Killer Mike — Michael
The third track on Killer Mike’s latest album, Michael, begins with a monologue by Dave Chappelle while an organ plays in the background, creating a sermon-like atmosphere. Chapelle goes on to compare the Black experience to those who stormed the beaches at Normandy in World War II. He urges Killer Mike to continue his push forward, despite others falling short. “You’re a leader, lead, don’t be afraid” he finishes.
A week removed from Michael winning the Grammy for Album of the Year, Chappelle’s cameo encapsulates its central theme and ultimate failure. Killer Mike sets the album up like a church service, positioning himself as the clergy, aiming to eradicate the evils of addiction, violence, and materialism that harm his flock.
Michael mirrors Killer Mike’s personal activism and political engagement. On the surface, he appears to assess the personal and systemic issues impacting Black folk. Yet, a deeper examination of Michael reveals a more complicated truth.
As discussed with Chapelle, Michael is anchored in Killer Mike’s presentation as a heroic figure. He believes he’s rap’s voice of reason, lamenting the toxic elements of our culture. Killer Mike’s tone adds urgency to his calls for action that occasionally feel powerful. “Fuck the politicians that sponsor the prisons…” he passionately states on “Two Days.” Yet, too often, Killer Mike cheaply undercuts his pleas for change.“I’m in rooms with politicians talking business and shit” he says on “TALK’N THAT SHIT.”
Throughout the album, Killer Mike straddles the fence between revolutionary and opportunistic conformist. One moment he scolds our unnecessary spending to only brag about buying a car. Killer Mike’s refusing to acknowledge these inconsistencies, or the circumstances that create them, makes Michael a difficult listen. It omits that we are equally capable of being virtuous and immoral, often selecting the path that serves us the greatest benefit.
Given Killer Mike’s label as a “socially conscious” rapper, Michael disappoints for refusing to examine this gray space. There’s another layer of storytelling that feels untapped, with Killer Mike instead opting for the benefits of two contradicting sides with no explanation. Technically, Killer Mike’s elementary rhyme schemes pale in comparison to the likes of Big Boi and Black Thought. While the album’s production feels grand, Killer Mike’s verses often left me wanting more.
The Grammy’s selection of Michael is a misguided step in the right direction. Given its glaring flaws and rap’s generally lackluster year, it’s even more perplexing that artists like JID, Larry June, and Noname weren’t recognized for their well-crafted albums.
Noname, especially, feels snubbed, offering a comprehensive cultural criticism that spares no one, including herself. Her album, Sundial, focuses less on objective vices and more on subtly destructive aspects of our culture — see “Beauty Supply.” Sundial features a consistency, direction, and honesty that makes Michael feel small.
Overall, Michael is an unremarkable album that appears to have delighted through hollow themes. Like Chapelle’s intro, Killer Mike tasks himself with saving our crumbling world, but his talk of revolution stops just before he gets uncomfortable.
