Drake – Nothing Was the Same
From its impressive 13 track runtime to its album cover — which calls to mind such hip-hop classics as Nas’ Illmatic and The Notorious B.I.G.’s Ready to Die — it’s clear that Canadian-born emcee Drake intends Nothing Was the Same to be his shot at the hip-hop crown.
Unlike his previous record, 2011’s excellent Take Care, Drake’s newest LP is prone to tonal shifts and contradictions: he name-drops Wu-Tang Clan alumni and puffs out his chest as often as he unpacks emotional baggage and pleads to lost lovers.
To be sure, this is still the Drake we’ve come to know. Tracks like “Furthest Thing” and “From Time” are as sensitive and gooey as any of his previous hits, and the album’s production is as squeaky clean as ever.
Still, despite widening his lens, Nothing Was the Same doesn’t reach the heights of Drake’s previous LP. His pastiche of verbal aggression and synthesized sentimentality doesn’t always gel, and some of the album’s themes are reiterated ad nauseum. He misses his ex, he makes a lot of money, he wants a stable relationship, he’s tired of fake friends. They’re common themes in hip-hop, but after three LPs, Drake has run out of new ways to look at these issues.
There’s no denying Drake’s talent: his snicker-inducing wordplay and silky flow have steadily improved since his debut EP, and Nothing Was the Same features some of his most quotable lines.
But the album tries to do too much, and Drake inevitably loses steam. Highlights like “Too Much” and Kanye-esque album opener “Tuscan Leather” are overshadowed by failed experiments like the half-hearted diss track “The Language” and the Lil Wayne inspired “Started From the Bottom.”
For someone so preoccupied with authenticity, Drake’s attempts to borrow from his diamond in the rough idols feel false. After all, You Only Live Once, Drake — you should be yourself.
MGMT – MGMT
What the fuck? Between carnivalesque synths, tribal rhythms, adventurous basslines and lyrics so ironically “weird” they would make The Flaming Lips blush, MGMT’s newest step away from the electro-pop accessibility of their first LP is the sort of mess that only unlimited access to a recording studio can conjure.
Any hope that the duo would try to recreate the radio-friendly simplicity of “Time to Pretend” will surely die with their newest record, the self-titled MGMT. (Do I pronounce it management or em-gee-em-tee?)
Throughout most of its relentless 44 minute run, MGMT feels like a particularly mean-spirited prank played on anyone audacious enough to unironically blast “Kids” at a house party.
The second half of the record is a blistering prog rock acid trip worthy of a Pink Floyd laser show, whereas only a handful of tracks on Side One — such as cheesy opener “Alien Days” or album centerpiece “Your Life is a Lie” — attempt a standard verse-chorus-verse approach.
There’s a self-aware childishness to the LP’s sound pallette that might be charming if it weren’t so artificial; even MGMT’s best moments could pass as tongue-in-cheek satire, as in the psychedelic stomp of “Mystery Disease” or the Panda Bear-lite whisper pop of “I Love You Too, Death.” By the time album closer “An Orphan of Fortune” attempts to restore whatever structure the duo established in the record’s first half, most listeners will have given up.
I’m not among those who took Oracular Spectacular as unimpeachable evidence of the Second Coming, but for those of you who are still pumping “Electric Feel” through Apple earbuds, steer clear of this blissed out hodgepodge. In fact, it’s probably better if you think of the new MGMT as a different group entirely; without a doubt, it’s how they think of themselves.
Nirvana – Nevermind
In hindsight, it’s easy to see why Nevermind spread like wildfire. Kurt Cobain’s acidic teen angst lyrics, the band’s punk rock immediacy, their perfect balance of infectious pop and self-aware cock rock — this sort of thing was catnip to disillusioned Gen Y teens brought up on Michael Jackson and old school hip-hop.
But Nirvana weren’t the first, and they knew it. The trio’s influences are all over their sophomore LP. The Pixies’ loud/quiet dynamics, Sonic Youth’s noise rock sprawl, the Meat Puppets’ sing-along choruses: it’s all here. Nirvana’s blessing — and its curse — was timing. Nevermind was the answer to the question the youth of North America didn’t know they were asking, and once it hit, there was no going back. The kicker? It still holds up.
Sure, opener “Smells Like Teen Spirit” is overplayed, and many of the lyrics have lost their original gut punch effect. But lesser known cuts from the album’s second half, like “Drain You” and “Stay Away”, are pure punk brilliance. The tension between Kurt’s gravelly vocals, Krist Novoselic’s melodic bass and Dave Grohl’s aggressive drums are enhanced by the album’s studio sheen, making Nevermind’s most hardcore moments digestible for the FM radio masses.
Dragged kicking and screaming into the rock and roll canon, Nevermind is misremembered as the grungy, immature “statement” it was never meant to be. Nirvana were recast as flannel clad prophets, a marketing tool that led to their eventual downfall, but their legacy misrepresents their true talents.
Nevermind was never meant to be the final word on anything. This was an album made by three grubby misfits from small-town Washington doing their very best Mudhoney impression, and the album they made was better than any of the myriad it would inspire. Three years after its release, Kurt would be swallowed whole by his own unwanted fame, but more than two decades on, Nevermind remains as dynamic and unstable as ever.
Love this!