Alterna-rap kingpins stay heady
Open Mike Eagle – Anime, Trauma and Divorce (Auto Reverse)
Funnymen (and funnywomen) have feelings, too, ya know. My favorite humorists draw inspiration from the darker corners of their lives. They revel in the sort of depressive catharsis that helps us laugh the blues away — Maria Bamford is a godsend. But there’s a fine line between gallows humor and maudlin sentiment. I’m glad Chicago’s Mike Eagle not only understands the difference, but expertly walks the tight rope between the two. 2019 was a bad year for Mike. His marriage fell apart, his Comedy Central show was shitcanned after one season, and he spiraled into the sort of mental crisis that’s all too relatable for the victims of 2020 (and, let’s face it, any other wretched year). But here is the sort of album-as-personal-journey that keeps its chin up without shortchanging the gloominess from whence it came. Credit Mike’s brevity, which prevents the music from growing turgid, and his personable flow, which turns these meditative rhymes into therapeutic self-reflection. He avoids cliché, sprinkles enough anime references in to appease Adult Swim diehards, but keeps it real enough for those who’ve never seen an episode of Dragon Ball Z. In fact, the best pop culture riff concerns Black Mirror ruining his marriage. Some of his woes pertain to the financial realities of showbiz, but all of us know the sting of having our dreams dashed. And while these songs don’t coalesce around a worthy couplet that drives the entire concept home, it’s nonetheless reassuring to hear someone I admire admit they’re sad but attempt to smile anyway. GRADE: A-
Homebody Sandman – Don’t Feed the Monster (Mello Music Group)
He knows a lot of words because he’s highly intelligent — Ivy Leaguer, law school dropout. He talks fast for the simple fact he’s from Queens. The duality of his immense vocabulary and rapid-fire delivery makes him an impressive listen, but it’s the humor related to casual truths that turns him into an artist worth investing in. The unconverted would be wise to start with 2016’s Kindness for Weakness, a strong summation of everything he’s been up to this point. This record, his 13th in as many years, is notable for its length. At 54 minutes, he’s never gone this long, nor this slow. Where the tempo once raced to keep up with his quick tongue, here things turn to a comparative crawl. I suspect the change of pace is twofold: 1) 2020 was a hard year in which to hustle which in turn 2) makes him exceptionally contemplative and thoughtful. It’s why two of the first three songs are called “Trauma” and “Stress,” and why “Extinction” ponders “Is any cool people still alive, or is it all the cool people have died?” Don’t get it twisted, though. He’s no depressive. The grooves remain playful in their slowed state, and (most importantly) he hasn’t lost his funny bone. I’ll credit the woman he loves despite her inability to get ready on time. “Don’t get me wrong, I like it when she dolls up / But trying 20 different outfits on makes me say ‘What the fuck?’” Like I said, casual truths. GRADE: A-
Sound 'Round 