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When fans of rap lament the fragmentation of the genre, they often emphasize its downsides: the scarcity of crossover stars, a definitive rift between Gen-Z internet followers and boom-bap purists, and an abundance of fleeting trends aimed at pointless virality. However, the rise of solo artists like Aesop Rock serves as a reminder that there’s still much to appreciate about this unique and peculiar era. At 48, Aesop Rock is deeply entrenched in the “independent as fuck” underground scene of the late 1990s, and his sound evokes a strong resemblance to the skronk-y, avant-garde New York artists of the early 2000s like Company Flow, Mike Ladd, and Sonic Sum. Over nearly thirty years of work, he has honed that specific flavor of rap into an extreme form that is unmistakably his own. His lyrics overflow with words, while his self-crafted beats resonate with def beat percussion and haunting, otherworldly melodies. Each new album—he has released four since 2020, starting with his captivating Spirit World Field Guide—feels like an exploration of a self-contained realm defined by intellectual complexity.
In Black Hole Superette, Aesop Rock employs personification in his lyrics, oscillating between absurd bravado and sharp self-mockery. On “Checkers,” he boasts, “I’m all of Alexandria’s information in aggregate.” In “Ice Sold Here,” with frenetic scratching echoing Q-Bert’s Wave Twisters, he proclaims, “I ain’t lyin’, the crib is an A/V club/Butterfly a piece of tech, liberate the weed crumbs.” He channels a beat poet vibe, yet with enough B-boy flair to pronounce “effect” reminiscent of Eric B & Rakim’s “Microphone Fiend” in “EWR – Terminal A, Gate 20.” Clearly, he is influenced by early hip-hop avant-gardists like Rammellzee and Kool Keith. “Short story: once I shook the RZA’s hand/Played it cool, but coulda yelled ‘I’m going to Disneyland’,” he raps on “Himalayan Yak Chew.”
For those new to Aesop Rock, his flood of words and phrases may feel daunting, often leading listeners to admire the effort invested in crafting them more than the musical enjoyment they bring. His songs that do feature choruses tend to be deliciously enigmatic, such as when he remarks on “Movie Night,” “What kind of dog is that? What kind of dog is that? That’s a mutt.” The handful of tracks with clear themes provide humorously detailed narratives. “John Something” details a guest in a 1996 art class obsessed with the Muhammad Ali documentary When We Were Kings; and “Snail Zero” humorously addresses an unexpected snail invasion in an aquarium he gifted to a girlfriend. Ultimately, Black Hole Superette explores the minutiae of life as Aesop Rock dissects his surroundings. He also reflects moments of weariness, showing he’s not just playing with words aimlessly. “Still mixing up the stolen with the homemade/Rapping for my life, and being difficult to locate,” he states on “So Be It,” a rapper who hasn’t given a press interview in several years. Hauntingly, he uses “Black Plums” to declare in the chorus, “I’m a particle, a minute quantity of matter/The least possible amount of data.”
At its peak, Black Hole Superette transforms rap-for-rap’s-sake into a revered form of Zen. It features guests such as Billy Woods and ELUCID from Armand Hammer on “1010 WINS,” with Woods particularly rising to Aesop Rock’s lyrical playfulness as he spits, “Luckily or unluckily for me, my brain discrete analgesics.” “So Be It” is anchored by Open Mike Eagle’s sung chorus, while “Charlie Horse” features Homeboy Sandman and Lupe Fiasco. The contrast between Lupe and Aesop Rock is significant. The former tackles injustices, whether in politics or the music industry, through skillfully crafted yet emotional pieces like last year’s Samurai. Meanwhile, Aesop Rock finds joy in examining life’s peculiarities, even as he remains cognizant of the harshness humans can exhibit towards one another. “Used to pair cereal and cartoons, I don’t know if there’s a better way/Now I’m going hungry in a war room, it’s similar but it is not the same,” he raps on “Steel Wool.”
Black Hole Superette may not possess the striking conceptual intensity of Spirit World Field Guide, and those familiar with Aesop Rock’s work might not detect a creative evolution akin to 2000’s Labor Days or 2005’s None Shall Pass. Yet, it signifies a musician who is continually adding new dimensions to his already impressive artistic journey. Similar to the aforementioned Armand Hammer, as well as rising talents like Surf Gang and MIKE, Aesop Rock exemplifies that while the mainstream rap landscape may seem deeply flawed, there remains vibrant life at the edges of the genre, with self-styled artists eager to hone their unique quirks into unforgettable art.
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