Review Summary: A very good rap album.
The consensus reads that every Armand Hammer release is the musical embodiment of a downtrodden New York back-alley, littered with cryptic lyrics and surrounded by claustrophobic production. Underneath it all is a pointed message, but they have taken that message, crafted it into a puzzle, and then purposefully and meticulously scattered the pieces across the floor of a strobe lit room. While not necessarily a mischaracterization, this analysis of the Armand Hammer project is one that has been more or less beaten into banality. That being said, it’s perhaps worth trying a simpler approach:
Haram is a hip-hop project. It stars billy woods and ELUCID as rappers, and The Alchemist as producer. Woods and ELUCID Rap very well, and The Alchemist crafts a wonderful backdrop for their raps. A defense follows.
First and foremost, you would be hard-pressed to find a lyricist with a more eclectic reference sheet than billy woods. It is not at all uncommon for him to effortlessly flip back and forth between, say, a vintage boxing reference in one bar, to the collapse of a global financial institution in the next, and then back to Allen Iverson shortly thereafter (‘Black Sunlight’). Even his lyrics penned in the more traditional style of battle-rap have unconventional nods to the historical, “Your crew fragile as the Caucasus, as the Balkans is” (‘Black Sunlight’). Wesley Snipes, Michel Foucault, Sodom and Gomorrah, Westworld, and Maury are among the many other references you might find laced throughout his writing on
Haram .
References aside, it’s worth mentioning that woods’ verses are not limited to obscure non-sequiturs. Throughout
Haram he can be found conjuring scattered familial memories of Jamaican funerals (‘Peppertree’), painting genuinely claustrophobic scenes (‘Squeegee’), and recalling vivid details of past “jobs” (‘Falling out the Sky’). And though his album opening verse is indeed puzzling, contained within it is an illuminating line towards the cryptic nature so often used to describe his writing: “My favorite game is ‘Let’s Suppose,’ let's suppose/I ask the question just to see it in your face/I already know, the answer never mattered” (‘Sir Benni Miles’). Describing woods’ pen as cryptic seems almost silly when imagining his clever inner child finding entertainment in you taking his hypotheticals seriously. Whether or not you find the meaning is beside the point, his joy is in watching you search.
Balancing out the clever apathy of woods’ vocal delivery is the cutting precision of ELUCID’s. Though undoubtedly drawing from a loaded referential inventory in much of the same way, it’s
how ELUCID raps that is most compelling. Intrinsic to his voice is a serpentine quality that slices through production like a scythe, further sharpened by an unwavering confidence that allows every lyric to sound impressive even if you cannot make sense of it. On ‘Indian Summer’, for example, he ends an already stacked verse with the lines, “Fast and pray for rain, but just a trickle/Clean your own pistol, I can’t walk them dogs with you”. Here, and many times across
Haram , it is not obvious whether these lines have a particular or pre-meditated meaning, but what is clear is that they sound really good together. That being said, some lines leave no room for uncertainty – e.g., the outward chant of dismissal, “You don’t gotta be here if you don’t wanna” (‘Roaches Don’t Fly’), and the forthright decree, “You need permission to have an issue with me” (‘Sir Benni Miles’).
And though often the less talked about half, ELUCID is arguably the requisite member of Armand Hammer. That is, many of the peak moments on
Haram are a direct result of his explicit input. For instance, it is hard to imagine ‘Black Sunlight’ sounding nearly as grand without his joyful proclamation, "For all the world, Smile”, or ‘Stonefruit’ existing at all without his bellowing refrains throughout. ELUCID also – again on ‘black sunlight’ - delivers perhaps the most quintessential Armand Hammer line with his assertion, “I ain’t never hoed myself to make the song sell”. Herein lay a functioning thesis for why
Haram first and foremost sounds like an Armand Hammer record, despite having the prolific presence of The Alchemist.
On that last point, it is worth repeating that
Haram does above all sound like an Armand Hammer record, and this is a testament to both parties. Al’s true talent is displayed here in his ability to take the dense sound of Armand Hammer towards a more spacious one without compromising the integrity it has been built upon across the past four releases. This spacious sound isn’t to be confused with a singular one, however. Whereas tracks like ‘Wishing bad’ and ‘Chicharonnes’ sound as menacing as any previous Armand Hammer track, tracks like ‘Black Sunlight’ and ‘Falling out the Sky’ show them as bright and as mellow as ever. And despite the sonically contrasting nature of several tracks, everything from the transitions, to the features, to the David Lynch sound bites seem to be in their right place at the right time, resulting in an album that sounds cohesive without ever sounding monotonous.
Ultimately, Alchemist’s production is wonderful in that it keeps the Armand Hammer sound intact while adding a little more space for woods’ and ELUCID’s dizzying talent to move into a clear center focus. Without more abrasive beats to contend with, Armand Hammer shine brightest at what they do best: rap very, very well.
