My last week has been better not looking at the news, I have to say—I feel like I can trust our government totally and completely to do the right thing, not bow to special interests, and represent the wishes and best interests of the American people and the international community.*
Kid Cudi, onetime clerk at American Apparel and BAPE (shouts-out to Olive Garden, yo!) turned hit-making electro-rock-rapper, the living inspiration to lanky hipsters the world over, is coming back to Seattle (Wed Sept 11, WaMu Theater). I know I've gone hard on Cudi in the past, but only because that first album of his was such trash—actually, it could be more accurately termed coffee-shop compost. (That column was kinda popular online, but it strengthened my resolve never to skew negative just for props... at least not if I can do it instead for my own twisted enjoyment—see you next paragraph.)
The mostly dope follow-up, Man on the Moon 2, conclusively changed my tune, though, as did his contributions to his big bro Kanye West's whole aura, most notably on 808s & Heartbreak—an album that many actually believe contains a fraction of Cudi's spiritual essence, and that if you play it backward, you can hear him warble, "Give us free." Maybe that's just the cost of GOOD Music. Cudi's latest, the mostly self-produced Indicud, was his last with Yeezus's imprint, and was, as most of you already know, fairly jamming—if you at all have a yen for his deep-sounding navel-gaze selfie-set raptronica. For the record, I do, most of the time at least. That said, the date Cudi chose to visit Seattle is one that lives forever in infamy—September 11, forever known as the day that (Cudi's tourmate) Big Sean comes to Seattle this year. ("Never forget"? More like "Try to remember!") If there ever was a walking personification of right-now rap mediocrity, he'd be... somewhere behind Wale, but way up there nonetheless. (He needs more Ambition.)
So Big Sean apparently saw a big spike on Google Trends (cut the check, y'all) a li'l minute ago due to his song "Control," specifically Kendrick Lamar's verse, which we already talked about. The fact that Sean's star shines brightest when other niggas do shit is honestly a time-honored tradition at this point, and reflects the very nature of the thing he seems the most preoccupied with in his personal rap narrative: fame. (He wanna live forever.) From Finally Famous—not just the name of his debut album from a couple years back, but his debut mixtape from 2007—to his newest album, Hall of Fame, he makes it clear what he's about. Whatever happened to "fuck the fame"? Lost, deep in the corn.
Fame is a weird monster; it's gotcha boy CeeLo Green in his seventh or so year of being America's Sweetheart—that's cool, I'm sure it produces good opportunities and great Christmases for him and the (Dungeon) fam, so it's good. Musically, though, he's been hot tap water for a minute—and in turn, the new Goodie Mob is sounding kinda blandiose. He'll be at that young Puyallup Fair September 12, so get you a scone.