Review Summary: we outside, rejoice, rejoice
Magic, Alive!’s jubilant disposition is so infectious that it almost accidentally conceals its core theme. Richmond, Virginia’s own McKinley Dixon has returned to center stage wielding curious queries about the nature of magic itself, where it can be found, and if its power can be witnessed only in miracles like the resurrection of the dead, or in the quieter moments of beating a bullsh
it court case or a 20 dollar bill falling from the heavens to give you enough to pay rent. The record’s touchstones of searching, loss, and a desire to undo a tragedy only emerge when one begins to look deeper, because Dixon’s next-level presentation of his jazz-rap style continues to resemble nothing short of sorcery. He and his band are on such a hot streak here that they’ve essentially answered Dixon’s own questions about the power and presence of the supernatural by the end of “Sugar Water”, and listeners are still granted an additional half hour after this to be spellbound by the absolute wizardry of
Magic, Alive!’s imagination, instrumentation, and divination.
Lyrically, the album is demonstrably strong enough to stand on its own two feet, but I cannot explain just how phenomenally the narratives are bolstered by the instrumentals. Much has already been said about the beautiful and emotional beats that populate the album’s singles, so it should be no surprise that the divinity of the saxamaphone continues to color the arrangements beautifully as one dives further in. The album does a great job balancing and flowing between emotional slow jams (“All the Loved Ones”, “Listen Gentle”) and jazzy, funky midtempo bangers (“F.F.O.L.”). Of particular note are the drums, which can be observed cutting through the title track and accenting the syncopated emphases of Dixon’s bars, as well as taking the spotlight themselves on tracks like “F.F.O.L.”, “Crooked Stick”, and “We’re Outside, Rejoice!”. The latter track is notable for giving the band some shine over the course of a 90-second instrumental intro, a brilliant artistic choice from Dixon that highlights the athletic tightrope walk of the bass guitar, the warmth of the organ, and ethereal wind flourishes.
“Sugar Water” rolls the boulder that is the album’s narrative downhill with force, introducing the crowd to a crew of grief-stricken boys desperate to conjure the supernatural and bring their dead friend back to life. Dixon’s flows and wordplay are as on point as ever, with beautiful layered vocal harmonies, the distant sounds of clinking glasses, and propulsive auxiliary percussion accentuating the boy’s eventual rebirth from the asphalt as the turning point of life itself. Magic acquaints itself with youth throughout the album by wearing two faces, and here it makes itself known as slippery and uncontrollable. Something is
off about our resurrected friend, to the point where listeners are left wondering if it’s truly him at all. Observe the way in which the album’s arrangements evolve in the wake of this revelation, as Dixon’s instrumental backings become stormier, more deeply layered, and more unpredictable. His traditional jazz leanings are given a more Latin edge on the dizzying “Crooked Stick”, while “Run, Run, Run Pt. II” features the same jaunty drums as its predecessor, only to be accompanied by a much more labile and ominous piano riff.
“Recitatif” is Toni Morrison’s first and only published short story, its namesake a reference to the murky gray area between song and dialogue that occurs during an opera when the plot needs to be moved forward. Its central characters, Twyla and Roberta, are lost and found by Morrison during three crucial periods of their lives, though none more important than their childhood in the 1950s Jim Crow South. Dixon’s song of the same name begins steeped in this plaintive nostalgia, but suddenly switches beat and tone to the aggressive present day of adulthood, almost as if to lament the loss of the magic of youth and condemn its disappearance. Make no mistake, the live band taking five for this digression is intentional; Dixon and frequent collaborator Teller Bank$ spit over a furious boom-bap loop with venom, stomping, shooting, and chopping their way to the track’s conclusion.
As one progresses through the tracklist, Dixon’s conceptualization of magic as trapped within the crystallized memories of childhood becomes more apparent. “Listen Gentle”’s central visual of quarters being pulled from behind ears conjures up images of the hot summer days that dominate the recollections of the title track, on which Dixon recounts running through humid heat with peers, bound by nothing except the unmistakable call of his mother’s voice to return home. The absence of magic becomes palpable to him in these moments, culminating in a wondering of whether things “Could’ve Been Different” and a desire to abandon ship by jumping off the roof, with just an inkling of hope that his wings could magically carry him into the night sky. As guest star Blu opines on this track (while deftly referencing every previous Dixon project by name), it’s important to open one’s mind to optimism, as it’s the only way to be love, and recover the magic within.
