Killer Mike, one of Planet Ill’s favorite emcees, had become Grifter Mike. He used to chase the perfect righteous/ratchet balance that apex Ice Cube brought with Death Certificate. Now, Mr. Render slings RTJ faux rage against the machine.
Mike had become less Killer and more chiller, palling around with Bernie Sanders and pronouncing Atlanta a real-life Wakanda while trying to save his property from the flames of riot. But I got news for you. Killer Mike came all the way Black on his latest release, Michael, and is the midyear candidate for Album of The Year.
Michael is a gumbo of grit, gumption, Black rage, and Black love. Love for the streets, his momma and granny, the junkies he used to serve, the sisters he used to slay, and the music. Killer Mike’s greatest weapons, that relentless downhill flow, his booming voice, and his earthy connection with the people coalesce into an introspective, thoughtful work of art.
The guests all add to Michael’s heft. Cee-Lo Green’s soulful crooning on opening track, Down By Law. Spitta and 2 Chainz on Spaceship Views. Singer Eryn Allen Kane adds a rich, feminine spirit to multiple tracks.
Jason McGhee and the Choir wield the all-mighty power of the Black Voice on a third of the album; the kind of immersive, cascading vocal decadence that can break you down like the walls of Jericho, yet bring you in at the same time. The immaculate Warren Campbell mans the keys wherever needed, crafting rich, earthy rhythms to Michael.
No.I.D produced the bulk of the album, blessing it with pulsating low bottoms, funky bass guitars, and just about everything you can ascribe to Black music. DJ Paul injects that Memphis bouncy soul made famous by 3 6 Mafia on Talk’n That Shit!
We are treated to a mighty Dungeon Family reunion on Scientists & Engineers as Andre 3000 returns from oblivion to SNAP off in a way he hasn’t done in over a decade. His frenetic, off-kilter-yet rhythmic delivery is classic, Outkast-level 3 Stacks while Future lays down his patented digital flow.
Long time Run The Jewels collaborator El-P drops by for a lightening (pun intended) pace change on Don’t Let the Devil (presumably pun intended). The track is pallet-cleansing Hip-Hop; devoid of the gravity the glues the rest of the album.
Michael is awash in the word nigga, but not in the lazy, looking-for-words-to
-rhyme variety. Its usage denotes a fraternal nigga of love, not of dehumanization; the kind of slur that internally binds its subjects by the connective tissue of collective pain and struggle that conveys the warmth of camaraderie.
Themewise, Michael runs the gamut of southern Black experience, with sojourns to the trap, teen pregnancy, the black church, and the peculiar steuggle of college-educated Black men still in the streets because the doors supposedly opened by education remain locked. Michael also delves into the ecosystem of dealers and junkies, some of whom, are their own family.
In the sweetest of ironies, the art of the Hip-Hop album was kept alive by a Killer. Michael is at all times sonically, socially, and culturally relevant; devoid of nostalgic throwback novelty. Mr. Render’s intimacy with Black people is both charming and disarming; familiar. Listen a few dozen times. Michael is a beautifully skillful and thoughtful walk through niggahood. I can give it no greater compliment.
4.5 Out of 5
