Mos Def - The Electric
Words by Max Feldman
It always feels as though Mos Def should be treated like an artiste. Occupying a space between the conserving of beloved hip-hop traditions and lighting some flair into our pre-existing knowledge of flow, he far transcends the platitudes of radio-friendly pop-hop. Like his contemporaries in Talib Kweli or The Roots, he clothes his rhymes in both consciousness and certain slickness. His Hollywood hindrances aside, The Ecstatic is a welcome return from an emcee almost too easily lost to unfulfilled promise. It not only signals some prodigal homecoming, but is exhales a sense of consideration for the conventions of album-craft – a trait that may soon vanish into pre-Beatles industry values.
Spells of invention cast cohesion between inherited techniques and the influences of modern gadgetry throughout the record: a Malcolm X sample and a searing guitar lead in the dazzling rush of opener ‘Supermagic’. This initial challenge continues throughout the following fifteen tracks. The Ecstatic sweeps a cerebral cinema back into hip-hop, recently masked by base techno beats and vocodered bleating. Instead, here we find an intercontinental clatter of Arabic influences and postmodern self-sampling on ‘Twilight Speedball’ and ‘Quiet Dog Bite Hard’, hinting at how uncomfortably high Tha Carter III has set contemporary standards.
Further still, Slick Rick’s guest spot and the orchestral bombast of ‘Life in Marvellous Times’ combine tradition and invention, homage and intellect, infusing a wholesome imagination to the clutter of this effort. Indeed, there’s a lot to listen to, and Mos sounds as confused by the current state of the game as we are. The most effective distillation of this sentiment, and the themes of the record, is found on ‘The Embassy’ where Mos challenges us with sounds and subjects ‘classic, modern, ancient, flagrant’. It all indicates an implied dread, a shifting auditory landscape that skips with jazz-limbed tension reflecting the disorientating mysteries of modern living- ‘Pretty Danger’, indeed.
Ultimately, The Ecstatic disappoints and enthrals in equal measure with a defiantly deliberate shrug. It’s not easily emulsified for consumer attitudes, dribbling for palatable pop precision. It requires attention, even a scholarly approach, to deal with verses that sound frustrated, struck from the page several times, or entire songs that feel unfinished; anxiously brief, prudently punkish. However, what they lack in length or focus is redeemed by the wealth of ideas that flutter in and out of earshot, a sonic superlative that twitters with contradictions- analogue ambition and digital dénouement.
Posted Thu, July 23, 2009