Prince and the New Power Generation—[Love Symbol]

Prince and the New Power Generation—[Love Symbol]

[Love Symbol]—Eventually changing his name to it for a time, Prince adopted what was termed a "love symbol" for the name of his second album with the New Power Generation: an apparent combination of the traditional male and female symbols. He did not originally choose it to represent his identity, leaving it to mean, in the context of the album, it must speak to the concept; the album does follow a certain story, though it is obscured by the omission of several planned interludes in favor of an additional song. Longer than Diamonds and Pearls (1991), but less swollen, [Love Symbol] is nothing if not dynamic.

"My Name Is Prince" samples successive early Prince records ("I Wanna Be Your Lover" from Prince [1979], "Partyup" from Dirty Mind [1980], and "Controversy" from Controversy [1981]) as the artist proclaims, "My name is Prince" and "Funky fresh 4 the 90s," contextualized by Tony M's aggressive rap verse. Prince, long hip to musical trends, was convinced the hip hop leaning would make it the album's ideal single; he was partially correct, scoring a top 40 hit, but it did not end up the most successful single. It sets the tone for the mostly-cohesive album, something like a party record with a kind of harmless danger, despite lines like "I put my foot in the ass of Jim Crow." Prince claims on "Sexy M.F." that "In a word or 2—it's u I wanna do/No, not cha body, yo mind u fool," which given his history seems dubious, but the groove is undeniable. "Love 2 the 9s" is irresistible; Prince's future wife Mayte Garcia auditions when Prince beckons, "T. will whip out a 37 questionnaire and/Machine gun a sister like he just don't care;" "'How many kids u got'/'Egad, I'm shocked.'"

"The Morning Papers" is a great, fantastic love song, while "The Max" is dance from the underworld: something like Prince's own version of "Thriller." A short segue—of which there were supposed to be many, but were cut due to space limitations—gives some background to the concept, with Vanessa Bartholomew (played by Kirstie Alley) attempting to reach Prince for an interview. "Blue Light" is a traditional Prince theme presented as a reggae number. "I Wanna Melt with U," its title stylized with an eye (as is every other instance of the pronoun in the CD notes), is filthy funk that was thankfully added to the album at the last minute. "Sweet Baby" is one of the only unimaginative and borderline lousy inclusions. "The Continental" is an awesome, twinkling rocker featuring a sexy outro by Carmen Electra (another Prince girlfriend). "Damn U" (whose video also spotlights Electra) is a romantic, dreamlike slow-dancer. The short "Arrogance" demonstrates that Prince is at least self-aware, and highlights what is probably the true subject of the album.

"The Flow" reprises the hip hop undercurrents, suggesting that Prince is not ready to fully embrace the onset of rap ("Girl, I hate 2 say this—nigga, please!"). The singalong "7" was the album's biggest hit, the number seven referring to the number of assassins hired to do away with Mayte's character in Prince's eventual movie accompanying the story, 3 Chains o' Gold. "And God Created Woman," with almost-new age keyboard, is a quality horn-tinged man-and-woman musing under the guise of the Book of Genesis. "3 Chains o' Gold" (the object the aforementioned assassins were contracted to obtain) is slightly overblown for what is supposed to be the summation of the album's plot, though it is not exactly substandard. The following segue, where Prince, wanting to spread "the truth," claims his name is Victor and that he is 320 years old and "into [his] 5th soul," giving the work a feeling of secret-society ambage not unlike the Illuminati (which, for the record, is symbolized by an eye). The album then closes with "The Sacrifice of Victor," ending as it began, with a self-referential quality that also echoes Sign "☮" the Times (1987).

Concept, as always, proves a double-edged sword for Prince; Purple Rain (1984), for all its pomposity, was a great set of songs, if sometimes preposterous, and so is [Love Symbol]. It languishes at times, but at its best it is one of the most eclectic Prince albums, and therefore has an inherent worth distinct from the rest of his music. Beyond the abstract, though, its greatest songs are pop perfection, and for that reason alone it is an essential listen.

Kendrick Lamar—To Pimp a Butterfly

Kendrick Lamar—To Pimp a Butterfly

To Pimp a Butterfly—It seems like an obvious record to make. Hip hop has long been a genre that, in its works' most soulful iterations, borrows greatly from monolithic black artists. In this respect, To Pimp a Butterfly (2015) is nothing new, although it is a voice for a new generation. Kendrick Lamar offers Miles Davis as an influence in the album's creation, which again comes as no surprise, but it is notable in the sense that Davis—who today is seen as a legendary figure in music—was once essentially in the same position as Kendrick. Their talents are different, but Kendrick's situation now is one where his body of work is starting to establish itself. He lived in the shadows of Dr. Dre, touring mates Game and Tech N9ne, and consecrated West Coast rapper 2Pac. It is then telling that Butterfly features marginal creative input from this particular cast in contrast to good kid, m.A.A.d city (2012), which showcased Dre and contemporaries Drake and Jay Rock.

This is not to say Butterfly doesn't have star power, but even the likes of George Clinton, Ronald Isley, and Snoop Dogg take backseats to Kendrick. Rival Kanye West welcomes collaboration and wears the notions of clout on his sleeve, but Kendrick eschews this with repeated visits to the idea of "misusing [one's] influence" as part of the larger poem around which the album's concept is based—and it is a concept album, no matter what anyone says. Given this framework, it is not surprising that, outside the sample of "Every Nigger Is a Star," the first voice heard on the album's opener "Wesley's Theory" is trumpeter Josef Leimberg (credits). Kendrick makes his intentions clear with a foreboding James Brown-twinged P-Funk groove, with the key phrase "Bridges burned all across the board" presenting the album's most vital professional statement. Dre's spoken verse backs this move under the guise of separation, which highlights the subversive nature of the record.

"For Free?" continues the onslaught of Kendrick's musical shifts, this time thanks to jazz pianist Robert Glasper. The former's message turns from personal to societal as he attacks American consumerism and wealth inequality before his motivations collude to form the single "King Kunta" as Kendrick's crosshairs turn to his contemporaries, taking his shot at a throne he insists was abdicated by the time he got there. His quip that "Something's in the water" perhaps unwittingly foreshadows the direction he takes on "Institutionalized" with the modulated vocals made famous by Prince. Its syncopated rhythms and seamless backing from Snoop Dogg and Bilal take the forefront as Kendrick's distorted raps echo the sentiments of the preceding songs, bringing together the slave imagery and wealth concerns but with the first hint of self-examination that continues throughout the album.

"These Walls" begins an artistic deconstruction for Kendrick; at times the metaphors are heavy-handed with Anna Wise (credits) interjecting the song's partial theme of sex. His lyrics become more nuanced as the song sloughs its dance trappings, a process mirrored on emotional centerpiece "u," a nervous breakdown set to music. What begins as a descent snaps in half as Kendrick's rapping turns to staggering lament. The much-celebrated piece, while conceptually strong with a Stevie Wonder-like break in the middle, suffers from an unnatural delivery in its second half and liquor glass sound effects that give it a degree of banality. "Alright" is perhaps the album's weakest song, being less inspired lyrically and introducing tired apologues that stick out unfavorably among Kendrick's more contemporary references. Recurrent collaborator Pharrell's production is bare and his hook is even less memorable. "For Sale?" is a better appropriation of the "Lucy" subject, which here is at least presented in a humorous light.

Kendrick begins to reconstruct his sound on "Momma," a strong hit of nostalgia with funk styling and an off-kilter beat, which exudes down-home charm and times of decades past in his life. "Hood Politics" suffers from a regressive, petty quality to its lyrics and forgettable music, with the exception of its third verse which makes interesting claims about the state of the rap game. However, it does nicely set up "How Much a Dollar Cost," which mixes solid hooks with a plodding beat and downcast semitones to make something greater than the sum of its parts. "Complexion (A Zulu Love)" adds a message of equality to the slave themes put forth on "King Kunta," but it must have been apparent that the music was becoming predictable around this point on the album, as those involved decided to sequence next the second single "The Blacker the Berry," The most aggressive, Public Enemy-influenced song on the album is also the most explicit in its depiction of black oppression, but with the added element of personal hypocrisy.

"You Ain't Gotta Lie (Momma Said)" is a forgettable reiteration of themes expounded better on "Wesley's Theory" and "King Kunta," but the penultimate song "i" (heard here in a live rendition; the single released in 2014 is a studio version) is a breath of fresh air. Its near-bubblegum guitar and backing vocals support a complete feeling-reversal of "u." The only real problem with the recording is commentary and questions posed by Kendrick after the song that are rather empty and even senseless ("I promised Dave I'd never use the phrase "fuck nigga"/He said, "Think about what you saying: 'Fuck niggas'").

Attempting to tie it all in is the twelve-minute "Mortal Man," a make-or-break summation that unfortunately falls flat. It relies too heavily on name-checks and meaningless jargon (Murphy’s law, Generation X, will I ever be your ex?). It's not altogether terrible, but what follows—a complete reading of the poem that is dispersed throughout the transitions between the album's songs—is mediocre, as its continuation at the very end. In between these accounts is a repurposed Tupac Shakur interview, which by Kendrick's involvement in the conversation reveals a less savory side of his ego. Though the points Shakur made in these statements are intermittently interesting, they are somewhat myopic and unflattering aside from his assertion that black men only seem to care about their struggle at a young age before losing their fire.

There is no denying Kendrick Lamar has taken a great step in his career with To Pimp a Butterfly. It's a meaty work that's lyrically dense and has some great pop, but it's also uneven. The most derivative tunes, while pleasing, don't build on the music that inspired it, and some songs don't attempt this at all. It will be interesting to see if Kendrick takes his foot back out of the water with his next album, as he did not seem fully committed to the new sound, and because of it a lot of songs that were already served tepid seem even more lifeless by comparison. Its best songs are excellent, but the series of flops that mostly plague the second half are exhausting. Most of all, it's a predictable record historically and artistically, and it shows: the best songs are the singles.