A Tribe Called Quest - We Got It from Here...Thank You 4 Your Service

Maybe it’s because I found punk rock first, or because I had been surrounded by rock’n’roll since the cradle, but for a very long time, rap and hip hop made no sense to me whatsoever. I already had punk and hardcore to soundtrack my rebellious early teens, and the largely processed and synthetic instrumentation just didn’t connect with my sensibilities. To top it off, the radio was just dominated by hip hop in the early 2000’s, so I scoffed at the genre over and over, writing it off simply as the sound of selling out.

What a dumbass I was.

Only after college did I start to hear and feel hip hop’s intrinsic honesty and powerful influence. This knowledge soaked in very slowly, and really didn’t evolve to a true appreciation until a few months ago, when I saw A Tribe Called Quest dominate SNL’s stage. Within the first thirty seconds of “We the People,” I was completely enraptured by their soulful, aggressive, and wholly meaningful music, and I knew undoubtedly that I wanted more.

Hardly a week passed before I found myself a copy of ATCQ’s new record, We Got It from Here…Thank You 4 Your Service, and I think it’s fair to say that my head simply melted from the complexity and sincerity this act has pressed to tape. We Got It from Here features an array of sounds and styles so comprehensive that it plays like a best-of record, taking off with lightning fast vocals in “Space Program,” grooving gently through “Enough!!!,” and even rocking a reggae sound for “Black Spasmodic.” Add to this insanely varied palate a massive list of esteemed collaborators including Consequence, Busta Rhymes, Kanye West, and André 3000, and this album feels less like a collection of songs and more like a monument to the power of music.

Between the cast and the composition, We Got It from Here could have become a gigantic, overproduced, made-for-radio spectacle, yet one thing that really strikes me about this record is how real the production feels. Many of the songs are based around a traditional, boom bap acoustic drumbeat that is focused on groove rather than bass drops or awkward cuts. Much of the compositional work is also rooted in jazz, with songs like “Dis Generation” featuring complicated chord progressions as their foundations. This is only complemented by some incredible bass, guitar, and piano riffs, which include contributions from Jack White and Sir Elton John together on “Solid Wall of Sound.” Even the audio samples taken from films such as Dolemite and Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory further the feeling of this record being carved by hand rather than simply assembled on a Macbook.

There isn’t a single song on this record that doesn’t flaunt a distinctive instrumental sound, but in my opinion, none does so better than “Melatonin.” Atop some funky basswork and one of the coolest guitar licks I’ve ever heard, Q-Tip dominates vocal duties, his words riding a stilted rhythm that is as infectious as the beat beneath it. Q describes with vivid sincerity the feelings of anxiety that can plague the mind right before sleep, from the personal (“The sun is up, but I feel down again/ On just one hand, I can count all my friends”) to the political (“The world is crazy and I cannot sleep but… / I read the paper so that I can seewhat”). Yet the funk-driven track soon takes priority, evolving into a tight R&B piece featuring the soulful vocal stylings of Marsha Ambrosius and Abbey Smith. Like many of the songs on We Got It from Here, “Melatonin” refuses to remain static, instead blooming into a complex and beautiful composition along the way.

The effort and attention to detail in Q-Tip’s production is as present as any instrument on We Got It from Here, and since it was recorded in his home studio, he was able to apply his perfectionist lens to each piece, tweaking and tinkering truly until the last minute. Thus it is no surprise to see this intense intent applied to the lyrics as well. While the record covers a wide range of topics, one of the most present is that of the untimely passing of member Phife Dawg during recording. Though grief threatened to leave Q-Tip and Jarobi White as “two puddles of goo on the floor,” they soon rallied their strength and sought to celebrate their friend through music.

Both the closing track “The Donald” and “Lost Somebody” are written in memory of Phife, the former featuring one of his last recorded verses while the latter shows Q-Tip and White dealing with his passing. While White calls “Lost Somebody” “one of the hardest things I ever had to do,” the duo uses it to rejoice and honor their friend’s life with lines like “You and I, we never pretended /Rhymes we would write it out, hard times fight it out.” The remaining members of A Tribe Called Quest acknowledge Phife Dawg as an integral part in both their band and their lives, and thus use We Got It from Here…Thank You 4 Your Service (a title Phife suggested) to remember and revere him.

While much of the record is weighted by the deeply personal, the scope of the lyrical work on We Got It from Here extends far beyond Tribe’s circle. Q-Tip has stated that this record transcends each individual contributor, an idea plainly present in the many political lines these rappers deliver. “Who could be blind to racism?” Q-Tip asks in “Movin Backwards” before describing a scene that has been all too apparent these past few years: “Feds lining up in riot gear / and everybody’s hands in the air.” Similarly, the opening track “The Space Program” attacks the powers that be with lines like “They planning for our future / None of our people involved.” ATCQ constructs this elaborate and tight metaphor of space travel in the song, weaving the image of all the poor and non-whites being left behind, before poignantly tearing down the illusion with the decisive and repeated line: “Imagine if this shit was really talkin’ about space, dude.”

A Tribe Called Quest use their lyrics to conjure awareness in their listeners, capturing a true and strong snapshot of what it’s like to be African American in today’s America. While the entire record confronts this theme, no song does so with such candor and vitriol as “Killing Season.” Jarobi’s verse leaves no room for question as he confronts many African American caused by the police: “Need an abacus to tally / through all the peaks and valleys, yo, I recognize them sadly.” His lamentation of “these fruitful trees are rooted in bloody soil and torment / Things haven’t really changed, or they're dormant for the moment” pulls forward the idea of institutional racism that still creates barriers in our primarily white society. Yet instead of simply complaining about these conditions, A Tribe Called Quest uses songs like “Killing Season” to open “communication and real dialogue,” the weapons that will put an end to the violence and strife by destroying “the constructs that restrain you from being yourself.”

Front to back, We Got It from Here…Thank You 4 Your Service is a record loaded with intelligence, passion, emotion, and brutal honesty, and that alone makes it worth repeated listening. Whereas once I would have snorted in derision at hip-hop, I have truly been unable to put this album down. Between the heady lyrics and intricate production, I find in myself a newfound craving for hip-hop, to learn it, to listen to it, and to understand it. I now know that hip-hop has never had anything to prove to me—I’m the one who’s waited to step up to its level. And damn it, I’m very glad I finally have.

Tunes to Check Out:

1) Whateva Will Be

2) Melatonin

3) The Space Program

Beck - Guero

To me, there is no better artist than one who fearlessly treks across genres, venturing through new sonic territory while remaining grounded in their own performance. Though hard to come by, a record where instrumentation and lyrical themes are more constant than genre standards is always a fun listen, and even more so when it is executed with both precision and thought. In my search for such a record, one name synonymous with diversity kept poking its head into the foreground: Beck. Though familiar with his radio hits, I’d never spent any time actually verifying the hype of eccentricity around his music, and when a copy of Guero made its way into my possession, I quickly slipped it into my car stereo, to hear for myself what this independent legend was really all about.

Beck is an artist known for creating sonic cocktails, and Guero certainly wants not for this variation of genre, energy, or instrumentation. However, more so than anything, this record sharply focuses every tune through the two lenses which have been with Beck since the beginning: hip hop and folk. Most of the songs are based on a twanging, acoustic guitar riff, and even after the tune has been collaged into the final product, that plucking, folky riff remains, as Beck maintains the simplistic roots of his composition in the forefront of the arrangement. But rather than continuously playing that same riff, Beck further pays homage to his origin by sampling his own playing and looping it through the song, a shout-out to hip-hop and his early days. Almost every tune displays these elements, making the overall flavor of Guero one enriched by age and experience.

This kaleidoscopic concoction of folk and hip-hop on Guero creates a very strange and unique direction from which Beck approaches his composition. Though the tunes are built on a structured foundation, with most following the same verse/chorus pattern, the sound of the record is anything but formulaic. Funky drum beats that could move even the most stoic of crowds chug underneath grooving guitar and growling bass. The arrangement choices reflect this diversity as well: “Missing” and “Emergency Exit” bleed acoustic guitar, yet “E-Pro” and “Black Tambourine” burn through stompbox fuzz and effects, while “Girl” and “Rental Car” rely on poppy synths. Though Beck handled much of the musicianship himself, this record is permeated with performances from an array of other musicians, including Justin Meldal-Johnsen and Jack White, further diversifying the already broad sonic spectrum. Furthermore, the entire record reflects the essence of movement, regularly changing pace, energy and genre, keeping the listener steeped in fun and rousing composition while simultaneously drifting between dimensions.

On Guero, Beck seems to find thirteen completely different ways of saying his name, giving us tracks that are strange and exciting and completely extraordinary. His compilation of different sounds, styles, and attitudes creates a listening experience in which we are unable to guess what we are going to hear next. Beck’s track listing keeps far apart tunes that sound remotely similar, letting each song flow into something wholly unrelated, providing an eclectic journey for his fans. For instance, halfway through the record, we get to groove to twanging guitar, scratchy turntables, and a smooth organ in “Earthquake Weather.” This tune’s gentle jive carries us along, until we suddenly collapse into the driving hip-hop beats of “Hell Yes,” where Beck’s improvisational rap stomps between strange samples and synth reminiscent of 8-bit. We then unwind into the gentle trudge of “Broken Drum,” Beck’s ballad-like ode to Elliott Smith.[1] With reverb-laden guitar, an electronic beat, and keys leaking in towards the end, “Broken Drum” sounds almost like a B-side from Mellon Collie & the Infinite Sadness, sprawling slowly into oblivion before finally leaving us in the folk-pop fusion of “Scarecrow.” This small section of the record is as eccentric in its turns as a late night taxi driver, yet it asserts Beck’s commitment to making an album that moves and sounds like no one else.  

The lyrical content of Guero is just as unconventional as the composition. In further respect to his origins, much of Beck’s writing for this record feels highly improvisational, a callback to his days as a busker.[2] This freestyle approach to writing, where the first thing in the mind is the first word out of the mouth, leads to a very nonsensical tone in the words, which stems from his roots in anti-folk.[3] For instance, in “Hell Yes,” Beck quickly slides through the elegant but strange lyric: “Skeleton boys hyped up on purple / Smoke rings blow from across the disco / Bank notes burn like broken equipment / Lookin’ for shelter, readjust your position.”[4] Though there may be intrinsic meaning buried somewhere in there, because of Beck’s casual and immediate approach to the words, phrases like “See the vegetable man in the vegetable van / with the horn that's honking like a mariachi band” have a hard time communicating their significance.[5] However, Beck’s unique voice and capable hands also produce some killer images, such as in “Scarecrow,” where he paints a scene of desolation and emptiness: “I've been diggin’ the ground / Thru the dust and the clouds / I see miles and miles / And the junkyard piles / I wanted hope from a grave / I wanted strength from a slave / What gives you comfort now / Might be the end of you then.”[6] Although there seems to be no need to close-read the lyrics on Guero, their flow of sound and connection in imagery are certainly worth your attention. 

Though Beck’s poetry falls short of the mark, his instrumental sensibilities speak with more than enough volume, and in no tune is the music more driving than in “Go It Alone.” Built on a simple bass line and a simpler drum beat, this song is dominated by the idea of rhythm. The bass roars next to a palm-muted guitar, a combination that rumbles to its core. The instrumentation is relaxed and modest, moving at a stroll, creating the perfect environment for Beck’s casual vocal. He sings his conversational phrases with a subtle confidence that really locks the listener in, weaving a subdued mood that locks with the groove in his voice. Though straightforward and humble, “Go It Alone” evokes an album’s-worth of feeling in one song, a prime example of Beck’s uncanny ability to pull so much from something so unadorned.

After a month of spinning this album during my commute, I now feel like I have a small idea of what all the fuss is about. With Guero, Beck smashes and crashes together every sonic concept available to him, but does so with a grace and intelligence few acts possess. His cognitive and austere approach provides us with some thought-provoking and strange tunes, but without any of the pomp and attitude held by most musical geniuses. Beck builds his foundation on performance and songwriting, so that even though he may weave his album through genre and form, breaking virtually every rule of success in the music industry, we can absorb the simple, Sunday-morning fun at the heart of his endeavors. The deliberate madness of Guero is something worth experiencing, and I look forward to exploring the strange, Dali-esque landscapes of the rest of this extraordinary musician’s catalog.

Tunes to Check Out:

1) Earthquake Weather

2) Farewell Run

3) Go It Alone

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[1] http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Guero#Background

[2] http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Beck#Early_performing_and_first_releases_.281985.E2.80.9393.29

[3] http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Beck#Early_performing_and_first_releases_.281985.E2.80.9393.29

[4] http://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/beck/hellyes.html

[5] http://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/beck/quondaguero.html

[6] http://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/beck/scarecrow.html