a fantastic vocal timbre that’s more varied than even his fans will notice. His rapping voice is accessible and simple to understand, and out of that accessibility come some flawed but interesting lyrical swings for the fences that borderline on ridiculous (if they don’t out right cross it) but gives him a sense of confidence and self-earned bravado that’s never masculine enough to drive someone away; even when he’s being toxic, or exacerbating, his monotone voice stops him from carrying too much weight to what he’s saying. His singing voice is even better, one where he can allow himself to be even more toxic, but sell it to you like a flower bouquet, a cutesy moment of piercing honesty that doesn’t quite make you realize what he’s saying until it’s too late: you’re already hooked, the sweet nothings in your ear have worked their magic.
That’s why 90 minutes of Drake feel like 40: the way I hear it, there’s just never enough Drake. He’s not romantic, but he’s so good at selling you the idea of romance, you’ll fall for any hole in the plot (and there are many). Any moment of flat out stupidity feels enhancing and proper, like a self-aware himbo all for myself. Knowing that this project’s title was Certified Lover Boy certainly made me curious and, indeed, while most of the album is actually focused on his well-documented paranoia and his “no friends in the industry” mindset (what happens when you become the industry, I guess), there are still plenty of moments where his lack of nuance when trying to conquer women shine up, and they’re as touching as on older projects. For a brash example, the oft-maligned “Girls Want Girls” with him trying to pick up a lesbian (“Say you a lesbian, girl, me too”) and then brushing it off as something girls are into, is stupid and eye-roll-worthy, but. There’s a wink in his delivery as he tries to avoid any confrontation and succeeds in doing so, and when he gets a chance to be with someone, his confused crooning (“I don’t know…)” makes you realize how much he’s fumbling it. He very much doesn’t know, he’s lost all sense of proper etiquette, so when the door opens for him, he’s just left there mumbling. We got a sweet dumbass over here.
Even when he’s being his usual paranoid self, like on the already referenced “No Friends in the Industry”, there’s something cute about it - like a sweet old man yelling at a cloud, except he has biceps and 10 billion dollars - his mild slurring in the chorus is adorable, and his shrinking of himself in the verses just make him something you’d love to squish. When he gets backed up by actual friends Lil Wayne and Rick Ross (both with correct, appropriately pompous verses) on “You Only Live Twice”, you can tell how vulnerable his position is, and how he’s able to make everyone and anyone around him as someone more calmed than he is. His typical setting of a place and time of “7am On Bridle Path” is messy and confused, like he was indeed pulling up after an all-nighter trying to say things because his sense of self is fading, yet he’s still trying to impress you in how his voice gets more agitated as he goes on; he’s still aware of the audience listening to him, and he doesn’t want to stop, still looking forward to impressing you. That’s sexy.
Of course, that means the actual attempts to resemble sexy are even more generous in how much they give you. Skipping past the goofy “Way 2 Sexy” which is not sexy at all, it’s just flat out decadent (with that high-pitched synth on top of the beat and Future and Young Thug disintegrating into their verses, it’s uncanny), most of these songs are highlights of this long album. “TSU” is his attempt at making high-budget cloud rap and, while the production is only slightly sterile, his voice feels like he’s approaching you from different angles - he tries to downplay how important you are to him, and you might end up bouncing alongside him. “Get Along Better” plays into the 6/8 drama with enough accuracy that the hush of his delivery is enough to remind you of moments of closeness yourself, and when he pulls the final card - “I get along better with your frieennds…” - the knife he sticks through your chest is laced with candy and endorphins; he’s convincing you this is all for the better, and it’s working. “In the Bible” sees him amp up the manipulation even more, and before he gets too insufferable, Lil Durk and Giveon show up to try to pull up some fun jokes and decent crooning in order for Drake’s pissiness. His Afrobeats delve with Tems on “Fountains” sees him dissipating his voice in the mix for a quick affair, where he tries to show some sensual vulnerability, and Tems’ temper matched with her voice being echoed in the mix makes her sound like something unattainable for him. Something breaks with a lot of delicacy in this song.
Not to say this is a consistent listen through and through: the pacing is off, the lack of control often feels like a drag rather than a plus, and it is, indeed, too long for its own good. And sometimes, some features will highlight Drake’s weaknesses to his detriment - 21 Savage, a man much more in control of his sexiness, makes Drake look like a clown on the blood-tasting sensual “Knife Talk” with Project Pat, even though every performer is highly appealing. But at the same time, it’d suck to simply dismiss this as a pick-your-faves-ditch-the-rest sort of project, like many Drake critics might say. There’s something consistent that makes this a rewarding listen (the same way Views and Scorpion were), which is Drake’s relentless attempts to convince you that he’s not washed over, and his many, varied attempts at making you feel dependent on him, even though most of the time, it’s the other way around. Drake behaves like a hot, clingy dumbass waiting for you to respond to his texts, and crying in between. You take 85 minutes to respond, and during those 85 minutes, you revel in the fact you’ve brought someone to their knees. Isn’t there some glee to be found in that?
Silk Sonic - An Evening With Silk Sonic (smooth soul)
Sure! Yeah, it’s good, of course it’s good. Bruno Mars is a master producer and performer who lacks in subtlety but makes up for in pristine sound making and sound building, so his sonic landings are going to be satisfying, especially when he’s trying to expand upon his sound with more dedication than ever before to the 70s sound. Meanwhile, Anderson .Paak is a fantastic rapper and master of sound (terrific drummer too) who was already leaning into neo-soul sounds that could have slipped into the 70s smooth soul as well with some moulding. And by all means, Silk Sonic is a Bruno Mars main project with Anderson .Paak jumping on board for a deeper sense of texture and to not make it so monochromatic (and Bootsy Collins as a ‘narrator’ for critical points). Good thing, both artists are in synchrony!
Thankfully a short affair, and while there are a lot of elements at play - strings, horns, the typical Marvin Gaye/Al Green sound - the production, courtesy of Bruno himself and D’Mile, keeps things quite small and intimate, as the sound never goes too far from its own place of comfort, so the grooves are comfortable and easy-going. The drums, as well-played as they are, get to be the weak point, as they sound far too dry and sanded over, lacking those classic high-pitches in the mix that made them stand out. However, the rest sounds exactly as good as they did 50 years ago, to the point where it’s almost uncanny. Rollicking guitars in the background, very thick and strong basslines, lush strings that would have made Maurice White proud, and a strong sense of atmosphere that looks towards the moments of intimacy found within the familiar.
There’s also a pretty neat balance in the songs led by Bruno and the songs led by Anderson. Obviously, the biggest hit “Leave the Door Open” was going to be led by the familiar voice, and, indeed, it follows the jazzy progressions he’s known for, with Anderson providing commentary on what’s going on during the verses. But he also tries to give Anderson the possibility of leaning into Bruno’s melodrama on “Put On a Smile” (even if Anderson somewhat falls short, as Bruno really gives it his all). Meanwhile, you can get to hear the input of both of them in songs like “Skate” or “777”, where the songs ease into their melodic sensibilities while also following the rougher mode of Anderson’s compositions. Meanwhile, “Fly as Me” and “Smokin Out the Window” are mainly Anderson’s babies - the former has 2 rap verses and the latter has the memetic “THIS. BITCH.”, something someone as tasteful as Bruno could have never come up with on his own - , where Bruno embellishes them without much effort, since they’re already tailor-made for him.
It’s also nice that there’s no clear highlight in sight, since 8 of the main tracks are about as good as each other, and the chemistry between Bruno and Anderson is left intact. You can barely tell they’re crooning together throughout most of “After Last Night”, or hollering in pride on “777” (quite an exciting hook on that one). The passing of the mic on “Smokin Out the Window” feels truly, fully rehearsed like they should, if both these artists are involved. Same goes for the textured “Fly as Me”, where the organ hits are colored and the small wah-wah guitar really does feel appropriate for what they’re trying to do. Maybe the final send off on “Blast Off” is the one truly ‘extra’ moment on the album, simply because their voices are too tiny to fit that sort of galactic grandiosity (and, just like in “After Last Night”, Bruno’s guitar solo is buried in the mix). But that’s really it. It’s hard to deny it’s artificial, or too ‘proper’ in order for some raucousness to happen - but it’s showbiz! You want a clean, fun show with colors and lights. Pop music is never “just for fun”, like poptimists would have you believe, but Bruno’s particular brand of complete devotion to being a crowd pleaser? Hard to deny it when it’s this well done.
Baby Keem - The Melodic Blue (pop rap)
Such a wide explosion of color, it’s hard to keep up! What an interesting idea that Baby Keem followed through on, as a rapper and as a producer, to combine the melodic aspects of modern mainstream rap with outlandish, circus-like sounds that added up to an experience that, in spite of its own melancholy and yearning, became addictive and highly rewarding. It’s hard to not point out that Baby Keem is Kendrick Lamar’s cousin (Kendrick shows up 3 times here, so it’s somewhat inviting you to compare them) yet, even though he learned how to be a dexterous vocal presence on the mic, he didn’t pick up Kendrick’s production choices, which often lean toward the grey, the brown, the hued, muffled sound of instruments being played live looking for a way out. Here, as a producer, Baby Keem uses the space in the mix to his advantage, and fills it with so much richness in how the sounds are presented: a rap carnival, of sorts.
The Melodic Blue really is a whirlwind of ideas catching on fire, and Baby Keem’s presence on the mic fits the unabashed vibe he wants to provide. His lyricism can lean into more conscious or reflective territory, but he’s a fan of turning nonsense lyrics into mantras, or taking phrases out of context and making the entire song revolve around them, even if it’s for a brief 20 seconds. Halfway through the album, you’ll find the plucking guitars mixed with stupidly melodramatic horns and a chipped-down kazoo on “cocoa”, with a tempo so fast you’d somewhat expect it to stop - but instead, you get Baby Keem, like a little kid, devoting many laughs to laughing or going “vroom, vroom” or focusing on his own call-and-response (“I’m balling with my friends! (Heheee)”), and nothing makes enough sense for it all to add up. Or you get the slithering opening synths for “pink panties” which are them met with primal percussion (and nothing else) and a chorus courtesy of Che Ecru, flimsy and confused, and as the percussion becomes more focused on its digital Caribbean rhythm, the sound becomes more complicated. Too many synths and drums that are never too distorted. Sonically, a story is being told.
Of course, everyone will gravitate towards the Kendrick-assisted songs on this, his first major appearance in years, Baby Keem knows this, so he’ll try his best to make the songs as off-the-cuff as possible while still maintaining artistic cohesion. “range brothers” oscillates through a hidden synth figure (before a prog-rock synth shows up!) and, before you can focus on that, Baby’s charged, only half-joking voice takes over the mix with “I need a girlfrieeeeeeeend”, and something’s already breaking (only to be followed by his staccato falsetto) - his jumping nature is similar to NNAMDÏ’s excellent efforts from last year. Then, when it’s time for Kendrick to show up, the synthesized strings already take over the sound, so they defy Kendrick’s presence. Even when he destroys it all and brings in a third beat switch that leaves it all but a deserted synth presence, where Kendrick nonchalantly reacts to Baby Keem’s controlled nonsense… it’s a game they’re both in on. (“Why your boyfriend looking for me? Is he Jesus?!”). Lead single “family ties” is even more adventurous, as the buried horns on Baby’s verse are matched with a hidden guitar figure, more hurt than it wants to admit, and Kendrick is given the chance to shine in his long verse, reminding everyone what an expressive rapper he can be.
But Kendrick, like most of the features and cameos here, end up being superfluous to what’s really going on inside Baby Keem’s head. He’s truly got so much to express musically, that goofiness feels almost like a facade, to hide things he doesn’t want to admit - or, if he does, he’s going to let himself get washed away by the color. The driving percussion gives him a place to hide in “issues”, where he starts detailing his conflictive relationship with his mother, as his voice feels oddly sober and sobering, where he both tries not to resent her, but can’t stop thinking of her as someone who abandoned him - and the calmed, ambient-like yellow synths demonstrate a sense of lost atmosphere, something almost quite inspirational. “scars” is the most upfront regarding his questioning of everything he had to go through, as the loud, processed percussion takes a hold of the atmosphere and while Baby Keem’s adlibs try to make this something lighter (“I asked God! (GOOod)”)), there’s enough drama in here to not let this moment be a rarity. It doesn’t cross into the line of angst, but it does make the line between the digital and the organic something the album wonderfully and intentionally struggles with: the artifice or the harsh reality?
As well advertised as it was, The Melodic Blue simply isn’t the always funny, ‘random’ listen some might have expected from “family ties” - and that’s a good thing! If it were, we wouldn’t have so many moments where the colors settle in and have this amount of inner development. The middle part of this album is the best example of that. We get a song like “gorgeous”, where the main conceit is “I can’t fall in love because I’m heartless”, and then the song goes on to defy that narrative to the core, as arpeggio pianos get inside the mix to give his ego a deeper sense of urgency, as the production knows he’s trying to do everything to not make her leave so easily. A similar eeriness is found in “south africa”, with an obviously choppy, plastic piano to denote the static delivery of the hook, like a secret that shouldn’t be unveiled; things are rarely too natural with Baby Keem. And then, ending this mini arc with the sweet “lost souls”, where Keem croons his way through a brief base that doesn’t attempt to do anything, as they decide Keem should reach his own conclusions regarding his family and his erratic relationship with women.
The last part of the album (after “scars”) is mostly quite lacking, and the experimentation starts to wear off, and be replaced by something more familiar. But even there, Baby Keem finds ways to still be engaging as a performer, to not let the burdens of fame fully get to him. Not only is he commendable, but he is - indeed - a commanding performer, one that slips beyond the merely memetic to try to find some deeper gravitas into his own silliness. He doesn’t seem to need anyone else jumping on board to give him directions - he’s got this on his own. Possibly the best moment on the album comes on the daring opening track, “trademark usa”, where, after many moments of losing his own sanity (a vocoder breakdown is perhaps the moment where you realize this isn’t the ordinary album), he depicts the eviction from his own home at a young age, and turns that into a fun, quotable line, all in the way he raps it: “I was fifteeeeen, I was sixteeeeen”, like he was counting numbers. It’s impossible to not hear how playful he can be, how he can turn trauma into something to mock - but never without respect! So many colors here, the blue is almost indistinguishable.
Young Thug - Punk (pop rap, R&B)
Never did we ask to be this openly, overtly sad. Young Thug certainly didn’t. After releasing 4-6 ‘debut’ albums in the span of 8 years, all of which granted him notorious critical acclaim but no enormous hits, he finally seemed to have found a ‘usual’ way of releasing music with his official debut, So Much Fun, back in 2019. A fun album, full of good producers and good features, but definitely one that was aiming towards virality and commercial appeal, and Young Thug was always at his best when he was beyond playing that game. So now, his first solo project since that album, Punk, promised to be a different experience: from the title, to the cover art, it all seemed like something else was mutating.
What we got was one of mainstream rap’s finest expressions of the constant sense of loss and bitterness found ever since So Much Fun came out in August, 2019. Bigger emphasis on guitars, a looser atmosphere that didn’t want to (always) dive into the party mindset, a Thugger too tired for the concessions he has to make in order to make what he has to make. Everything feels tossed off and worn out; the features, both megastars and up-and-comers from Slime Records, ride on a different vibration than before. Punk feels like riding out high in the back of an empty car; when the radio’s not playing the latest hits (which come off as different under the influence), you fill up the silence with your own mumblings and moanings. It’s all out of place.
You hear cyclical acoustic guitars on songs like the opener “Die Slow” or the mournful “Recognize Real”, where the flexing feels empty, like routine, and the divings into trying to not lose more people due to flawed justice systems meant to marginalize black people even more. Thugger is not one to further explore the inner workings of those systems, but he’s willing to explore the consequences they bring onto the people he loves, and how he’s willing to try to help them out with whatever resources he has. Meanwhile, his aching of those looking for ways to cut him off (he’s become quite a paranoid figure) are present on “Contagious”, one where he dives into his sorrowful voice, one where juxtaposed with those knives passing off as hi-hats on the drum section, they get to feel the lack of closure in trying to make something out of people he doesn’t know yet surround him at every step.
That’s one of the things Thugger’s gotten back at mastering since So Much Fun, which is his immense vocal dexterity. He takes what could be a throwaway like “Fifth Day Dead” and gives it a slow burning aura to it, like if nothing could be properly resolved with his voice; hanging in between the atmospheres. He also leans into the melodrama of the piano on “Road Rage”, where he gets to show more aggression than he probably should, as he feels trapped by the lack of space in the mix and dissipates into pure angst (“I'm road raging tothemillions if I have to crawawl…”) - even in the more downbeat songs, he finds ways to create tension. The muted behemoth that is “Stupid/Asking” is one of his best performances throughout the years, as he tries to add some sense of humor to the proceedings, but the betrayal from who he perceives as strangers is too much for him to carry, and he eventually falls apart, as the beat goes from a normal, downbeat Metro Boomin trap beat to something more lost and gated, like if the song was opening the door for a more abstract way of looking at the world, one that could destroy anyone. Nothing can seem to properly, truly heal him.
Strangely enough, for such a feature-heavy project, it rarely feels like one, as Thugger’s prints are all over what everyone wants to do. He gets J. Cole to enthuse himself up on “Stressed” (in the first moment on the album where percussion kicks in) and he makes him to the point of exasperation, but one of his protegés, T-Shyne, steals the show very much after him, as he points up the sad hypocrisy of highly religious money, and how they won’t be able to help him as his brother goes to prison, and his girl leaves him; a constant compilation of stress, indeed. “Peepin Out the Window” sees dear friend Future and also protegé BSlime deal with police brutality, and the paranoia it creates around people (with a fantastic hook from Future; he melodically details that exhaustion). The two feature-heavy songs are two sides of the spectrum: the former, “Livin It Up”, is a surprisingly breezy sing-along with a gentle Post Malone hook and a redundant A$AP Rocky; the latter, “Bubbly”, is a disaster, the one true misfire on the album, as Travis Scott puts out an afterthought of a verse, and they try to pull a beat switch for Drake, but it only shows how he can’t get into the level of introspection everyone else is on; he sounds isolated and out of place.
But it is the presence of the dead that plagues this album the most. From the first song’s reference to Nipsey Hussle, to the second song’s reference to Juice WRLD, everything seems to be revolving around features who aren’t here anymore. It makes the moment where Juice WRLD shows up on “Rich N***a Shit”, one of the more upbeat songs on the album (even if the production feels too underweight and relying too much on bloated percussion), it feels like a moment of reminiscence, one of pulling up the memory of someone too talented to have left the world the way he did, and remembering how fun he used to be - “Now he want his girl back / Fuck you, have a nice day!” with the sense of immaturity that was part of what made him so endearing as a presence. Perhaps in an even more stark way, the final track, “Day Before”, was recorded the day before Mac Miller’s tragic death, and instead of trying to flesh out posthumously how the song could have turned out, Young Thug just lets the ukulele instrumental ride on for a little bit, never trying too hard to make it too friendly for others, especially since the sound is sinister indeed, and while Miller’s presence is already hard to swallow, especially if it’s the last thing you hear on the album (you’ll never get that sense of closure), the final line, “Just a couple things I thought about”, makes it all seem like it could have been for a reason - a reason Thug doesn’t try to give, since he knows he’s far too removed from Miller’s story.
So, the more surprising moments are ones that, within this context, are of mourning - of deep, painful mourning. Especially at the end of the album, they become more present. Louis Bell and Andrew Watt’s clean beat on “Hate the Game” present Young Thug during his regular, ridiculously idiosyncratic life, trying not to regret anything, and it’s clear him trying to fit the mold of a common pop rap is not one that’s gonna fit naturally, so he tries to make it all seem unnatural, and the failure of doing that makes it one of the most compelling songs on the album. Even more surprisingly, he brings out of the shadows Nate Ruess from fun., alongside his regular producer, legend Jeff Bhasker (who, in a great twist of fate, gets an artist credit) and Thugger’s friend Gunna (who, for the record, shows up 3 times on this album and is consistently great) for “Love You More”, the more melodramatic song on the album. Nate Ruess, frankly, has never sounded more sincere or touching than on his brief intro, as he’s realized he doesn’t have to belt out every line, and when he leads it into the mantra of the song, if not the entire album: “‘Cause I love you more than anything”, it all crystalizes: a moment of necessary communion, with a touch of despair, to not destroy something as precious as a memory. The song is simple and humble, not to spoil the wonderful moment of intimacy that was created. Eventually, it all dissipates, and it’s all terrifying in its tragedy - but the moments of acknowledgement, of reaching out, of trying to make sense of one’s feelings, that’s what propels us forward. At least, that’s what’s propelling Young Thug forward. What can last during these moments?
Lil Nas X - MONTERO (pop rap, pop)
The story was this: some kid got a big break with a catchy novelty single and that should have been it. Then, the kid went on to release some less-catchy non-novelty singles that weren’t as big and that should have been it. But then came an angle that couldn’t be ignored: the biggest novelty single of all time was done by a gay, black man. That opens more doors, not necessarily for the kid himself (who, by this point, had proven to not simply be ‘a kid’ and become a memetic force of nature), but for those who love to write some sort of hyperaware narrative regarding the odds of the world. Suddenly, one of the biggest, most controversial artists in the world, was gay, and out, and proud. That’s a huge feat, but what those hack writers don’t seem to wrap their head around is that it doesn't mean much when it comes to art. It can influence where the art comes from, “separating the art from the artist” is a myth anyway, but it doesn’t warrant any guarantee that whatever will come will be good. Thinking that way would just be condescending and patronizing not only to mainstream audiences, but to Lil Nas X (finally, his name matters) himself, as he would get cookie points sheerly because of his identity and not what he makes with his identity, if he does anything at all (which he’s not obliged to). So approaching MONTERO, and its heavy marketing, and its talk of ‘authenticity’, was difficult from the point of view of a skeptic.
Turns out: MONTERO is fantastic. Top to bottom, one of the best albums of the year, a true stepping stone for an artist who, turns out, has a lot to say - which might just make us reevaluate how much ordinary people have to say on a day-to-day basis, because those are the ones Lil Nas X is speaking to. Lil Nas X takes the golden opportunity into pop music’s factory to pick out fresh producers like Take a Daytrip, Omer Fedi, John Cunningham and Carter Lang, and develop what could be an actual high-budget passion project: a mission, not only to show himself as a proper artist, but to realize a vision he had years ago. In that sense, it’s one of the most universal listens you could catch all year, one that doesn’t slide into chasing trends, but that rather sticks to his own guts.
Because, and this is what’s been missing from those who praise this album, this could have been easy. A nice, celebration of black queerness from the point of view of those who’ll stick to slogans and shock value. The central lead singles were like that, at least. “MONTERO (Call Me By Your Name)” certainly leaned into that a lot in its marketing, and partially in its content. “INDUSTRY BABY” is basically an ode to debauchery, cementing his name further into the conversation. But, from the start, there was something different. The former song already opened up lyrically judging a lavish lifestyle of “cocaine and drinking with your friends” as something Lil Nas X didn’t want to follow, as his idea of ‘sinning’ was far more open and far more carnal. And the music dedicated itself to realizing that profanity: flamenco guitars that were mixed with up-close handclaps, daring for something to happen, all on top of an ugly, warbly bass; something had to break within that sexual tension of wanting something from someone even though they may be lying, or doing it with ill intent. The latter was a celebration, yes, and Jack Harlow’s featured verse was full of intense one-liners, but the leading horns had a tinge of melodrama in their sound and their melody, and Lil Nas X certainly gloated in everything, but he kept his feet on solid ground, noticing how he stuck to his guts against those who challenged him. And something stings, too.
Perhaps the most revealing track (at least in the first half of MONTERO) is the one positioned in between the 2 central singles: “DEAD RIGHT NOW”. Longer than the 2 of them, with no features, the song sees Lil Nas X going through a downward spiral of bragging to noticing those who left him behind, or those who never trusted him from the start and are now trying to get on his good side. The conflict between his parents is blatant (in particular his alcoholic mother spitting venom at him), and he includes them among those trying to take advantage of him now despite never believing him before any of this happened. That empty choir singing “Hallelujah!” feels like a hollow move, one that demonstrates the inevitability of all his accomplishments becoming bigger than himself. This recontextualizes the constant search for sex on the title track and the inmense boasting on “INDUSTRY BABY”, and sets the tone for the rest of the album’s conflicted emotions.
He tries to find comfort in a legend that will stand aside and play next to him like Elton John on “ONE OF ME”, and while the production is impressive - blistering moments of percussion that accomodate to a pretty piano - but Lil Nas X falls into the trap of trying to be better than everyone around him, and he finds himself in the middle of a hurricane as he lashes out against just about everyone else trying to copy his style - in “You’s a meme, you’s a joke, been a gimmick from the go”, he might as well be talking to himself and his own, crippling insecurities. He tries to find solace in searching for some sort of ever-lasting hook up on “THATS WHAT I WANT”, but he falls into melodrama impressively quickly, as the despair of just needing to be with someone creeps into him before Ryan Tedder can pull up his A-tier pop hook. Even the simple songs are not that simple.
So yes, even though the Doja Cat and the Megan Thee Stallion collaborations are fun, they feel lightweight and almost out of place in an album that’s so constantly brooding. You take a song like “LOST IN THE CITADEL” that follows up on “THATS WHAT I WANT”’s queer longing and amplifies it, as Lil Nas X realizes the end of something brief is near, and he’s realized the constant need to go back to his usual cycles of codependency. The groove sometimes borders on rock, but the more cavernous aspects of alternative rock than anything else. A similar high-pitched guitar appears on “DONT WANT IT”, close to ending the album, as Lil Nas X finds himself spiraling in the middle of consuming, doubting those who like him (or even worse, could be romantically or sexually interested by him), especially as his success and his ever present religious guilt creep into him. Whether it be trap, pop or rock, the production remains consistent, as acoustic and electric guitars consistently mix into moments of melancholy due to tinkling percussion and gated synths. It’s all being held back.
“SUN GOES DOWN” is one of the best things Lil Nas X will probably ever do, a single released in between the 2 central hits, one people (yours truly included) should have paid attention to earlier. A driving hook that never seems to know whether to give in or keep fighting (it features those both sides) and one verse where everything is laid out on the table: his ever-present melancholy, his white envy, his guilt once again overtaking him, his issues finding a community, and a problem to “make his fans so proud of him”, even if his tone of voice just feels too detached, as if it knew this is just part of the story. It’s a recap, and there’s more to come. Following it with “VOID” makes things stark, as that promise finds trouble in being fulfilled. It’s a bedroom pop composition where no sound is too sharp or defined, and it can’t find no real catharsis, as the melodies sort of tinker, hoping and looking for a conclusion it can’t reach, too caught up in the angst. Separately, these 2 songs would have been excellent; put together, they’re a moment of queer angst - black queer angst - that successfully makes us see this triple-#1 hitting superstar as a true underdog, propped up by his own feelings of inadequacy.
So the destruction that comes in the last 2 songs is crucial. “LIFE AFTER SALEM”, with a chord progression straight out of grunge (and played by an appropriately scratched, off-key guitar too), is Lil Nas X not being able to look at his own demons in the form of his former lover and those previous vultures as they surround him, with a failed catharsis that never properly materializes sonically, and is for the better musically because of that. It would be too triumphant, too merciful, and Lil Nas X is too tired for that, too beat up. So, what we get is a lack of closure, an open wound, a moment of total doubt. “You’re taking everything”, and the whistle plays - not that inviting whistle at the end of “Old Town Road”, not anymore. Closer “AM I DREAMING” featuring also queer artist Miley Cyrus is a moment of solidarity, a moment of trying to find solace in the idea of memory, that something will be reborn after so much longing and angst, but it’s not up to him, or her. They’re not in charge of their own stories, even if that vague illusion keeps them going. Something must change.
It’s not a pretty ending, because this is not a pretty album. It’s challenging, it’s confusing, at times compromising, but it’s certainly not the happy story some executives might have been quick to try to sell. This can’t be it for him - after all, he’s got a bright future ahead of him. But is it only as bright as he will let it, or as bright as they will? That question burns inside of Lil Nas X throughout MONTERO, and in a moment of seeking a proper identity beyond a tired meme, he found potency in the questioning. He’s longed, he’s yearned, he’s ached, he’s hurt, and he’s still doing all of that. But now he’s making that change, instead of letting it happen. Trying to get a hold of your story is tough and messy, and this album gets that. No happy endings here, but for now, maybe that’s for the best. Those are far too complicated, anyway.
Billie Eilish - Happier Than Ever (pop, R&B)
Out of my favorite albums of the year, this one was one of the hardest to revisit - certainly the one with the most amount of baggage. Billie Eilish certainly cemented herself as a genuine piece of enormous talent with her debut album in 2019, and while I rarely ever felt compelled to listen to that album either (despite my vast appreciation for it), the reason why it resonated so purely with audiences was undeniable: there was an imaginative performer, backed up by an equally imaginative producer, bringing up old progressions and ideas from jazz and blues into the forefront, with those ideas being seen through the lens of modern alternative bedroom pop: distortion, vocoders, autotune, etc. In other words, she was combining different worlds and views of making music into something that was unrecognizably new, and incredibly difficult to copy; most artists who’ve tried to emulate Billie Eilish don’t have the musical knowledge she clearly does. By all means, When We All Fall Asleep was a moment of something different coming alive.
But afterwards, it seemed like the weight of that promise was too much to bear. She won too many Grammys, she got an idea of what it meant to be a pop superstar, she was told by everyone she was the “future” while at the same time was being compared to legends she both couldn’t and didn’t want to be like (from Lennon to Joni). It all looked far too bright, and the results that came afterwards were difficult for her to understand, as her one non-album hit “everything i wanted” detailed in stunning accuracy. It felt like, as an audience, we were reaching far too close into Billie’s persona, and while she did seem to have some kind of support system (her brother), it just didn’t seem to be enough - and it shouldn’t be enough.
Add to all that, her slowly coming out with her story of abuse, something that gave both her old and new music a much different lens to look at it from. There was no way to romanticize it, but there was also no way to shatter the layers of truthfulness that Billie brought with her more straightforward songs about love, or intimacy, or (in this new album) sexual desire. These felt like contradictory statements, yet coming all from the mind of a 20 year old, it all seemed to add up - sometimes in a way that it cooled off many of her more arduous fans, since they didn’t seem to want to deal with that reality. Life was more complex than that, and Billie was trying to show it, both in her music and in her visuals.
Happier Than Ever is a much more subsumed listen than her previous works, and stands out more because of it. The shock value that permeated her older material is gone, now what’s left is a woman in the process of maturing trying to cope with the world around her, while also trying not to fall into a cesspool of misery and self-pity. She’s trying to gain back that feeling of her being herself, and it’s a difficult path to cross. Her voice is more cracked, the lyrical motifs feature the stalking presences even more than before, and the sound, so incredibly well contained, never strays far away from the jazzier progressions that had been established in the past (at least, not until it does). More than ever before, Billie’s music tries to not get swept up in the lights and the action; sometimes it succeeds, others it fails, but there’s rarely a wrong step throughout the album. But is that the point? This is an artistic success, yes (and let’s not even address the commercial success), but the story goes deeper than that. She reminds us in “Lost Cause”: don’t get complacent. This album is anything but, and as audience members, we should act the same way.
So what is going on with Billie, that’s forcing her to not get complacent? Well, it’s a mix of a lot, more than one should be able to carry. She feels she craves pity and she’s failing at doing so (“...every sentence sounds rehearsed / Which is ironic, because when I wasn’t honest, I was still being ignored”, from the opener “Getting Older”), which shows a level of self-perception that’s stark, even if completely understandable, for someone this young; everything that used to bring her joy now feels like an endless chore; the thought of growing up terrifies her, since she’s seen too many young women grow up under the spotlight and becoming as jaded as those who neglected her; she’s still recovering from a lot of poured-in trauma that she’s now only somewhat ready to talk about. In simpler words, she feels incessantly trapped, and as she waits for something to happen, she slowly tries to realize she needs to be the one to move things forward. And that’s difficult.
The ways of coping are many, and once again, sometimes they contradict each other so well, diving into those extremes is an interesting look from the outside looking in, which is where literally all of us are. The 2020 single “my future”, one of the finest pieces of sonic construction FINNEAS has ever made, a soft piece of drowning purples that gently touch every incoming chord with delicacy and care, shows Billie as a person willing to walk away from something (or someone) that’s been hurting her, and maybe she can aspire to be content with herself. Isolated, that song already sends out a strong message (when it was sold as a non-album single, the ambivalent final line, “I’ll see you in a couple years”, definitely sparked a reaction), but the way it’s set on the album gives it a different meaning. The song before it, “Billie Bossa Nova”, indeed a bossa nova inspired piece with a sunny leading guitar, indicates some sort of romance that needs to be hidden in hotel rooms, as that intimacy with someone else can become something more vital and promising, more than just the physical. But the song after it, “Oxytocin”, definitely shows the importance of the carnal, with an industrial beat focusing on the lower edges of the mix, as it tinkers with Billie’s still-somewhat-confused sense of sensuality that still produces a feeling that’s kind of alluring, even if the despair shows - the way her voice slowly rises in the pre-chorus, from her falsetto to her high range (“You should really run AWAY!”), brings forward a tension that can’t be avoided. And she’s still forcing him to stay. Some sexual ecstasy is born out of that clashing.
Then again, finding some sort of middle ground is also something she keeps in mind. Halfway through the album, there’s a straight up love ballad, one where Billie acknowledges her flaws and her lack of self-control, yet describes the comfort she can find in someone else, in (at the very least) the idea of romantic love. She tries to let deflection and irony take over her speech, but the ways she admits to being truly safe with someone is something she can’t shake off so easily (“I've been loved before, but right now, in this moment / I feel more and more like I was madе for you”, sigh, deep breath, her eyes look around, somethings are worth saying twice, “...For you”). The instrumental break is wonderful, a small asset of soft, somewhat psychedelic keys that sound like the wonderful nighttime being seen through an Instagram lens.
Yet, once again, the hold that her previous relationships have over her carry over most of this album, to the point of trying to look at it from every angle. She curses off his presence on “Lost Cause”, a fine, simple, shuffling song with a strong sense of rhythm and a locked-in bass, but she’s still doing something that feels wrong to her; after the key “You’d be gone for hours / Could be anywhere!” line in the second pre-chorus, she runs out of words, and she remains in silence, with only her previous lines to provide some sort of comfort through inertia. “I Didn’t Change My Number” is perhaps the most assertive piece of the first half of the album, as she can think clearly for a couple of seconds, and see through his bullshit, and FINNEAS’ chopped-up groove gives her some sweet sense of confidence, even if it all gets blurry by the final coda; they both know closure isn’t as simple as a 2 minute long kiss-off, and the vocal-sample-turned-industrial-machine hits a point of a ghost wanting to come out, but not being able to just yet.
She’s also smart enough to realize her abuse is not the sole perpetrator of her privacy and her sense of self, and the moments where she turns around and points towards those audiences who’ll look towards anything she makes with scorn and bitterness are powerful and important, too. The lead single “Therefore I Am” felt like a regurgitation of old ideas, but it was more than that; those grooves and sounds had been played before, but this time they were looser, they had more swagger, more bite, and Billie was decidedly more cutting. The one moment on the album where she gives into that juvenile sense of irony works, as she deflects “articles, articles, articles” willing to put her down. The spoken word interlude “Not My Responsibility”, regarding those commentaries on her body, ranging from inappropriate to downright predatory, show an audience willing to participate in the same rituals of objectification she’s already been put through by individuals. Following it up with the distracted “OverHeated”, featuring some truly haunted vocal samples behind the sizzle of the synths, sees her tired of the pedestal she’s been put in, since everyone is aiming to take her down; she can’t be “deleted”, but they can certainly try. “NDA”, what a song, digitalizes Billie since she, as a person, can’t seem to take the burden of those willing to take advantage of her - but even the digital Billie breaks into pieces, with one of the first passages of music she’s ever made, in the shape of the chorus, where the breakdown seems to be happening then and there, with a loud snare breaking through the mix. (And throughout the verses, take notice: she’s once again left speechless, with many moments of outright silence. Sometimes, the words just don't come out.)
But yes, when she diverts the attention back to the path of hurt that’s behind (and still ahead of) her, on “Your Power”, she tries to understand the moments of deep hurt she’s had to pass through. That song in particular you can tell was hard to write, since it’s one of the few where she doesn’t sing it from a first person point of view; this time most of what happens is being told through a never-named “she”. “You ruined her in a year”, “She was sleeping in your clothes”, “You swear you thought she was your age”, as she tries to get some recollection for her pain, since Billie finds herself now in a fragile position of power, of fame and attention, that she wasn’t in before, and she almost finds herself reflected in the way she can use people the way she was used. “Try not to abuse your power” seems to go both ways, here. She concludes saying, “Power isn’t pain”, but she sings it like she hasn’t felt anything but pain since reaching her newfound status.
It’d be easy to end this album with the title track: a biting, two-part song where all the catharsis in the subtext rises to the forefront both lyrically and sonically. The first half sees her balladeering as usual, although this time with more direct lyrics than before - “Don't say it isn't fair / You clearly werеn't aware that you made me misеrable” shows far more than something like this ever should, both sides of the story being told through one party; humiliating, from all points of view, and her singing during the final word shows her brutal, passive-aggressive exasperation. But then, the quite acclaimed second half breaks into a grunge-inspired breakdown with frustrated, clearly live drums matched with stretched out electric guitars that still manage to find a textured tone and color (greys matched with reds) and Billie seems to swear out her abuser for the last time, as she screams out her pain in the most deliberate way possible (long gone is the elevated ‘high ground’ poetry, she’s playing his game now) and puts into words all his lack of effort and his false sense of security. The key line - not the oft-quoted “JUST FUCKING LEAVE ME ALONE”, even though it does strike - is quite simple: “I shut them all out for you ‘cause I was a kid”. All the cards are on the table, and she smashes the table one last time before sliding into electronic oblivion. That could be the end: one final scream (accompanied by multiple, tinier screams) and then shutting the door one last time.
…But no. It really is not that simple. “Male Fantasy”, the actual closing track, is a moment of her realizing the perpetuating systems of abuse in the industry (this time, in the shape of the male gaze of pornography), but no matter how much she realizes and knows all this, she still goes back to those moments of intimacy with him that felt real at some point. She can’t get over her stories of abandonment and distancing herself from those she was inseparable from, and now she only feels she’s got the aching and the memories left. A gentle acoustic melody, and the harsh truth regarding those abused and then left behind: “Can't get over you / No matter what I do / I know I should, but I could never hate you”. There is no finding something or someone else to repair that story; it’s always gonna be inconclusive, bittersweet, incoherent, and all around sad. Happier Than Ever attempts to fulfill two points at once: Billie is, indeed, in a much better place than she ever was, but those demons can’t simply be patched up. That hole in her stomach might get smaller, or seem smaller as she becomes a more fulfilled adult, but it can’t be filled. You can overcome abuse and not let it define you, but the strains it leaves on you can’t be brushed aside, at least not for some people. Both of those things can be true. Happier Than Ever thrives off of those contradictions, and whether it wants to or not, it gives plenty of people a lot of solace. But that solace means facing oneself in challenging ways; so how often do you feel like being put to the test of your own trauma?