Mail bag — Part 1

Noah D. Lyons
4 min readFeb 8, 2022

I haven’t been writing as much which has made choosing my first topic of the year even harder. With no album in January worthy of an immediate review, I have enlisted the help of my friends!

A week ago, I asked for music questions, with the promise I would answer them all. I have decided to tackle this in two posts to spare you — and myself — from something too long. Thank you to everyone who asked me something. Part two out next week!

Question: Can you talk about Azealia Banks, and her downfall?

Answer: Her debut EP, 1991, hasn’t gotten proper recognition for blending rap with New York House. On “Liquorish”, she raps over a frantic beat that would challenge most rappers. She masters the tempo, tone, and breath control required to compliment the demanding beat. She teases listeners with melodic moments that showcase her talent as a singer. Azealia’s multi-genre ability would have been her an ideal collaborator with the likes of Kaytranada, but that will never happen.

Her downfall isn’t easy to pin on one thing — given her list of “controversies”. Her rants against the LGBTQ+ community makes her music impossible to elevate. House music, especially in New York, wouldn’t be popular if it weren’t for Black and Brown queer folk. Her comments dump on the community that first supported her and made the genre what it is today. While DaBaby and Boosie continue to voice such hate, they haven’t been rightfully cast aside like Azealia. We have less tolerance for the misdoings of women, especially those with darker skin. Her fans drew a line at what was unacceptable and never turned back, despite her immense talent.

Azealia would have thrived today as more artists embrace the sound she once pioneered. Yet, she will remain in obscurity, and that’s on her.

Q: Why does anyone like that Solange album?

A: The question is jokingly referring to When I Get Home, Solange’s most recent album. At first listen, the album appears disjointed with no connection between a song and its successor. It’s airy chords and rich harmonies don’t guide us towards anything concrete, forcing us to question what Solange is doing.

When I Get Home feels like we’re trapped inside Solange’s head as she reminisces, picking stories without purpose but as they come to her. The repetition on tracks like “Saw Things I Imagined” feel like we’re trapped in an endless glitch. Yet, the album’s brilliance lies within these moments where Solange gives us a thought and leaves the rest up to interpretation.

Solange isn’t pushing the listener towards a certain conclusion but encouraging freedom of thought. She lures us towards a blank canvas, giving us the space to create our own meaning. The numerous dead spaces between lyrics are intent on evoking emotion. She loops beautiful piano chords in these spaces to make the album as meticulously crafted as it is free flowing. When I Get Home, encourages listeners to take their own meaning. It’s distant but looming presence isn’t for everyone, but certainly is for me.

Q: Which artist forever change your viewing on music?

A: I want to say J Dilla — as he changed how I listen to beats, but the honest answer is Kendrick Lamar. To Pimp a Butterfly was the first album that sounded like a book. His ability to formulate end rhyme was secondary, paying sole attention to the narrative he was building.

Kendrick creates a musical experience that summarizes what it means to be Black in America. On “U” he’s at his emotional end, throwing away care for the songs rhythmic elements as he choppily expresses regret for leaving people behind. Two tracks later, he is celebrating himself and the collective resilience of Black people on “Alright”.

Kendrick nearly unravels as he adjusts to his new-found fame and wealth, contrasted with the upbringing he thoroughly presented on Good Kid m.a.a.d City. His use of characters and distinct voice only complicates the narrative. We question each character’s motives and wonder what path Kendrick will take in this new chapter of life.

To Pimp a Butterfly made other “lyrical” rappers seem rudimentary. Their craft ends at telling witty and clever bars, not tell the story of a man, his people, and the country he is forced to call home. Kendrick changed how I think about lyrics and their importance. Today, I pay less attention to an artist’s ability to rhyme, and more to what are they saying overall.

Q: Are music awards still a valid metric in measuring artist success and music quality?

A: It depends. At their core, award shows are an entertainment product geared toward pleasing the audience with recognizable faces. The Grammy’s tendency with nominations — especially in Rap and R&B — show a preference for popularity over quality. However, this is just my vantage point as someone whose favorite artists are rarely represented at award shows.

Kaytranada receiving Grammy’s for his 2019 album, Bubba, felt like a rare moment where quality led to success. Awards shows trick us into thinking the two metrics are thoroughly connected, when history says otherwise. A Tribe Called Quest has never won a Grammy, signaling award shows and their voting bodies, are often unaware of the trends and players in Black music.

Awards shows will continue to be a valid metric in measuring success, as nominations corelates to an artist’s widespread appeal. The question of quality will always be case-by-case, with my default to assume quality lags success.

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Noah D. Lyons

Noah is a Washingtonian who writes about all things music. He is also the co-host of the What’s Really Going On Podcast! Find him on Twitter @truelyonking.