Theophilus London – This Charming Mixtape
The old warhorse of a quote, “Writing about music is like dancing about architecture,” is usually meant to be pejorative. Fans drag it out when they want to illustrate how futile it is to describe something as elusive as a melody, or a beat; writers often drag it out as a way to apologize for the inability to translate an experience with music into words. Everybody takes it for granted that dancing about architecture is something that is impossible, or ridiculous, or a contradiction—but it’s not. Architecture and dancing share a certain number of principles—shape, pattern, point of view—and a dance evocative of, say, the Taj Mahal or Windsor Castle would probably be something to behold. Ultimately, there’s a certain amount of architecture in every dance. There’s a certain amount of music in all writing.
The real problem with writing about music is that it’s only the second most effective way of arguing for what’s good. The most effective way is by making music. A great artist always has a solid and interesting point-of-view about what makes music work, and what makes music compelling—and that point of view lives in every song. As a musician, when people listen to your music, you win the argument—the people listening to your song implicitly agree that your point-of-view results in music that works. This is why having your own voice as an artist is important. This is also why Chuck Klosterman is wrong in his assertion that the biggest selling records are, by definition, the best ones—because “best” is defined by one’s relationship to the music, and no relationship can be defined by just one aspect. As a writer, Klosterman may be persuasive, but the music you actually listen to is more persuasive.
A couple of months ago, critic-practitioner Jace Clayton released Uproot, a stunner of an album, under his DJ /rupture moniker. Uproot serves as a bit of a gateway record for would-be fans of dubstep, simultaneously celebrating the genre and rewiring its possibilities by interspersing deep cuts with other global and classical-influenced songs. If you look at it strictly as music criticism, Uproot first argues for dubstep as a vital and vibrant genre; secondly, argues for the expansion of its palate—and it argues both things to an audience already vaguely familiar with the genre, if not totally immersed in it.
With This Charming Mixtape—as much of a strangely fitting analog to /rupture’s Uproot as 2009 has seen so far—Theophilus London pulls off a much different feat of criticism. First, with the title a Smiths reference and the cover an homage to the cover of Elvis Costello’s second album, he targets as his audience the cross-section of internet users who download mixtapes and also love post-punk. Except… while The Grey Album era has taught us to expect something like a series of Morrissey/Ludacris mash-ups from that kind of marketing, London packs This Charming Mixtape with glossy 90’s R&B and 80’s electro. Essentially, London treats the present idea of a mixtape just like a first-generation Smiths fan might have done—he knows exactly who his audience is, and he’s using the platform to turn her onto some sounds she might not otherwise dig.
The album opens with London singing a chorus over Amadou & Miriam’s “Sabali”: “Oh can’t you see my sky is turning gray/When you turn to me it takes it all away.” He’s missing the drum-machine and the Autotune, but the dour attitude is all Kanye West. (Later, a voice in the background says, “My facebook status is I’m sad.”) He cycles through the chorus a couple of times in a monotone reminiscent of TV on the Radio, and kicks it into a higher register at the end. Mostly he just lets the original song ride. In an interview with Impose Magazine back in November, London talked a little about his philosophy. “I give my music what it needs,” he said. “If it doesn’t need rap, I’m not gonna rap. Shit, If the song doesn’t need me, then I won’t give it me.”
London turns the opening of “I Will Always Love You” into a conversation between Whitney and a Clyde Smith-type character, before chopping the vocal up over a throbbing, club-friendly bass-line. With Bill Withers’ “Ain’t No Sunshine,” he raps in the cradle of “I know I know I know I know”s—an idea that now seems pre-destined the second Withers laid the verse on wax. He raps over Lauryn Hill’s version of “Can’t Take My Eyes Off of You” until Hill starts singing—at which point he just allows her to do her thing. Each time, he manages to maintain the integrity of the original song, if not outright improve upon it. On “Computer Love,” however, he takes the opposite approach, using an otherwise insufferable Coldplay riff mercifully subtly to build an R&B track that sounds like Ciara rocking a Tears For Fears song.
London’s other neat trick is pulling off the “rave-rap” thing. Using dance tracks to mold hip-hop songs seemed like a great idea when Kanye dropped “Flashing Lights” a year and a half ago. But then, inevitably, some dude tried to break through by rapping over Haddaway’s “What is Love” and ruined it for everybody. By mid-2008, Wale was mocking “rave-rap” openly on The Mixtape About Nothing to the same audience London is courting with This Charming Mixtape. But where, as with most great musical ideas, lesser producers immediately chased down the basest, most obvious paths, Theophilus London takes the spirit of 80’s dance luminaries like New Order and Kano and rebuilds it in a rap context, with anachronistic results. He reworks Crazy Cousinz’ “Bongo Jam”—which, in turn, samples a UK Big Brother contestant—into a party-starter, while “Cold Pillow” is a simmering break-up song that plays like a syrupy electro version of “My Love.”
Ultimately, though, This Charming Mixtape is an argument that all of London’s hip and unhip source material—the electro, the monster R&B hits, the Pharrell and Spank Rock-inspired moments, the Ace of Base samples, the Bill Withers, the emotional subject matter, the UK novelty hits, the hardcore punk on “Ultraviolent”—all deserves to live in the same musical universe. More importantly, he’s making that proposal to an audience who could stand to hear it. With his thick-rimmed glasses and Bklyn address, London has already been tagged as “hipster rap”—and though the packaging for This Charming Mixtape might exist to support that label, the content refutes it. In order to change people’s minds, sometimes you’ve gotta promote yourself to the minds that need changing.
-Martin Brown, 2009
It's funny that you used that quote, since it's attributed to Elvis Costello whose cover is being tributed :)
Posted by: Squidhelmet | 2009.02.05 at 23:36