P.O.S. "We Don't Even Live Here" and the Struggle for #20

Although I was not keeping close track of my favorite albums a couple of years ago, I feel pretty confident in saying that Never Better from P.O.S. was my album of the year from 2009. That was a time of incredible flux for me, when I was trying to make life decisions that I knew would have far-reaching effects.  I found the realistic themes of Never Better to be particularly uplifting as I sorted through them all.  I owe P.O.S. for providing some refuge during that time, so I really wanted to give We Don’t Even Live Here a fair shake.

But its late October release date posed a problem. Year-end lists are a fun way to look back, but in reality, it’s hard to give an album that has stood the test of time since February the same kind of attention that I give to that which is immediately in the player. Late fall releases are easily overrepresented because they are novel or, conversely, slip through the cracks, not to reemerge until sometime in spring.  I find I'm forced to be more cautiously objective than usual.

Which is kinda silly, really.  After all, New Year's is just another tick of the clock, right?

Anyhow, even after the release of We Don’t Even Live Here, I had intended for The Roots’ brilliant concept piece Undun to kick off this year’s Top Twenty list just to show how great my year in music has been. Both of these albums are incredibly creative hip-hop offerings, but their artistic success comes from different angles. I still genuinely love and respect the maturity and overall statement of Undun, but We Don’t Even Live Here crosses boundaries between electronica, rock, and hip-hop with an adventurous, organic flair that I just couldn't ignore. What other hip-hop artist out there is releasing live videos with two drummers and a synth hook that could put Miike Snow out of business?



There is, however, an unfortunate, nagging feeling that We Don’t Even Live Here isn’t quite as good as its predecessor, which kept it in the lower half of the list.  It seems that P.O.S. made an effort to consolidate the eclecticism from Never Better into something more succinct and perhaps widely accessible. This is understandable and perhaps respectable, but in my opinion, Never Better benefited from its broad variety. While P.O.S. has not compromised his sincere, anarchistic, and often thought-provoking stance, We Don’t Even Live Here doesn't seem as instrumentally broad as its antecedent. It is, however, musically stronger than virtually all of the hip-hop I hear (Death Grips notwithstanding).



What I don’t want to do is get into a Soft Bulletin/War of the Mystics standstill with We Don't Even Live Here, which is conceivable since Never Better was such an influential favorite for me in 2009. Even at the cost of Undun, I feel pretty justified in including P.O.S. in the top twenty. For one thing, The Roots enjoy a pretty high profile right now, while P.O.S. remains a relatively underground innovator. I feel that it is my responsibility to advocate for him if for no other reason than to widen his visibility. Don’t misunderstand, though - my rationalization for putting We Don’t Even Live Here in the top twenty doesn't come from a sense of obligation.  It stems from the strength of the album’s fierce musicality and playfully anarchistic ideology. It is a great hip-hop album that really has only one major fault – it follows what is for me a phenomenal classic.

The Roots' "Undun" and Growing Up

As a music-fanatic dad, it is my intention to indoctrinate the Little One into a wide variety of music, but the lack of rap and hip hop is a glaring hole in my current listening habits. I admit that I am a very picky rap listener, mainly because I’m not always sure what will stick with me. My favorites have a mysterious combination of musicality, intellect, and authenticity that I can’t quite explain. Regardless, every so often I stumble across something that mixes these ingredients in just the right way, and a couple of weeks ago, I discovered that the recipe cooked up by The Roots seems to hit the spot.

Their recent release Undun is a concept album that outlines the story of a quasi-fictional character named Redford Stevens, a black youth whose time was cut short in a flurry of missed opportunities and frustrating circumstances. To me, it seems like a rap concept album is a no-brainer: rap depends heavily on the delivery of verbiage and storytelling, so it is a logical step to extend a narrative arc outside of the limits of a two to four minute song. There is a risk that inconsistency could derail such an ambitious project, but The Roots’ experience, intellect, and passion deftly handles the challenge. Sit back and check out the short film attached to Undun.  It features snippits of several tracks from the album.



Undun is a pristine example of mature, artistically ambitious rap. It’s an engaging commentary on the conditions of black youth, and eschews the sensationalistic narcissism that threatens to dilute rap as an art form. What brings the entire album into sharp focus, however, is its infectiously singable choruses. Each track on Undun has a hook that not only drew me into the song, but into the storyline of the album. In just a couple of passes, I found myself carefully studying them, which enriched my appreciation of the lyrics and overall concept.

The Roots have an added advantage with me because, counter to rap tradition, they identify themselves as a band. Rap and hip hop originated in the first-hand treatment of funk, soul, and R & B records. In its early days, a live performing group was unheard of. The Roots began bridging that gap over a decade ago, and now they effortlessly epitomize the musical connection between the great Motown studio bands of yesteryear and the work of today’s best turntablists. Their melodic and harmonic expertise provides access to a wide array of moods.  This is a somewhat low-quality video of my favorite track on the album, but it adequately shows The Roots in action.  Check 'em out on Jimmy Fallon any night of the week if you doubt their skills.



As engaging as Undun is, there are still conventions of rap makes it difficult to justify as an introduction for the Little One.  My sensitivity to these conventions indicates a change in my outlook as the mantle of “dad” starts to crease my brow. The Roots, while hardly foul, are not afraid to drop the occasional f-bomb or employ the socially complex n-word in the telling of Redford Steven’s story. In the past, I wouldn’t have given this relatively gentle rap language a second thought, but now it seems to stick out when the Little One is in tow. Go figure.