Modern Review: $oul $old $eparately

  

Score: 2.5/5 | Released: September 30th, 2022

Written By: Anthony Seaman

  Beginning as a signee to Young Jeezy’s CTE label off a string of mixtapes that centered around hard body street raps, rapid Midwest flows, and production that sounded like Meek Mill throwaways made Freddie Gibbs seem expendable to the rap game. What was special about him went untapped until the Cold Day In Hell mixtape; his range within the many pockets of hip-hop, a vocal presence hearty with charisma, and a tortured soul that only someone with a real conscience could tap into. While the streets kill the conciseness of most, to keep it present in subtle ways is commendable. The cold blood still flowed, but it was from a burning heart. That soul hid behind bland trap beats, finally receiving the space to be bared on sample based beats from Cookin’ Soul, Alchemist, Statik Selektah and DJ Dahi across a variety of his own mixtapes as well as his peers. Rapping his ass off came naturally, but something about the soulful beats brought a new level out of his pen (with "Scottie Pippens" being my first realization of this phenomena). Pinata was an acute explosion of these powers, leading Fetti, Bandana and Alfredo to existence. In between these excursions into record crates You Only Live 2wice, Shadow Of A Doubt, The Tonite Show and Freddy let him play in the sonic arenas of his peers, never leaning past the point of no return in any direction. Kenny Beats, DJ Fresh, Speakerbomb and Blair Norf found ways to spice up styles that in the hands of those less talented could lead to a backslide for Gibbs. Each record showed an ever curious MC looking to become a well rounded artist, pushing himself to see what he could do. 

        A GRAMMY nomination, surviving shoot outs, sold out tours, beating false sexual assault allegations that lead to his imprisonment in Austria, and overall critical acclaim fostered a confidence that created one of the cockiest characters in rap. On his quest to master as many styles as possible he took questionable turns; power singing like an off key Barry White, unconscious mumblings, sloppy but effective melodic hooks, all on the table. You couldn't tell him what a bad idea was, he had to do it for himself. He was regularly banned from social media platforms for his abrasive content, beefed on and off with a seemingly endless amount of other rap artists, some actions leading to real life violence. Despite the controversy and hatred, the music was so good it became a subplot. These years of dodging major labels in favor of becoming one of the kings of the underground gave Gibbs the leverage to wait until the perfect deal came along, one that Warner finally offered him and brought the world $oul $old $eparately.

        Compared to the other major label rap albums the production stands out on first listen above Gibbs own performances. Flourishes of lush instrumentation that sound too warm to be downloaded from Splice and smooth transitions that reflect real intent to create something linear. A loaded production list headlined by pals Alchemist, Madlib, Kaytranada and J.U.S.T.I.C.E. League also brings in heavy hitters Sevn Thomas and Jake One, each bringing their lifetime knowledge of song crafting while leaving their signature styles at the door. Few beats hit you over the head with their beauty, but none beg to be skipped either. “Blackest In The Room” is two simple Alchemist bounces mashed together. “Rabbit Vision” leads with twinkling piano keys and hi hats moving in slow motion, allowing Gibbs the freedom to point and tell as we walk through his past. “PYS” is DJ Paul bringing the bowels of Memphis right to Freddie’s feet, with a cavernous Kingpin Skinny Pimp sample as its backbone. The skits with Jeff Ross, Joe Rogan, and the fictional Triple S Hotel concierge tie together the loose concept of Gibbs hiding out in his hotel room while the drinks flow and slot machines ding below him. It’s another layer to the core theme of balancing success and what it took spiritually, mentally, and relationship wise to get there. Cover art and aesthetics of the record swirling around Las Vegas and gambling tropes are fitting and carry shades of the same opulent heartbreak that Frank Sinatra and the Rat Pack made a musical career off of. Comedic relief is few and far between on this rare brooding work of art from someone who gained a secondary fanbase from being provocatively hilarious online.

         Record to record you realize $$$ is the world's saddest victory lap. Instead of rounding a cheering arena dapping up ride-or-die homies and indulging in his usual antics with fawning women, he’s facing the graveyard of everything he destroyed to bring him to this place. It’s a recognition of sacrifices, seeing in the plainest way how drugs strained his family dynamics and mental health for the first time, while also recognizing he wouldn’t be in this place without taking those broken steps. A life he’s always dreamed of exists simultaneously to this pain. He and his remaining friends may laugh their way through hedonistic journeys, but real life crashes back in. Much like real life trauma the memories flash in, sometimes only lasting a moment (the spare bars recognizing his slipping mindstate on “Zipper Bagz”) or for what seems like eternity (taking up all the space on “Grandma’s Stove”). Shame, regret and trauma are universal feelings, but such little focus is made on presenting these ideas in new ways. Most of the record is just these nightmarish emotions spoken again and again with different anecdotes. No record is without some kind of darkness, even the comedicaly titled “CIA” (standing for crack, Instagram and AIDS) shows Gibbs rappingl at a cruise about his murderous hometown of Gary Indiana, the XXL Freshman Class graced by himself and all signed artists, and surviving shootouts. For years Scarface, Bone Thugs-N-Harmony, 2Pac and DMX have been his self-proclaimed inspirations, all regularly flushing the darkness from their minds on record, and this album feels like ultimate homage to them.

         At his core Gibbs is a great rap performer, allowing you to be impressed with his chameleonic flows and vocal tricks, at times to cover up his greatest weaknesses. His simple word choice and minimal mind bending bars make the record seem hollow on its surface. On the best songs in his earlier discography those bars do coexist within raw storytelling, so it isn’t like he lacks the ability. $$$ is for the first time him making the concise choice to build something upon the foundation of story and pure emotion over everything else. While his heart can’t be questioned, the simplicity brews dull moments that clog up the record (“Pain & Strife”, “Dark Hearted”, “Feel No Pain”). It doesn’t help that nearly every artist that comes in for a feature (outside of DJ Paul and Scarface) sound like watered down versions of themselves. Offset is drenched in auto-tune, minimizing his high flying growl to a computerized warble, Rick Ross and Raekwon’s luxury raps sound fresh off the clearance rack, and Pusha T retracts his raw jaggedness for a more smooth conversational delivery that is a fresh tonal shift weighed down by lackluster lyric flips about videos games and 21 Savage. Do you know how hard it is for Anderson .Paak to sound meaningless on a record? It’s impressive how their souls are set to the side if only to make the theme of melancholy a 4D experience. Hooks across the album also are after thoughts, never prominent enough to grab attention or push it away. $oul $old $eprately is a turkey sandwich of an album. Even if you pair poorly the ingredients of a sandwich, if everything is fresh, disappointment is hard to come by. A dry turkey sandwich still brings the physical fulfillment of a Philly cheesesteak, but the ride to fulfillment is empty. $$$ is that turkey sandwich. One with above average bread, maybe even a pickle or two, but still sauceless and dry. The highs of “Rabbit Vision” and “Space Rabbit” give a hope of something special to come, only for the next track to fumble the momentum. Gibbs is too good of a rapper to make something truly horrendous (as long as we forget Freddy exists) but to take the moment when the most eyes are on him to create such an uninspiring piece of art is a true disappointment. 

Best Song: “Rabbit Vision”

Best Beat: “Blackest In The Room”

Best Moment: Verse 1 on “Blackest In The Room”, the explanation of the title “CIA”, Joe Rogan just being himself on his voicemail skit, DJ Paul on “PYS”