Review Summary: It's December 1st…and…I met this guy...
The EP's first half is blissfully absorbed in the rodomontade of a fresh going-great relationship, and of course the laundry list of charming analogies that inevitably come along with one: "This feels like Jupiter", he's the "sweat to my pores", "cone to my ice cream", "soup to my cold", just to name some favorites. Opener "I Like" sees her longing for the commitment of a chest to cry on -- a no-rushin' mind-openin' guy who's down for tees/sweats/Netflix. A mere two tracks later, the Timbs and V-neck are coming off, "Baby we should wake up and get married" becomes a hook, and he's formally dubbed the "type of nigga I respect like the law / type of nigga that I let hit it raw".
But after a Timbaland jump-in midway through with his bounce and flutes and money and lean and yeahyeahyeahs, down comes the break-up realization devastation. She's hangin' it up and drivin' away, and a bruised+witty defiance predominates ("Well is she pretty or what?", "She must be some type of superwoman"). Here things get a bit less enticing descriptively and musically, but it's also nicely padded out by a couple thematic anomalies.
There's "Stripclub": the story of a young+helpless single mom-turned-stripper might seem hackneyed these days, but the gritty+unrelenting details and lack of condemnation help this stand out. We get cause: "Never had love from her father", "Nineteen, had a little baby / Dropped out of school just to raise it", "Mama won't let her stay no more" and effect: "Paying for tuition with her body / Popping X pills in the lobby / Don't wanna remember what she did", "She's climbing up thinking of all the things she could've done else".
Then comes the true antithesis: quickie-fun night-out ender "Afterparty", which radiates with the puke-glitz intoxication of upstairs rooms, dance floors, little dresses, bathroom stalls. It not only hints towards any leftover animosity being diminished, but after all that damn spoutin' about crash-n-burns and distress and FEELINGS and whatnot, it's really quite the vital distraction.
Tink comes off strong and sensible -- content with being shown off and willing to hold her man's nine, no tolerance for bullsh!t, but susceptible to/folds under heartbreak and betrayal like any normal+decent human being. These pencil-scratch confessionals are both heart-warming and sensual-raunch, r&b and rap, hopeful+elated and rainy+pensive.
