Review Summary: Bliss.
Stars soar and decline quickly nowadays. One hit can take to the skies; several attempts after can drown. A pause afterwards signals that the artist is, in the view of public consciousness, dead and buried. That’s life in the fast lane of streaming, decaying attention spans, an all-gas no-brakes market, modern life etc. here comes the inevitable heat death of the universe we’re doomed. There’s something for everyone at the big ol’ bar that is the music industry, a place where no cup runs empty and all are inebriated by The Next Best Thing until introduced to The Nextest Best Thing. Much like the frat crew at the end of the counter eight drinks in, nothing registers after a while beyond a dull sense that something’s being consumed. It’s early days, but McKinley Dixon might have that intangible
it factor--an innate ability to break through that drunken stupor, transforming indistinguishable gray dives into venues full of life and brimming with excitement. He’s done it once already;
For My Mama and Anyone Who Look Like Her snagged mainstream acclaim as it rose from the underground. Its successor, and the rapper’s fourth release in their still-young career, is poised to surpass that high watermark with another array of alluring jazz rap adventures.
As explosive as
For My Mama could be, it at times felt like an exercise. It was a calculated, surgical endeavor that played out more like a pointillist painting, each dab deliberate and precise to create a grander whole.
Beloved! Paradise! Jazz?! presents itself in broad, sweeping strokes, impressionist-esque in its lush arrangements that, in comparison, are gentler and looser, with plentiful soul influence and smooth jazz shining in the vibrant colors. String instruments confidently swing through, rising and falling through tunes as Dixon’s charismatic baritone voice rides their waves, all while vivacious brass contributions and a funky bass weave through the swells, setting a concise and consistent foundation that defines the record. At Dixon’s command, that bedrock can blossom into a crescendo of strings and soul vocals in “Sun I Rise,” segue into an alluring sax riff in “Live! from the Kitchen Table,” or descend into light drumming and a somber piano as in “Tyler, Forever.” This dynamic, ever-shifting approach still retains a graceful subtlety to it--something best captured by the comparatively straightforward single “Run, Run, Run,” which dances along a beat held down by a looping piano, chimes, and an addicting flute melody. It’s a big-band approach that McKinley expertly orchestrates, allowing various elements to cooperate harmoniously despite the amount of moving parts.
This backdrop serves Dixon’s stories well; they dress up a metro in beautiful hues, decorate the local bar into something a listener could vanish inside for a long evening, and morph mundane into magic. It compliments a writing style that frequently alludes to ascension, literary references--the title and intro of the album are all taken from Toni Morrison, whose influence is substantial on Dixon’s poetic delivery--and religious symbolism while facing an overarching restlessness. An embarrassment of riches follows, such as the tender verses of the gorgeous title track:
“Running up those stairs, tryna catch you right before you leavin'
I ain't make it, I guess it all gon' happen for a reason
As I stand up on the balcony and look to the ground
Money kept me moving but the heart wasn't found
When I was standing on the edge about to fall off that cliff
What kept me on was looking up and seeing my hand in your grip.”
Love! Paradise! Jazz!? grounds itself in narratives that, in one way or another, deal with relieving oneself of burdens while paying homage to roots, be it family, a role model, or the genre of jazz itself. The playful vibe of Dixon’s lively instrumentals accentuate the artist’s uplifting aim, although it can also act as a contrast, with “Run, Run, Run” being the primary example: a commentary on gun violence, staged against a foot-tapping beat that belies the understated drama of the lyrics.
“Nights on the car hood laid out crucified
Grew much more from the love that you provide
Standing on stage, hold back both teary eyes
Looking at my n***** like I'm glad all of you survived.”
No matter the content, Dixon’s presence proves malleable, morphing from the wizened storyteller to something more urgent whenever required. The album’s quick pace reflects this as it seamlessly glides from one tune to the next, rarely pausing for a breath between cuts. The only crack found in its shimmering armor is its length: a hair under half an hour, and feeling like less on a front-to-back voyage. It leads to some tracks--namely “Mezzanine Tippin’,” an abstract, abrasive number that clashes against every other motif present in the record’s mix--coming across as ideas with promise, yet ultimately not developed enough to deliver upon that promise. It’s enough to distract from Dixon’s grand, elegant jazz structures, but it’s not long before the audience is drawn back into the city, spellbound and ingesting the details as the layout opens in front of them. Somewhere in that complex, albeit delicate sprawl lies an elusive heart--whatever keeps one passionately moving forward, keeps one’s head up, and soaks darkness in a forgiving light. Dixon’s radiant songwriting paves the way, and his expressive style makes for an enchanting journey through blissful soundscapes.
