Categories : Music Reviews, Rap + Hip-Hop.
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Rating: 3 / 5 Reviewer: Garth Paulson |
It’s a bit ridiculous to be talking about an artist’s debut album when I can look on my iPod and find six albums and 116 songs by said artist sitting there waiting to be played. Despite that seeming disconnect, Attention Deficit is technically the debut from Washington D.C. rapper Wale. Before Deficit Wale had built up a cult fanbase and a great deal of internet love over the last few years through a stellar run of free mixtapes that peaked with 2008’s The Mixtape About Nothing, a examination/condemnation/celebration of hip hop built on a foundation of Seinfeld references, dialogue snippets and metaphors that ranks among the best rap albums of this dwindling decade.
Though a veteran in terms of output, the stakes Wale is dealing with on Deficit are significantly different than those that he conquered on his mixtapes and at times he does come off like a raw rookie. It’s the first time he’s had major label execs breathing down his neck; it’s the first time he’s had to worry about the radio; it’s the first time sales enter into the picture; it’s the first time he has the financial backing to pull Lady Gaga as a collaborator; it’s the first time he’s had to worry about translating all of the talent, ambition and intelligence he’s displayed into something teeny-boppers want on their cell phones. All of the above clearly weigh heavily on Wale throughout the album, leaving the final product a puzzled mess that in trying to please everyone ends up pleasing no one.
Part of the haphazard nature of Attention Deficit is certainly by design. The album’s title isn’t just a phrase slapped onto a jewel case, it’s a comment on the current state of the music industry where a situation like Wale’s can exist. He’s a star in strange, impenetrable areas of the internet, but an unknown everywhere else who is painfully aware that the fanbase he’s developed is fleeting by nature. He’s caught in a push-pull scenario where no one really listens to or buys albums anymore, but he still needs to make a proper one to see any coin from his trade. It’s an odd, entirely 2009 situation to be in and Wale responds to all this uncertainty with uncertainty of his own. The lack of consistency or a singular vision is the theme of Attention Deficit, but knowing that doesn’t make the album any less frustrating.
The album is roughly divided between the thoughtful, internally complex, prodigiously talented rhymes fans of his mixtapes have grown accustomed to and weightless stabs at Top 40 domination. Wale has always admitted his commercial aspirations, but on tracks like ‘The Artistic Integrity’ from The Mixtape About Nothing he railed against the same kind empty mainstream pushes he makes throughout Deficit.
On ‘Chillin,’’ he enlists Lady Gaga in an obvious attempt to court the charts and while the song is undeniably catchy, Wale has never sounded as soulless and defeated as he does playing second-fiddle to the vacant pop star. ‘Pretty Girls’ doesn’t fare much better, starting off as a decent, if uninspired sub-Kanye anthem before a Gucci Mane verse is awkwardly tacked onto to the end for no discernable reason other than the fact that man moves units. ‘Let it Loose’ is the seemingly obligatory Pharrell feature where the ubiquitous rapper/producer and Wale engage in a competition to see who gives less of a shit overtop of an icy electro beat that approaches self-parody from the Neptunes. These songs and others bare the overwhelming stench of compromise and resignation. Even without knowing specifics, it’s easy to pinpoint where Interscope applied pressure and where Wale eventually broke.
Fortunately, Wale occasionally wins the battle that plainly raged between artist and label. Album opener ‘Triumph’ is an instant standout with its bleeping electronics and fittingly triumphant afrobeat horns courtesy of producer David Sitek (of TV on the Radio fame). Here Wale is in fine form, overflowing with energy and charisma, offering a perfect illustration of what garnered him attention on his mixtapes. ‘Shades’ finds the rapper returning to the racial examinations he explored so successfully on Nothing’s ‘The Kramer,’ this time looking at segregation within the black community based on darkness of skin tone. On ‘Diary,’ he provides a powerful look at relationships from the opposite sex’s perspective without descending into stereotypes or cliché, an almost unheard of accomplishment for a performer operating within a genre routinely criticized for its sexism. On ‘TV in the Radio’ Wale once again teams with Sitek for a relentless, horn-driven demonstration of verbal gymnastics that features what the best verse K’Naan has ever dropped.
These moments illustrate what makes Wale such a compelling and promising voice behind the mic, but they don’t make up for the many let downs Attention Deficit possesses. Ultimately the album is left in a nowhere land without a way out. The unabashed attempts at pop crossover will alienate pre-existing Wale fans and the moments where Wale truly shows his skill aren’t going to gain traction with anyone who comes to the album after hearing ‘Chillin’’ on the radio.
Wale is noticeably confused about his place in this new world of major labels and physical albums versus his previous standing as an internet wunderkind and Attention Deficit wears that confusion uncomfortably. What remains to be seen is what happens next. Does Wale push even harder for mainstream success at the expense of his previous claims about artistic integrity or does he retreat into the non-commercial backpack fare where he excels? For now it’s clear that Attention Deficit, though not a terrible album by any measure, is unlikely to do Wale any favours. Luckily, the man has a quality track record—most of which is readily available for free—and an abundance of talent. He should be able to figure out the new world he finds himself in eventually, just not yet. Attention Deficit is only a debut album, after all.
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