Editor’s note: The following article is an op-ed, and the views expressed are the author’s own. Read more opinions on theGrio.
Like most people, I presume, when the news dropped that André 3000 — the GOAT-level emcee and artist who comprises one-half of the legendary hip-hop duo Outkast — was releasing an album where he would be playing the flute in lieu of rapping, I was befuddled. Bemused even. My first reaction was, WTF? But I quickly got myself together and remembered that 3000 has given the world so much quality music that I really don’t have room to complain about him deciding that he just wasn’t in the space or didn’t have the words to rap right now. I actually appreciate the honesty and vulnerability of admitting and acknowledging that despite being considered one of the greatest to ever rap, he just doesn’t have it anymore (or right now). Plus, who am I to put any artist into a box; creatives gon’ create and artists gonna art. And I love art in all forms.
For context, I am one of the people who absolutely loved (and welcomed) the 3000 half of “Speakerboxxx/The Love Below,” the Album of the Year Grammy Award-winning double album that dropped in September 2003. 3000 as an experimental artist, as opposed to rapper, isn’t a new concept. He’s been in this space for quite some time. Did I ever think we’d get another full-length album of pure artistry? No. I genuinely thought he was done releasing any of his own music while happily popping up as a surprise feature on albums from a litany of artists. Part of me is glad that I was wrong; it’s kind of cool to see where your favorite artists are in their musical journeys.
To that end, I decided that despite any misguided misgivings I initially had, I was going to wait until midnight for the album to drop on streaming services and give this album, “New Blue Sun,” a listen. And I did. I owe that much to 3000 out of respect for the artistry and music he’s given me as a human. While I was curious about what kind of music we might get, listening to 3000 explain his thought process and the creative process in interviews like the one he did with NPR, which was the official jumping-off point for this album rollout, gave me hope. Sure, he was going to be playing the flute and the album had gimmicky titles like, “I Swear, I Really Wanted to Make a “Rap” Album but This Is Literally the Way the Wind Blew Me This Time” and “Ninety Three ‘Til Infinity and Beyoncé.” But yeah, this might be a jammin’ flute music album.
It is not. This album will not inspire any twerking or jammin’ on the 1. There is no 1. There is no jam. There’s no rhythm. The beat will not hit you. This is an album of way too long songs that never build to anything or go anywhere really. There is no movement. The flute playing isn’t even … interesting. Hell, on half the songs, I can’t really even make out the flute. It is an album for New York City elevators that go up lots of floors or companies to use as customer-service hold music. It pains me to say this because I wanted it to be good. When I hit play, I was praying that this would be an album everybody would be speaking about on the morning after like, “Man, 3000 showed up and showed out and got us all wanting to pick up a flute.” I wanted the same reaction I had when listening to Lil Yachty’s surprisingly compelling departure album, “Let’s Start Here,” an album that shocked me so much that I basically demanded folks listen to it.
That’s not what we got here; we have 87 minutes (!!!!!!!) of really, really long sound waves that perhaps could work if cut in half and had some drums to add some drama. There is no drama. There is no excitement. Look, I’m not even saying this is bad; I have no doubt that there will be people who find this music compelling and innovative (maybe). I don’t know how or why, but they will. For me, it was a total labor to make it through and I did; I’ve listened to the album in full twice. Part of me was hoping that on my second listen it might sound different, more lively and perhaps more intricately expansive than I felt the first go ‘round. I didn’t feel that way.
It just felt like it needed some edits and drums. Now, this isn’t to say that there are no positives to this album; there are. I rather enjoyed the first song, “I Swear, I Really Wanted to Make a “Rap” Album but This Is Literally the Way the Wind Blew Me This Time,” despite some of the … improvisational flute playing towards the end that felt like it could have used a redo. I also like parts of “Ants to You, Gods to Who?” Also, there’s some pretty jam-adjacent piano and flute work on “Ghandi, Dalai Lama, Your Lord & Savior J.C. / Bundy, Jeffrey Dahmer, and John Wayne Gacy.” And I can’t fail to mention the song title, “Ninety Three ‘Til Infinity and Beyoncé.” I have nothing to say about the song, but the title jams.
So I don’t hate the album, but I also don’t know what to do with it. I don’t know when I’ll listen to it or where I’d put it on or for whom. If you aren’t a person into new age, experimental music (so to speak), this album is 100% not your lane, no matter how much you like André 3000. If you are looking for an album that might make you nod your head even a little bit, this is also not the album for you. If you thought you might be able to get a sarcastic twerk in — maybe some one-cheek action — this ain’t the album for you. If you thought it might make you walk across a table and crush glasses while bustin’ out some dope jazz flute jams? Try again. This is an album that plays in the background of activities you’re not actively involved in but may be perfect for meditation or yoga. I suppose we shall see.
What I will say is that I cannot wait to see how folks bend themselves into pretzels thinkpiecing this album to death. I am very much looking forward to the takes; this could be another in the line of “Matrix”-like conversation pieces where a contingent of people swears that the rest of us just don’t get it. I am excited about that prospect.
I’m also excited for all of the music producers who are probably adding their own musical flourishes and drums and such as we speak. Maybe this album will become what Jay-Z’s “The Black Album” became in 2003, a launchpad for a ton of offshoot projects using its parts to create entirely new works. Somebody call PinkPantheress right now and ask her to add some of those urgent drums to “The Slang Word P(*)ssy Rolls Off the Tongue with Far Better Ease Than the Proper Word Vagina . Do You Agree?” immediately.
I would be remiss if I didn’t add this: I’m happy that André 3000 got this album off. He decided this was the art he needed to give to the world, and he did just that. And because of who he is and the cachet he has built, way more people are listening to a rapper from Atlanta get his flute on during a random Friday in November, which could easily have been a song title on this album. 3000 is on a musical journey and as a lover of music, I’m happy to be part of the journey even if this particular voyage isn’t one I love. Will we be talking about this album for its music even a year from now? Probably not. We will be talking about the fact that 3000 dropped an album of flute not-quite jams? Yes, we will. And maybe that’s the point; André 3000, a hip-hop legend, created a body of work that will have people talking about flutes and jazz for who knows how long.
Like always, we never thought hip-hop would take it this far.
Panama Jackson is a columnist at theGrio. He writes very Black things, drinks very brown liquors, and is pretty fly for a light guy. His biggest accomplishment to date coincides with his Blackest accomplishment to date in that he received a phone call from Oprah Winfrey after she read one of his pieces (biggest), but he didn’t answer the phone because the caller ID said: “Unknown” (Blackest).
Make sure you check out the Dear Culture podcast every Thursday on theGrio’s Black Podcast Network, where I’ll be hosting some of the Blackest conversations known to humankind. You might not leave the convo with an afro, but you’ll definitely be looking for your Afro Sheen! Listen to Dear Culture on TheGrio’s app; download it here.