It’s no secret that no one wants to continue living in the year 2020. Every day, every moment feels like a fresh hell thought up by a twisted horror novelist in the 1950’s. During my time in quarantine, I’ve relied heavily on my most favorite albums to make the days slightly less miserable, and I’m sure I’m not the only one. In doing this I realized a common theme between three of those albums: they all were released in the year 2000. 20th anniversaries are meant to be meaningful, but with so much loss, hurt, confusion, and corruption this year, I felt as though these albums didn’t get the proper celebration they deserved. And when you love something, you’ve got to put in the effort, right? That’s why I’ll be writing a sweet little ode to each of them, as a thank you for all the joy they’ve given me over the years.
Today’s landmark album: Mama’s Gun - Erykah Badu
The grand finale. The pièce de résistance. I saved this album for last because between the neo-soul sound and the attitude-infused lyrics, this album is the most perfect marriage of The Heat and Aijuswanaseing I could have asked for. It’s also the album that means the most to me out of the bunch, so I had to let the anticipation build.
The album opens with the “voices” fogging Erykah’s mind, telling her everything she needs to remember. She then frees herself of the intrusive thoughts and “Penitentiary Philosophy” begins. The song is meant to explore why we lock ourselves into a chosen philosophy and criticize ourselves when it doesn't work out. Not only is it a thematically tense opener, but sonically as well, with it’s funky electric guitar and rock-n-roll-esque drums. To pair this song up with “Didn’t Cha Know,” the musical embodiment of incense, is truly bonkers. But at the same time, it couldn’t have gone any other way. It encourages the listener to release their own thoughts of negativity and doubt, kick your feet up, light some sage, and just chill.
The hooks on this album are unmatched. They all sound slightly similar, but totally unique at the same time. She writes about a variety of different topics, like love, lust, and introspection, as well as the unjust murder of Guinean immigrant Amadou Diallo on “A.D. 2000.” The arrangements are so full that it’s almost as if each instrument is telling its own story. It’s almost as if Questlove, James Poyser, and Pino Palladino, are right there in the room with you. Each song seamlessly blends into the next, making this a true album experience that can’t be chopped up or shuffled around. (I’ll admit this poses a challenge for me when all I want to do is write about the songs, but one song will lead to another, will lead to another, etc....)
“...& On” is a key example of why I love Badu so much; she has created her own cinematic universe in her music. The song is a continuation of “On & On,” a track that can be found on her previous record. This is the first time in her career she calls back to her earlier works, seeing as though this is only her second album, and she would later go on to do it with practically every subsequent release afterwards. This project also contains the single “Bag Lady,” an incredibly fun tune about the importance of dealing with your baggage before it’s too late. The lessons come hard and fast on Mama’s Gun, but I suppose she wouldn’t be a mama at all if that weren’t the case.
The previous two albums each had a song that I considered to be one of my favorites of all time, and this one is no different. At over ten minutes long, the closer, “Green Eyes,” is a musical experience I can only describe as an epic told in four parts. The song begins with a distant recording reminiscent of a 1920’s jazz standard. Badu sings about how she got her green eyes from eating her vegetables, not from jealousy (fans of “New Magic Wand” by Tyler, The Creator may be sad to learn he did not come up with this line). The song then transitions into a fully realized track where Badu tries to convince herself she no longer loves her ex, but instead discovers just how insecure their breakup has left her. She acknowledges that this heartbreak has her acting unlike herself, and the rest of the song is essentially an internal back and forth on whether or not to confront her ex with these feelings. The lyrics are simple yet biting, and do an amazing job of capturing the indescribable whirlwind of emotions that flood our minds post-breakup. Each change up of the arrangement is never outdone by the next; while Erykah struggles to keep her mind straight, the arrangement mimics her escalation, becoming more and more complicated to compliment the message. When I first heard this song I had never heard anything like it. It completely expanded my perception of what music could do, be, and sound like. Though I have never experienced a heartbreak on par with Erykah’s, I can’t help but wonder if anyone else has either.
It’s hard for me to synthesize this album’s importance to me into a concise explanation. Because, if I’m being completely candid, there are probably thirty different factors that go into my love for Mama’s Gun. It goes beyond the music, lyrics, and compositions--my love is rooted in how much it expanded the way I thought about music. I lived a rather musically-sheltered life before my first listen, sticking to what I know and barely ever testing the waters elsewhere. For a long time I was totally content this way, and quite honestly I’m not sure what made me change. I just know that from then on I saw much more significance in the concept of an “album experience;” listening to the whole thing all the way through, and not shuffling or picking out the tracks I like the most, was not the way I consumed music for a long time. Mama’s Gun made me realize that doing anything other than listening all the way through is not only a disservice to the album, but it devalues it as well. To put it simply, this album changed the way I listened to music forever.
One way or another, each of these albums have inspired growth within me. I never went into them thinking that could happen, and maybe that’s why I place such meaning on them. I found a song or two I liked from each record and figured I may as well give the rest a try. To think I would come out the other end with three entire bodies of work that instantly changed my life is, well, dramatic, but also irreplaceable. I don’t know what I would’ve done without these albums guiding me through the throws of quarantine and I don’t want to know. I just want to thank them for acting as a friend, as a therapist, as a Xanax, and as a stabilizer.
Comments
Post a Comment