Rap is a singles genre. The teams of crack producers aside,
rap tends to thrive on the image of a single man (or, very, very rarely, woman)
presenting themselves and their opinions in an unfiltered way, an extreme form
of the frontman in traditional rock bands. The ideal rapper, in this
school of thought, is raw id, able to say the things we would never dream
of giving voice to and get rich while doing it.
Without exception, this raw id presentation is diluted the
more people are present on a given track. The more guest artists and
ghostwriters one has, the more diluted the personality of the actual rapper
gets. There’s no real secret as to why this is; the more people you have in a
band the more input the songwriter gets for a song, leading them, often, far
away from the original emotions they were trying to deliver. Compare the
schmaltz of the studio
version of “Thunder Road” to Springsteen’s original demo,
for example. In my opinion, the wall-of-sound style that’s all over the Born
To Run album ruins what Springsteen was writing at the time; Darkness At The Edge Of Town
improves on that tendency, but there’s a reason the all-acoustic, ultra lo-fi Nebraska is the music
snob’s album of choice from The Boss.
Speaking broadly, the more stuff you put on an album the
poppier it becomes. With few exceptions, stripped down acoustic songs delivered
with a raspy growl aren’t going to get any radio play, any more than a full
orchestra or post-rock band is. Vocals need emphasis, ruling out the latter,
but they also need to be drained of at least some personality and uniqueness
before they can be sold to the mass public. Generally, this is accomplished by
building a song around the singer in order to give context to, or simply
conceal, their vocal quirks. Rock and jazz music makes the singer jockey for
the lead position with the other melody instruments, which are often treated in
a way that makes them mimic the human voice. Pop music, on the other hand,
builds such lush soundscapes around the singer that their voice becomes another
part of the harmonious melody. Even the idiosyncrasies of the singer are given
grounding, provided they haven’t been eliminated entirely in post, that is.
Group vocals change the formula considerably; vocal
harmonies, whether from multiple singers or cleverly double-tracked vocals,
even out the flaws in their voice. Even when the vocalists trade off on the
lead it still ensures that songs won’t be completely individualized statements,
which are often impenetrable without at least a little bit of thought and
attention. Single voices also tend to be more distinctive, while group
harmonies, when done properly, are not only more galvanized but also more
powerful thanks to their use of chords. Think of the difference between guitar
solos and riffs for an idea of how this tends to work. Pop music, for better or
worse, is typically designed to capture one’s attention rather than require it,
making vocal harmonies an obvious, nigh-ubiquitous choice.
Rap’s transformation from underground darling to the
modern-day pop equivalent of a nifty guitar solo has involved two main changes:
the introduction of multiple vocalists via guest verses and sung vocal hooks
and production that emphasis original music over sampled beats and melodic
loops.
The first of those, the introduction of multiple vocalists,
is what interests me here. The idea that multiple rappers on one track would be
more appealing to a mass audience than the rants and intricate rhyming that
individual rappers tended to indulge in is not a new one; the first mainstream
rap group, the Sugarhill Gang, was the brain child of Sylvia and Joe Robinson,
and was made up of a trio of rappers who had not previously been a group.
Similarly, The Furious Five, the rappers affiliated with DJ Grandmaster Flash,
knew each other and performed at the same clubs, but didn’t perform as an
ensemble. The idea of mass rapping was one born in record labels, not the
streets.
As these things do, the idea of a rap group gradually became
part of the culture. In the mainstream, Jurassic 5, the Wu-Tang Clan, Run-DMC,
De La Soul, The Beastie Boys, and N.W.A. all used the group aesthetic to their
advantage, presenting themselves as small gangs, clans, or friendly allies.
Even rappers like Biggie Smalls used the rapper/hype-man dynamic that was
previously perfected by Public Enemy’s duo of Chuck D and Flavor Flav. Still,
most of these groups, with the exception of Jurassic 5’s signature choruses, used
their group dynamic as a way to introduce variety to the songs. As rappers
don’t have as much leeway to alter their vocal style as a traditional singer
does (with the glorious exception of Ol’ Dirty Bastard, of course), multiple
people are a good way to introduce some variety into a song. Alternatively, the
group dynamic can be used to make a song more light-hearted; the hot-potato
delivery of The Beastie Boys, for example, gives their songs a unique, frantic
energy, and De La Soul’s innovation of skits (now the millstone on many rap
albums, in my opinion) let the listener feel like they were being let in on an
inside joke. It was a feeling of inclusiveness, the polar opposite of the
aggressive, radical style of N.W.A.
Like all good album titles, Fly School Reunion is a
good summary of the hang-out, good-time style that Giant Panda are working at.
This isn’t an album that’s trying to prove a point or reinvent the wheel, it’s
just a very fun, well-crafted album. If you want a representation of the whole
album, look no further than “Racist”, a spotlight for all three core members as
well as guest vocalist Thes One. That spotlight, tellingly, is used by the
group to jokingly rant on the stereotypes that dog their races (the three core
members are white, black, and Japanese, while Thes One is Hispanic); rather
than stretch themselves to attack racism, they simply joke about it in way that
makes their respective racial stereotypes seem ridiculous.
The production on the album (handled by two of the core
members as well as a few others) is similarly light and breezy. Much of the
album is similar to the style of Japanese hip-hop artists like Nujabes, with
small, melodic fragments scattered over a beat, best shown on “Strings”. That
light, gossamer style is contrasted with the heavier production of songs like
“T.K.O.” (an album highlight) and “Super Fly”, the latter of which has a more
American production style of heavy, fat synths. Even on those songs, however,
most of the weight and heft is granted by the huge drum sounds the band uses
rather than the extensive layering used on more typical rap songs. The music
serves the rappers, rather than the other way around.
The only issue I have with this album is one that’s dogged
me whenever I try to write-up a rap album for this series and is the second way
of reading my lead-in line. As a genre, rap music favors the single song far
more than the album; I’ve already discussed one of the few exceptions I’ve
found, Volume
In The Ground, but examples like that are few and far between in the
genre. Rap albums tend to be unfocused and uncomfortably full of filler, with
even 808s,
one of the most thematically focused albums I’ve heard in years, featuring the
frankly terrible “RoboCop”.
There are a few reasons I’ve thought of for this tendency.
One is that rap artists tend to be extraordinarily set on proving themselves
and their quality of work, and to do so will stuff their albums full to the
brim of material, assuming that at least one of them will be bound to be a hit.
This may well be a reason why people have been turning more and more toward
purchasing single songs rather than entire albums; I’d certainly prefer to skip
the skits that clog up so many otherwise wonderful albums.
The other plausible reason I’ve thought of is the
scattershot way many rap albums seem to be produced. The hip-hop world in
general rarely releases an album with a single producer; three to four seems to
be more of the norm. Why this might be isn’t terribly clear to me, as
rap/hip-hop is probably the one field of music I know the least about, but part
of may be due to the strong community aspect of the genre. Rap artists tend to
want to showcase new talent, vocal or background, which comes from their
community or label. This can sometimes veer on nepotism, but it can’t be denied
that it’s introduced some extraordinary talent to the world. It’s also
something that is almost unheard of in the rock world; outside of opening acts stories
of compassionate aid are limited to anecdotes like Ric Ocasek’s enthusiasm
about the band Suicide or Davy Jones and John Lennon’s love of a young
guitarist named Jimi Hendrix. These stories are legendary due to their rarity,
but in the rap world the spotlighting of new talent is so common that fans
complain about it as a frustration.
To an extent, Fly School Reunion suffers from that
same problem of being scattershot, but the fact that even the songs are fast
and loose makes it seem almost deliberate. The album doesn’t feel like a group
trying to make a name for themselves or make a belabored point, it’s just some
guys trying to make cool music and get paid for it. Nothing wrong with that.
---
As much as I’ve talked this album as something of a legendary
hangout space, Giant Panda do have some points to make. Unfortunately, talking
about these points will require me to do a transcription of the album’s lyrics
which will take quite some time. I’ll make a follow-up post once I manage that
feat.
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