Run the Jewels – Run the Jewels
El-P and Killer Mike have reason to celebrate. The rappers each released knockout LPs last year: El-P’s Cancer 4 Cure (featuring Killer Mike) and Killer Mike’s R.A.P. Music (produced by El-P). Their symbiotic relationship is further explored on Run the Jewels, a lushly produced and entertaining collaboration that’s light on the social commentary and heavy on the witty lyrical boasts.
Run the Jewels only runs about 30 minutes — a blip in the world of hip-hop LPs — but its relatively short running time is one of its biggest advantages. Each track on the album is made up of non-stop lyrical flow. El-P and Killer Mike’s emceeing styles have converged over the course of their careers, and the verse-swapping heard on Run the Jewels is as organic as any big-name collaborations of late; I’m looking at you, Watch the Throne.
The cuts on Run the Jewels are as close to classic hip-hop as these rappers get: El-P’s panicky vocal barrage and Killer Mike’s politicized rants are both toned down in favour of old-school bombast. El-P’s production is all percussion and nasally electronics, but he lets the lyrics do the talking.
The duo do allow themselves a moment of sober reflection on album closer “A Christmas Fucking Miracle,” where they wax poetic over their childhoods and offer a fuck-everyone-else message to their listeners. Lines like, “The most impressionable minds get molested and informed by manipulating forces / Don’t fret little man, don’t cry, they can never take the energy you were born with” tell us what El-P doesn’t want us to know: that he’s a big softie.
But by the end of Run the Jewels, the duo deserve to break character. It’s certainly not the strongest effort in the duo’s repertoire, but it is a whole lot of clever, cheeky fun from two of the most talented emcees working today.
Austra – Olympia
Olympia is boring. Torontorian electro-pop outfit Austra have never been interested in the subtle approach, and with their sophomore effort they’ve capitalized on a formulaic, no-risks-taken brand of synth pop that suits them well. Their all-too-familiar sound allows for songs like “Home” and album opener “What We Done?” to become instantly recognizable to listeners old and new.
The only aspect of Austra’s sound that sets them apart is singer and songwriter Katie Stelmanis’ booming, Florence Welch-meets-Karen Andersson vocals. Stelmanis is the album’s focal point: entire songs seem custom-fit to her operatic vocal delivery, and her melodramatic croon fits songs like “Fire” and single “Home” perfectly.
But the band overplays its hand: Stelmanis is constantly in the mix, to the point where moments without her feel like much-needed breathing space. Sadly, they also serve to reveal that the instrumentals behind her are uninteresting and contrived.
Olympia has an air of anonymity that the band likely didn’t intend: very little besides Stelmanis’ distinctive singing differentiates Austra from their myriad contemporaries.
The album’s strongest moments often come at a given track’s opening, but these promising introductions — more often than not — give way to plodding, repetitive verses and bland choruses that make three minutes seem like 10. Even the occasional strong riffs, like that of the Depeche Mode-influenced “Reconcile”, quickly become monotonous.
Ultimately, I have to come back to my central argument: Olympia isn’t necessarily a terrible album, but it’s an overwhelmingly boring one. Its sound seems recycled and plagiarized, and its highlights are awash in a sea of unrelenting mediocrity. There are a whole lot of albums that sound like Olympia. Listen to one of those instead.
Michael Jackson – Thriller
How strange it must have been to grow up as Michael Jackson. Having been in the public eye since the age of six as a member of The Jackson 5, MJ grew up under the draconian rule of his father and manager Joe Jackson. Through whippings and name calling, Jackson was taught that failure comes at a price.
His obsession with success carried on well into his solo career, when his debut Off the Wall — despite selling over 20 million copies — failed to make Album of the Year. “It can never happen again,” he told his manager, John Branca. He was determined to make an album that would launch him into superstardom.
With the help of Quincy Jones, his producer and a fellow perfectionist, he banked countless studio hours recording and re-recording take after take. The diet rock-and-roll of “Beat It,” the horror-movie pastiche of “Thriller” and the not-quite-disco of “P.T.Y. (Pretty Young Thing)” are anything but spontaneous: each vocal tic and glossy instrumental is meticulously crafted to appeal to the broadest audience as possible.
In this sense, Thriller can be read as the work of a master salesman. Jackson’s androgynous persona, likable R&B-infused pop and cinematic music videos quickly turned Thriller into a cultural phenomenon.
The nine tracks on the album — seven of which charted on Billboard’s Top 10 — never seem to coalesce into anything more than a singles collection. But this does little to undermine the album’s legendary status: Jackson’s flawless vocal performance and Jones’ squeaky-clean production make Thriller an enjoyable and occasionally brilliant, if a little dated, pop album.
MJ got his wish: Thriller is still the best-selling album worldwide, and will preserve Jackson’s reputation long after his endless lawsuits and PR missteps are forgotten. Its highlights might be overstated and its hits overplayed, but Thriller still has the charming, alluring quality that once made it so significant.
