Album Reviews
TOMORROW X TOGETHER continue to solidify their place as one of K-pop’s greatest storytellers with The Star Chapter: SANCTUARY. This reflective yet hopeful mini-album captures the nuanced emotional spectrum of youth through some of their most subtle, vocally challenging songs to date. The six-track mini album release takes listeners on a journey that melds TXT’s […]
10/30/2024
With the release of his seventh studio album, we see where Chromakopia ranks in his catalogue.
10/30/2024
Play Cash Cobain was originally supposed to be an EP, Cash Cobain told me when we named him April’s Rookie of the Month. “Nah, that’s for my Play Cash Cobain EP that should be coming out soon,” he said. “‘Dunk Contest‘ is going to be on there too, along with some other songs like ‘Candle’ […]
In the time since Nigerian Afrobeats superstar Rema dropped off 2022’s Rave & Roses, he experienced both the most staggering heights of crossover success and the vilest parts of the demonization of his culture in one fell swoop.
In 2023, “Calm Down” reached No. 3 on the Billboard Hot 100 and spent a record-setting 58 weeks atop U.S. Afrobeats Songs. The infectious, Selena Gomez-assisted track also reached No. 1 on the all-genre Radio Songs chart, making history for a song by an African lead artist. Then came his sold-out headlining performance at London’s O2 Arena later that year (Nov. 14, 2023), which sparked accusations of Satanism due to the imagery – in actuality, they were hallmarks of the Edo culture of his hometown of Benin City, Nigeria – employed during the show.
These two things – genuinely peerless success and the tension that lies in bringing hyperlocal culture to a global scale – are the driving forces behind Rema’s impressively daring and unequivocally infectious sophomore LP, Heis.
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Bearing a title that simultaneously calls to his Instagram handle (@heisrema), the Greek word for the number “one,” and the simplest proclamation of being, Heis finds Rema staunchly on the defensive. Gone are the sugary slow-wine tempos of Rave & Roses; here, Rema conjures up soundscapes – courtesy of an all-star production team that includes Producer X, Take a Daytrip and longtime collaborator London – that thrive in the darkness. Pounding, frenetic drums open the album, ultimately becoming the record’s anchor. Occasionally a tinny synth or a particularly piercing string arrangement will cut through the wall of sound, but the rollicking, militant drums are the dominant source of energy on Heis. And it makes sense: The drum – with all of its history and percussiveness – is the instrument the best symbolizes the Rema of Heis.
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Across the LP, Rema reclaims the “Satanist” narrative by doubling-down on the sounds and voice changes that first garnered those accusations. When he warps his voice into an obsidian baritone on “Ozeba” (“Emi ati awon guys e mi italawo, e mi itolowo/ Italawa, itolowo, ita, itolow, eh-eh”), it’s somehow both bone-chilling and tongue-in-cheek. He refuses to let go of his hometown’s history and culture despite being a global superstar; it’s an emphasis on regionality that mirrors similar conversations has across Black American music this year, from Beyoncé’s Cowboy Carter to Kendrick Lamar’s “Not Like Us.” “Everyone is chasing something that the whole world can enjoy… we’re listening to the voices of the world too much,” he said in a recent Apple Music interview. “We gotta listen to the voices back home to keep our roots. Our roots [are] very important.”
But the Rema of Heis also has an unmistakable chip on his shoulder. As hip-hop grappled with the standing of its Big 3 (Kendrick Lamar, Drake and J. Cole) this spring, Rema uses Heis to demand a spot in the conversation as it relates to Afrobeats. He’s already expressed his desire to expand the existing Afrobeats Big 3 (commonly understood to consist of Burna Boy, Davido and Wizkid) to a “Big 4,” and now he spends most of Heis demanding the No. 1 spot.
“March Am” opens the record with Rema’s trademark sinister laugh ushering in a high-octane drum pattern that soundtracks his bellicose calls to keep pushing forward. One of the most effective album openers of the year, “March Am” immediately establishes pidgin English as the album’s dominant tongue. “17, I dey dagbo, I dey crack code/ Now the prince of Afro,” he snarls in the first verse, before sing-chanting the “I dey march am” chorus against some stirring background strings. Taking notes from the painstaking worldbuilding of Playboi Carti, Rema’s vision of Afrorave is completely contingent on the blistering, unfettered energy that comes from people collectively giving their bodies over to the power of music. Heis begs to be experienced in a live setting; it’s as if Rema conceived the live version of each song before he even set foot in the studio. It’s dark and raucous and distinctly liberating; at long last, Rema has brought to life the “Afrorave” style that he’s long heralded, despite an initial lack of sonic identifiers.
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The only instrument as effective as the drums on Heis is Rema’s voice. Across the LP, the singer dives into the depths of his range, spending ample time in his icy baritone. Not only do his different vocal registers evoke different characters in his narrative — of recentering yourself after stepping into a new era of life — they also reveal Rema’s artistic maturation. Each shift in vocal delivery adds new textures to the 2010s Afrobeats-nodding instrumentation; instead of simply delivering lyrics, he morphs into his own instrument and weaves himself into every chord.
Pre-release singles “Hehehe” and “Benin Boys” (with Shallipopi) play even better in the context of the full album. The former finds Rema temporarily playing to the villain role to mock his haters, while the latter reads as a celebration of Benin culture from two homegrown stars, who seek to uplift and protect it from those who ignorantly demonize it. Sandwiched between those two tracks is “Yayo,” perhaps the record’s most accessible song – and the one Rave & Roses fans will likely find most appealing, with its catchy melody and grind culture-affirming lyrics (“Money yakpa for my bank oh/ How to make money is all I know”)
At just under half an hour, Heis never overstays its welcome, but that doesn’t mean Rema completely avoids repeating himself. While having a chip on your shoulder can bolster your assertiveness, it often gives way to defensiveness on the album’s back half – and that’s where its cracks start to show. The title track – which features a Swahili chorus that basically lauds Rema as the hottest thing to ever touch Planet Earth – feels particularly excessive because he’s already covered the same lyrical ground elsewhere on the album. There’s also “Villain,” the album’s penultimate track, in which he croons, “I dey hustle since people dey laugh me/ The way I dey run my things, I do it differently, now dem dey copy me.” But by track 10, these sentiments feel stale, if not overbearing.
In its entirety, Heis is a captivating album; one that inspires countless listens because of how its intricate production reveals new elements with each encounter. With the album’s closer, “Now I Know,” Rema wraps everything up quite cleanly, offering new perspectives to the darkness that subsumes the record with one soulful ballad. “I dey move like Messi when he dey for Barcelo/ E get as God go bless person, dem go talk say na devil oh,” he opens the second verse, before proclaiming “And now I know who dey for me/ All thosе I trust turned enemiеs” in the chorus.
After dousing himself in an amalgamation of edgy aesthetics to further cement his Afrorave style, Rema, in a way, becomes human again on this album closer. His plaintive tone reflects the maturation he’s undergone in the past two years, while also calling back to the timbre he most often used on his debut LP. He’s still the same Rema, but he’s demanding a different level of respect – not just because of his superstar status, but because of his steadfast commitment to uplifting his culture and bringing it along with him at any cost.
If you fell in love with Rema off the strength of his sweet crossover pop moments, his latest album probably isn’t for you. But if you’re willing to be led down a journey of self-discovery and style formation, Heis is the map for that odyssey.
The Detroit rapper and Kansas City producer make the midwest proud with this project.
Somewhere along the way, the concept of pop stardom got severely warped. The 2010s – an absolutely mind-boggling decade that we’re still trying to figure out – brought about a bevy of pop stars and pivots that prioritized not just a banal understanding of “relatability,” but also a specific kind of feigned honesty and vulnerability. In an effort to stoke the increasingly parasocial connection between consumers and creators, pop stars packaged up “refreshingly honest and vulnerable” lyrics that didn’t actually say much at all about their authors and sold them in more variants and configurations than there are editions of the Merriam-Webster dictionary. The obsessive curation of the relatable pop star threatened to completely swallow up the reckless bombast and brash provocation of pop’s most gifted and most imported auteurs – until Charli XCX’s superb sixth official studio album, Brat.
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As an artist who has helped steer the evolution of pop over the past decade and change – while sporadically reaching some of the most staggering commercial heights of pop stardom (Billboard Hot 100 chart-toppers, Grammy nominations, smash soundtrack singles) – Charli XCX has always been miles ahead. Now that the top 40 world has mostly caught up with her – think Beyoncé’s “All Up in Your Mind” (2022) or Camila Cabello’s “I Love It” (2024) — an album like Brat feels remarkably accessible. Nonetheless, at least half of that accessibility comes by way of Charli’s own maturation; Brat finds her finally embracing the full scope of her specific brand of pop stardom, not through cynicism or snark, but by genuine self-reflection soundtracked by some of the boldest and most audacious production pop music has heard in years.
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“I went my own way and I made it/ I’m your favorite reference, baby,” she begins the album by proclaiming, on delicious pure-pop opener “360.” The opening oscillating synths immediately situate the LP’s sonic universe as the soundtrack to the video game that is life – specifically the high-octane lives of hot girls, party girls and, of course, pop stars. On “Club Classics,” she dubs herself as such and demands to dance to her own music in the club, and on lead single “Von dutch” she reminds us – and herself – that she’s our “No. 1.”
For an artist who’s often been incredibly frank about her insecurity regarding where she stands (and how she’s perceived) in the pop ecosystem, these songs could read as Charli trying to convince herself of her greatness. In reality, she’s always believed those things, but those sentiments are just one component of her self-understanding. Being a hot girl pop star is terribly messy business, and as Brat barrels through its 15-song tracklist, Charli completely submerges herself in those murky, ever-troubled waters.
Brat is filled with homages to rambunctious late ‘90s French dance music, as Charli searches for the biggest and brightest sounds pop can offer, and those sonic touchpoints are vital to the album’s success. “All this sympathy is just a knife/ Why I can’t even grit my teeth and lie?/ I feel all these feelings I can’t control,” she sings in the chorus of “Sympathy Is a Knife,” the album’s third track and first taste of the nuanced examination of pop stardom Charli emarks on throughout the album. On the Gesaffelstein-helmed “I Might Say Something Stupid,” she feigns contentment with being “perfect for the background”; “Girl, So Confusing” finds her coming to terms with empty lip service from peers that only exacerbates how out of place she feels; and “I Think About It All The Time” introduces motherhood as a very real path for her, one that’s truly beckoning her attention – for better and for worse – for the first time.
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These moments where Charli opens up on a whim are as disarming as they are charming – and they never contradict the flashier come-hither anthems like “Talk Talk.” The negative connotations of the word “brat” are paramount to the album’s tone, but if a “brat” is to be understood as a poorly behaved child, then Charli sources her childlike tendencies by feeling the full extent of all of her emotions – more of a skill than most realize, and one that many people lose as they transition to adulthood.
Brat reaches its emotional apex with “So I,” a downright heartbreaking ballad dedicated to the late SOPHIE, a pop and dance music pioneer and frequent collaborator of Charli’s. “When I’m on stage sometimes I lie/ Say that I like singing these songs you left behind/ And I know you always said, ‘It’s okay to cry’/ So I know I can cry, I can cry, so I cry,” she coos, her slightly hoarse voice hanging on by a thread as a tidal wave of tears threatens to wash the rest of the song away. Charli hasn’t ever sounded like this on a record; this is the vulnerability that we’ve been sold facsimiles of for the past decade in pop.
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Of course, Charli is able to display this level of nuance in her vocal performance because the LP’s sprawling soundscape – which features contributions from forward-thinking producers such as El Guincho, A.G. Cook, Cirkut, George Daniel and Omer Fedi – allows her the space to. Whether it’s the heartbeat-nodding throbs of “Everything Is Romantic” or the electro-jazz breakdown in the back half of “Mean Girls,” Charli is granted an entire sonic galaxy to stake her claim over.
Six studio albums and several seminal projects since she first hit the scene over a decade ago, Charli seems to have finally found herself, while charting limitless futures for dance and pop music in the process. We hear so much about how pop music tends to cast aside its leading ladies once they hit their 30s, but a now 31-year-old Charli is only getting more indispensable. She is pop music – in all of its glorious sleaze and self-doubt and sex and somber introspection. And personifying the totality of pop while synthesizing it into some of her most evocative work yet reveals more about who Charli is than any amount of faux-diaristic, needlessly verbose lyrics could anyway.
Jake Shane, who has nearly 3 million followers on TikTok thanks to his viral comedy videos under the handle @octopusslover8, is reviewing albums for Billboard with exclusive new essays and videos. Find his latest Billboard album review below, for Taylor Swift’s just-released The Tortured Poets Department album.
Taylor Swift, known for her vulnerability, has never been so vulnerable.
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First thing Friday (April 19), Swift welcomed us into The Tortured Poets Department, her earth-shattering 11th studio album. Except, upon arrival, listeners discovered it was more a graveyard than a classroom. The air is cold and filled with tension from ghosts of relationships past — each step inviting the listener closer and closer into stories frozen in time. The end result is an album that feels like pages ripped from Swift’s diary loosely scattered across a frosty gravesite — each tomb sharing its own story of grief, loss and, in some instances, love.
Tortured Poets is undoubtably Swift’s most personal album to date — which, for Swift is a hard feat to beat. Through classic Jack Antonoff and Aaron Dessner production, Swift’s pen floats on lyrics sharp to the touch. This is especially true on the Dessner-produced track 5, “So Long, London.” In it, Swift says goodbye to a relationship she gave everything for, but received no ROI. “My spine split from carrying us up the hill,” Swift proclaims; this is Swift at her very best, painting a photo of heartbreak so vivid that it almost feels like our bones are breaking too. Close listeners will notice the beginning of the track sounds similar to Swift’s love song “Call It What You Want” off her sixth studio album Reputation. Perhaps the most cutting lyrics, though, on “So Long, London” come in the second verse, when Swift admits her regret for holding on to the “sinking ship” that the relationship was: “I’m pissed off you let me give you all that youth for free.”
One of Swift’s defining talents is how she builds a cohesive narrative throughout her albums, and here, that ability has never been more on display. On Tortured Poets, Swift walks the listener through a barren graveyard filled with withered bones and torn memories, only to finally reach sunlight — on the final two tracks of the album (not including the extra 15 songs that dropped at 2 a.m. ET), Swift has once again found love. On “The Alchemy,” Swift sings of a love so undeniable, she is returning to her old, pre-tortured ways: “I haven’t come around in so long. But I’m making a comeback to where I belong.”
As always, Swift’s lyricism shines bright (arguably brighter than ever before). This is notable on the absolutely devastating “The Smallest Man Who Ever Lived,” where Swift looks in the rearview of a past relationship with more questions than answers. “You hung me on your wall. Stabbed me with your push pins. In public, showed me off. Then sank in stoned oblivion.” Swift’s pen is pointed, but, then again, when is it not? She doesn’t want to talk to said “man,” but she wants a message delivered: “You didn’t measure up in any measure of a man.”
On “I Can Do It With a Broken Heart,” Swift is at her most bare, detailing the heartbreak-turned -depression she faced while performing the biggest tour of her career (and perhaps of all time). “She’s having the time of her life there in her glittering prime. The lights refract sequin stars off her silhouette every night. I can show you lies,” Swift croons over a synth beat. Swift calls back to folklore’s “mirrorball” by proving once again that she can be anything we want her to be, even if it’s not true. It is one of the first times Swift has broken the third wall since the start of the record-breaking tour, and it is almost reassuring to listeners and fans alike. Taylor is human, too, even when her stardom questions the laws of physics.
One of the greatest tales Swift tells is that of heartbreak to healing; she did it on Reputation, and on Tortured Poets she has done it once more — this time, though, with more maturity and the clarity only age can bring. At the end of the album, Swift has once again found love and forgiven heartbreak. It might not be her true love, but she’s happy — oh, and she’s Taylor Swift. Who can argue with that?
You can find Shane’s review of Beyoncé’s Cowboy Carter here.
04/19/2024
The Queens MC’s groundbreaking debut turns 30 today.
04/19/2024
Jake Shane, who has nearly 3 million followers on TikTok thanks to his viral comedy videos under the handle @octopusslover8, is reviewing albums for Billboard with exclusive new essays and videos. Find his first Billboard album review below, for Beyoncé’s just-released Cowboy Carter album.
“People don’t make albums anymore,” Beyoncé declared in her 2013 HBO documentary Life Is But a Dream. “They just try to sell a bunch of lil quick singles. And they burn out, and they put out a new one, and they burn out, and they put out a new one.” She was right, finding a real “album” is becoming scarcer in the age of streaming, where songs with shorter run lengths are viewed as more “streamable.” A real album might be hard to find, but luckily we have Beyoncé, and boy does Beyoncé make a good one.
Beyoncé’s eighth studio album, the country-influenced and genre-defying Cowboy Carter, is a tour de force and yet another example of Beyoncé’s innate ability to put together an album. Much like Renaissance, most of the songs blend beautifully into each other, almost forcing the modern listener to hear the album in order — exactly how Beyoncé intended it. This is especially notable in the jump from the “Dolly P” interlude to Beyoncé’s stunning reworking of Parton’s classic “Jolene.” Instead of Parton’s infamous “begging” of Jolene to not take her man, Beyoncé changes the narrative — she’s not begging you; she’s warning you. It’s a perfect rendition of the classic song in 2024. We’ve heard a million and one versions of superstars “begging” for the villainous Jolene to not take their man, but Beyoncé isn’t most superstars, and she’s not going to beg; she’s going to tell you.
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Beyoncé follows up her rendition of “Jolene” with perhaps the most cinematic moment on the album — track 11, “Daughter,” is a scorching country ballad-turned-Italian opera that finds our protagonist setting the scene of smoke, bodies and, of course in true Beyoncé fashion, bloodstained custom couture.
Beyoncé’s duet with Miley Cyrus, “II Most Wanted,” finds the two stars going line for line, Miley’s rasp perfectly matching Beyoncé’s powerhouse vocals. Beyoncé and Cyrus’ harmonies flowing, they insist “I’ll be your shotgun rider, till the day I die.” The two superstars might be singing about their respective romantic partners, but it’s just as easy to believe they’re singing about each other. As they lyrically and sonically ride side by side, their chemistry is tangible and undeniable.
If “II Most Wanted” weren’t proof enough of Beyoncé’s undeniable talent for a cohesive duet, look no further than “Just for Fun,” which features country star Willie Jones. Another standout is “Levii’s Jeans” featuring Post Malone, who delivers some of the cleanest vocals of his career — setting the scene for a hot summer day in the South, where we find our superstar wearing a perfectly fitted pair of Levi’s.
It would be remiss to talk about Cowboy Carter without mentioning Beyoncé’s cover of The Beatles classic “Blackbird,” which she aptly restyled as “Blackbiird.” The cover features rising country star Tanner Adell. Once again, we find our superstar making an already-classic song her own entirely. It’s a pin-drop moment on the album — talking about it almost feels like I’m taking away from the time you could spend listening to it instead.
Beyoncé said, “This ain’t a country album, it’s a Beyoncé album.” And while Beyoncé has never been wrong, she has also never been so right. “Genres are a funny little concept,” Linda Martell (country star and trailblazer) states at the beginning of “Spaghettii” — almost laughing at every single Beyoncé detractor who questioned how the superstar would fit into the country genre. Country? Genre? This is Beyoncé. Just press play.
When RM officially introduced himself to the music industry through BTS‘ debut in 2013, the then-18-year-old Kim Namjoon was known through the stage name Rap Monster after being praised by hip-hop veterans for his spitting abilities, but he later shared a love-hate relationship with the moniker. In 2017, the star made the formal move to professionally go by RM after realizing it didn’t fully represent who he was or his love for all music. Instead, “RM” now opened his name up to represent a range of meanings, one of them thought to be the “Real Me.”
Even if rap is where RM started, his first proper solo album, Indigo, shows that it’s only one facet of the musician. With assistance from longtime musical legends in different genres, plus rising up-and-comers, the LP is a collection of songs that the star describes as an “archive” of his 20s.
Not only are RM’s artistic inspirations wide, but the 28-year-old plays with how he presents them to the world. On one track, he’s feeling feisty and confident to take on the world, and later, he’s reflective and alone in his hotel room. RM is not trying to bring what’s topping the charts today to this record, but it’s meant to showcase the ever-evolving people we are and become. Captures and snapshots of the “real” Kim Namjoon live throughout the album, but Indigo emphasizes that he is not a static piece of art.
While it’s tough to rank these songs from “worst” to “best,” Billboard is taking these flickers of RM and looking at how the global star is opening himself up in new musical form.