1.
A$AP Rocky ainât a rapper, folks.
Dude is a bona fide All-American rock star, the type who uses good looks and a magnetic personality to bed gorgeous celebrities and vaguely ethnic models who peddle waist shapers on Instagram. A hell-raising pretty boy clad in designer fashions like the legions of those that came before him, dude does a lot even when it turns out heâs not really doing anything of interest. On his second album, Rocky (born Rakim Mayers) continues exploring, inviting new collaborators and even giving up rapping entirely (on single and standout âL.$.Dâ). This time, thereâs no ploy for a crossover hit, no awkward shoehorning into a Skrillex song, or bloated collab tracks featuring every blog-popular rapper at the time to be found anywhere. Avoiding those trappings is a blessing since Rockyâs best songs usually arenât any of the singles, but more importantly, it confirms that the Harlem native doesnât NEEDÂ to do those things to stay relevant anymore.
The sound of this album is a stark departure from the constantly flowing codeine drip of earlier A$AP projects. While Rocky has admitted that psychedelic music (and light dalliances with drugs) aided in the recording process as a means of coping with the death of A$AP Mob founder A$AP Yams, initial responses that this is a âdruggyâ album fall flat considering Rockyâs entire catalog. While that aesthetic is still presentââFine Whineâ sounds like Rocky recorded his vocals in a bottle of molassesâthereâs the inevitable departure from the norm, as to be expected on a sophomore release. Rocky isnât the same person spitting confidently over tripped-out Clams Casino tunes since he first rode into our collective consciousness on the handlebars of A$AP Nastâs bike. It makes sense to want to showcase that growth. Youâve been to a few art parties, youâve dated a model, Makonnen gave you acid at SXSW (as revealed in a New York Post interview), and youâre just not the same guy you used to be, you know?
2.
This album has a LOT of collaborators, from those who do heavy lifting (executive producer Danger Mouse or the multi-talented Londonite Joe Fox, who went from literally singing on the street for his dinner this time a year ago to appearing on multiple tracks) to those who show up as a âWhy yes, I DO have Famous Person Aâs number!â-style flash of influence. Kanye West does his thing (while co-producing) on âJukebox Joints,â but M.I.A. contributes so little on âFine Whineâ that you get the sense that she walked into the wrong session by accident and was asked to contribute SOMETHING. Other than that misstep, everyone does their thing. Yasiin Bey and Lil Wayne spit A1 bars and none other that Rod Stewart himself shows up in a sample to lend a husky-voiced hand. Producers like Thelonious Martin and Mark Ronson provide sturdy framework to support all involved. Everyone is doing their thing. Team work, dream work, you get the gist.
A$AP Yams, who might have been the last of the true A&R menâin the classic âletâs make this artist a star using the tools at our disposalâ method, not the âoh, letâs just sign the kid from that Vine videoâ versionâcasts a looming shadow over A.L.L.A. His is the last voice you hear, laughing heartily after unleashing the best rant on a rap record since Sean John Combs himself spat venom on Rick Ross âNobodyâ last year. His death in January by accidental overdose has clearly affected his friend, but rather than pour his feelings out on the beat, Rocky has chosen to waste time by doing silly shit like alluding that Rita Ora fellated him (on âBetter Thingsâ). While no one is expecting dude to lay bare his grief on wax (and we shouldnât ever expect him to talk if he doesnât want to), itâs really fucking depressing to see Rocky operating like biz as usual lyrically given the circumstances.
All things considered, this is a solid album. Fans of old Rocky will be happy to hear he hasnât left them behind and new fans will have a plethora of options to choose from.
Ernest Wilkins is a writer living in Chicago. Follow him @ErnestWilkins.