Review Summary: Napsoul
It’s simultaneously logical and befuddling that Bryson Tiller has gotten as big as he has in recent years. On one hand, his emotional, up-in-his-feelings approach to trap music is easy to latch onto. But on the other, its generally derivative nature capped its potential.
Trapsoul was a fine introduction and not much else, an album full of honest, catchy tracks best served as late night fuel to text an ex-girlfriend. Thus,
True To Self was Tiller’s first real chance to separate himself and his contemporaries, and unfortunately, he blew it.
A 58 minute album should not be that much of a drag, but somehow,
True to Self is. Stock trap beats step over each other indiscriminately, rarely switching things up or stirring excitement. Tiller brings his half-sung, half-rapped style to each track, rarely committing to one or the other on an album where commitment is so desperately needed. The catchy choruses of
Trapsoul are generally absent, with the composition of the melodies giving off the vibe of a guy freestyling out of his journal. By the time he breaks out the good stuff (“Before You Judge”, “Somethin Tells Me”), the album is nearly over.
Lyrics, which were never the strong point of
Trapsoul, have devolved into a mess. Tiller is more confident than ever, but utterly fails at being a convincing story teller both in his words and delivery. His problems are comically overblown and un-relatable, never propagating a semblance of empathy within the listener. It’s hard to do anything but roll your eyes when Tiller delivers lines like “album overdue/you would find it hard to focus too/if you met the women I have/hard not to get sidetracked” on “In Check”, a three minute snoozer of a track that exists and does little else.
When Tiller is popping off at foes or bragging, such as on “Blowing Smoke” and “Money Problems/Benz Truck”, his delivery is so flat and lifeless you wonder if even
he's sold on himself. Of course, there’s also the occasional groan-worthy bar like “Young Pen Griffey/I go to bat for my n****s/the pun was intended n****”, echoing Drake in all of his hamminess but with none of the charm. Like
Trapsoul,
True To Self has no featured artists, leaving Tiller to carry the 19 track album himself, a task he cannot accomplish.
Trapsoul wasn’t really inventive, but it was real, and Tiller’s come-up story and girl problems were executed well enough to make you care. On
True to Self, we’re left struggling to care, searching for any kind of substance in the sound of the people’s rapper forgetting that he too was once the people. If True to Self really is Bryson Tiller being “true to self”, one of two things is true; it’s Tiller that’s changed, not us, or what we heard on
Trapsoul was a fluke.
