Album review: Coloring Book

Chicago’s Chance the Rapper ascended from a 10-day school suspension and became his city’s cultural ambassador in the time it takes most people to acquire a college degree. His 2013 breakout mixtape Acid Rap established him as a major player in the music world despite his refusal to play along with the music industry. And after three years of experimental releases, touring with his live band, and fostering goodwill amongst the people of Chicago and beyond, the culmination of Chance’s career has arrived in his third mixtape Coloring Book, a release that delivers on its promises, and yet falls short of the high expectations Chance has set up for himself.

These high expectations have come with a lot of attention, and Coloring Book expresses this with a guest list that rivals any rap album released this year. Even though Chance has found his own distinct voice, however, he has developed a habit of imitating the accomplished guests he invited on the album. He and Future trade bars over a Migos flow on “Smoke Break” while Chance does his best Rich Homie Quan impression with Young Thug on “Mixtape.” He acquires a Kanye-sized braggadocio with Kanye himself on the opener “All We Got,” and even the triumphant banger “No Problem” suffers from Chance’s reverence to his guest Lil Wayne. Chance may be imitating as a tribute to the musicians he admires, or simply because it’s a fun experiment, but it’s hard to justify the personality shifts when Chance the Rapper is currently a far more interesting rapper than the rappers to whom he pays his respect.

Coloring Book‘s first half mirrors the first half of his breakout tape both organizationally and thematically, but the emotional highs from Acid Rap don’t hold up as well this time around. He begins both projects with a repeated “We back, and we back…,” though this time he doesn’t sound joyful but subdued by the expectations of his return. The lovely “Summer Friends” touches on the same topic he covered on Acid Rap‘s hidden track “Paranoia,” while “DRAM Sings Special” continues the love-above-everything mentality of Acid Rap‘s sole interlude. Most conspicuously, the freeform inspired “Same Drugs” directly responds to the tweaker lullaby “Lost,” and it fails to inspire the same sympathy that Channo and Noname brought in 2013 on their melancholic cut. While thematic repetition isn’t inherently bad, Chance falls short of the emotional buttons he pressed so passionately three years ago, which is stunning considering his growth over the past three years.

The most disappointing parts of Coloring Book are not the songs Chance included, but the ones he left off. Beautiful tracks he developed with The Social Experiment like “Everyday Wonderful” and “Somewhere in Paradise” are missing, while the recently leaked “Grown Ass Kid,” an instant highlight of his career and what could’ve been the mixtape’s best song, was scrapped from the final cut because of a sample clearance problem. All of these songs emphasize the live sound that Chance and The Social Experiment perfected over the last three years, and that they don’t appear on the tape feels like a missed opportunity to showcase The Social Experiment’s fresh and exciting feel. Chance does, however, provide something fresh on the mixtape, and it’s not always a welcome sound.

Since Acid Rap, Chance has shifted mostly away from drug narratives towards songs of praise, and he isn’t shy to display his spirituality on Coloring Book. Sometimes his Christianity seasons his music well, like on the slam-poetry focused “Blessings” and its wonderful reprise, but sometimes it comes on too strong, like on the nearly three-minute choral intro to “How Great.” Normally, Chance’s gospel instincts lift his music, most notably on 2015’s song of the year “Sunday Candy,” but there’s too much choir music on “Coloring Book” to be consistently enjoyable. Anyone who has ever spent time in a singing church can tell you that while gospel music is heavenly in small doses, its platitudes quickly become repetitive, especially for non-believers.

Coloring Book finds its saving grace on the back end. “Finish Line/Drown” begins with the carefree live sound that makes The Social Experiment so worthwhile (assisted by a sunny T-Pain contribution) and finishes with another excellent verse by Noname and a prayer from gospel king Kirk Franklin. The sound on “Finish Line/Drown” should be Chance’s go-to aesthetic: live instrumentation with positive vibes and rising horns, touched with gospel influences and sing-a-long choruses. This is what makes Chance more authentic and exciting than every current rapper not named Kendrick, and sticking with this sound in the future will give Channo the undeniable identity that so many musicians fail to develop throughout their careers.

Chance is too talented to put out a bad album, and Coloring Book certainly isn’t bad. It has highlights like “Summer Friends,” “Finish Line,” and “Angels” that stack up with his best work, but it also has unenjoyable filler like “Mixtape,” “All Night,” and the Justin Bieber collab “Juke Jam” that probably wouldn’t have made the cut on a major-label debut. But despite it being Chance’s first underwhelming project, Coloring Book shouldn’t damper expectations for his future. If anything, it should make us wonder whether this is a setup for bigger things.

 

Chance the Rapper live in Santa Barbara 8/11

My companion and I queued for two hours, waiting patiently for the doors to open at Velvet Jones, a small bar/music venue in Santa Barbara, hosting the up-and-coming Chance the Rapper for his first solo performance on his promotional tour for his mixtape Acid Rap. 90 minutes into waiting, with maybe 100 people in front of myself and 500 people behind, a man approached me with an offer: “I have twenty bucks for you to pretend like me and my girl were waiting with you this whole time.” My ticket only cost $15; I made a $5 net profit on one man’s desperation to get into the concert.

Such was the mood of the night: the venue was much too small to support the demand to see a 20 year old Chicago rapper yet to headline his own show outside of Illinois. We queued two hours before the doors opened, and thirty minutes into waiting, a bar that could hold maybe 300 patrons commanded a line of rap fans stretching the entire block, many hoping for the rare opportunity of overflow sales at the door (there weren’t). Anxious grumbles permeated throughout when the bar owners predictably pushed the opening act an hour back, and things became so hopeless for some before the concert that one man was willing to subsidize my ticket (with some money left over for one drink I did not order) for the privilege of standing next to me.

Chance made quite an impression in Santa Barbara hours before he went on stage, and for his first solo act, he did everything in his power to make sure the crowd was not disappointed. There were hindrances to his goal: a crowd that could have been in a much bigger venue, a floor that was too brightly lit, a soundsystem worse than what one could find in a new Jeep Wrangler, and a set list too short to appease a crowd wanting every bit of Chance they could encounter. His set list including every song off his second mixtape Acid Rap but “Lost,” “That’s Love,” and “Everything’s Good,” a hefty majority of an excellent album, “Brain Cells,” a cut off his first mixtape “#10day,” and a cover of Kanye Wests’s “All Falls Down.” He only had an hour of presentable material, and for lesser performers, waiting two hours in line (plus a two hour drive from Los Angeles for many patrons) for a one hour show would be unacceptable, but Chance was so beloved the crowd gave him an enthusiastic pass.

Chance fans are a great sample of a new age of rap listeners, and the patrons inside the bar were as motley a crew as one could find at any rap concert. The two plump, white kids in front of me knew every word to every song; two ladies to the right of me looked to be beat poetry enthusiasts and were happy to lean and calmly gesticulate to the sounds; many of the wall riders were there to smoke weed and let the soundwaves roll over them. The festival kids were there to jump, the hip hop kids were there to bounce, and there was never much agreement among the crowd as to how to react to the music they universally enjoyed. Chance did his best to prompt an excited but confused crowd, and towards the end of his set there was some shared moments of ecstasy that reverberated throughout the venue.

Chance is a capable performer with much to learn. He doesn’t have to worry about the quality of his music, but he has to account for the gaps his songs create when his collaborators aren’t on stage. The crowd went wild when he started up “Cocoa Butter Kisses” and was ready to stay jacked throughout the entire song, but Chance cut the song short after his solitary first verse, a pattern he repeated with “Acid Rain,” “NaNa,” and “Favorite Song” (which included a hilarious intro). “Juice” sent the crowd into a predictable tizzy, though the night’s best moment was his encore performance of “Chain Smoker,” in which after gracing the mic with his impenetrable rapping ability, he spent three minutes repeatedly crooning the song’s beloved hook with the audience. To close out, Chance’s DJ Oreo bumped Drake’s “Versace” to a crowd that finally understood how to go crazy.

In between songs, Chance addressed the crowd, genuinely starstruck by an enthusiastic crowd in a city he’s never visited, playing his first solo show outside Chicago to a sold-out show that sang along with the 20 year old’s lyrics. “I fuck with this crowd,” he said after performing “Favorite Song,” the best compliment a lackluster but well-intentioned crowd could have gotten last night. Chance signed off by saying, “I want to do shows, and shows, and shows here, and I want you guys to be at all of them.” If his first performance indicates anything about the young rappers ridiculous potential, then I would be happy to attend all of them. I want you to be at all of them as well.

Album Review: Acid Rap

Call me Chancellor the Rapper/Please say “the Rapper.

That line appears midway through “Good Ass Intro,” the opening song off Chance the Rapper’s new mixtape Acid Rap. It acknowledges that Chance carries a forgettable pseudonym, a detriment in this era of low attention spans, but it also asks the listener to remember Chance’s primary skill: rapping.

That might seem obvious, but the lines between wordsmith and musician blur on his tremendous new album. On his Twitter feed, Chance writes “It’s called #AcidRap for a lot of reasons…The influences that LSD had on me recording…the influences from Acid Jazz band and Esham…But mainly when I drop it, n—– is finna start trippin.” He backs up his claims with aplomb.

Chance raps about what he knows, and he knows a lot about drugs. His lead single “Juice” was inspired by a ten-day suspension from his high school for being caught smoking pot. “Cocoa Butter Kisses,” “Smoke Again,” and “Chain Smoker” all address a self-aware nasty tobacco habit, while “Lost” and “Pusha Man” bring the dark side of addiction to the forefront. Most of the time, however, he uses his verses to advocate for hallucinogens, especially substances that one can only learn of on Urban Dictionary. This is a terribly dangerous album for the young and impressionable.

But all of the drug use can be forgotten, because beyond the haze, one will discover a wondrously talented musician. Chance has a unique delivery: some say he sounds like Macy Grey, some say Eminem, some will find it annoying (I find it playful, especially his monosyllabic ejaculation “IGH” and his polysyllabic “nyahnyahnyahnyahnyahnyah”). His lyricism has room for improvement. He isn’t Kendrick Lamar, and he never will be, but he doesn’t need to impress the English majors to catch their attention like Kendrick does. Most of all, however, Chance displays a tremendous ability to form melodies and choose instrumentals. The production on “Acid Rap” is J Dilla flawless and Chance’s singing unexpectedly outshines new rap-crooners like Kanye and Drake. As good a rhymer as “Chancellor the Rapper” is, Acid Rap’s most memorable moments are sung.

“Good Ass Intro” doesn’t require my convincing for you to like it, because unless you have a problem with happy, I guarantee you will experience repeated listens. The following song “Pusha Man” pushes the drugged envelope, however. The first three minutes sound like the soundtrack to an anti D.A.R.E. commercial, but after a brief pause midway through the track, Chance opens up about the true nature of his city, his anxieties, and the dark side of addiction. He raps, “They be shooting whether it’s dark or not/I mean the days is pretty dark a lot/Down here it’s easier to find a gun than it is to find a fucking parking spot.” He follows Kendrick’s approach in refusing to flaunt a false machismo regarding the youth violence surrounding him. Kids are shooting kids where Chance lives, and it petrifies him.

The mood picks up quickly soon after. “Cocoa Butter Kisses” and “Juice” use gospel piano and acid jazz synth samples to relay some sunny childhood nostalgia, and both are so fun and focused that it’s difficult to imagine the twenty year old Chance with some polishing. I’m afraid he might not need it.

Immediately following is the emotional cavern “Lost,” carrying the most beautiful beat on the album, layering minor key guitars with ethereal flutes, framed by Chance’s desperate croon throughout. The subject matter pains those even not exposed to his problems, addressing the double-helplessness of those addicted and in love with each other. It doesn’t really matter what mood Chance chooses to present, because he succeeds at every endeavor.

The second half of the album slows down a bit. “Interlude” and “Favorite Song (featuring Childish Gambino)” are both excellent summer jams, while “Acid Rain” and “NaNa” could receive moderate attention as lead singles to a slightly lesser debut album. In a vacuum, these songs still sound phenomenal, but they might want to be passed over for Chance’s eventual debut (if he pushes for a classic, anyway, which he’s certainly capable of).

The final two songs may provide the most worthwhile material. In the prelude to “Chain Smoker,” Chance claims that he wants this to “sound like a Prince song.” It’s high ambition for someone who just entered his third decade of existence, but he not only succeeds, but also creates a song that Prince would be proud to cover. As nasally a rapper as Chance is, his singing is overwhelmingly emotional, and one can feel the hallucinogens ooze throughout his impeccably sung first verse. The crescendo of late Kanye-esque samples lift Chance’s impossibly catchy chorus into a sparsely populated stratosphere. For three and a half minutes, he bares all, and he comes out the other side iridescent.

The album’s finale “Good Ass Outro” provides the only skit in the entire album, and the following song is just as “Good Ass” as the intro and the interlude (inexplicably not named “Good Ass Interlude”). For all the trappings of a wonderful rapper Chance possesses, he on many occasions talks about his humble origins or how it’s not so great being Chance. I can’t remember one moment where Chance mentions money, power, possessions, or anything self-referential. Acid Rap is mostly about drugs, but Chance leaves plenty of room for love, family, charity, and human decency. Coming off a decade of comic decadence, I welcome the trade-off. His second mixtape is not quite a classic, but I could easily see four or five songs as the framework to the best album so far this young decade. The kid is only twenty years old, but I don’t see him having much room to grow. He doesn’t need it.