I don’t know who told Vince Staples he wasn’t Crip enough, but he heard you. ‘Dark Times’ is airbrushed t-shirts and introspection -survivors guilt in the key of James Baldwin retrospective coming from the cool uncle at the barbecue whose occupation has always been a bit fuzzy.
A recurring theme permeates beyond Vinces own favorite writers and how the
standards of society were written by a single man, holding power in his pallor. From Jim Crow laws to Long Beach gang ties, these worlds melt together seamlessly in Vinces 6th studio album.
“Tryna dodge Jim crow, but you can’t escape the master”
Wind chimes and swing-set creakings greet you into lo-fi breakbeats and pragmatic notions in the cultural anthropology of Long Beach, California. This project serves as a frank reflection on PTSD, spirituality and how it feels to wake up and find yourself in a world so foreign from your own.
“Real food stamp babies, My people product of poverty”
The call to action is universal:
“This is where we need to get to, emotional vulnerability”
Vince provides us his own vulnerable thoughts, fraught with confusion, dissecting an internal rift. Some things never change, and the streets are forever cyclical, these worlds will live on and reinvent themselves ad nauseum.
“Everybody gang gang gang til it get bad,
Do you hear me? The ghetto is a mismatch,
You aint never finna win that”
But in the midst of this, one can remove themselves, if even for a moment, to reflect and acknowledge the feelings that come with this lifestyle. An exercise in the struggle that Vince describes as a juggling act of thuggin’, depression and pride. We see nods to the Big Tymer influence on ‘Etouffee’, a tale of inherited trauma, named after a classic creole dish. “Nothing Matters” sheds insight into Vinces own adoration of Lauryn Hill and D’angelo, and still, a pathological frankness dressed in crip.
This is commentary on communities capsized by Reagonomics, brought to life by words of Pac and Nipsey Hussle -the poetry of disenfranchisement posed in tableaux of violence and distrust of those closest.
“I spend a lot of my time, missing my kinfolk,
Put ‘em inside of my rhymes, hoping they live on”
Vince Staples, an indelibly introspective writer, threads this needle well as the juggling act continues, providing insight into an anthology series on rehabilitation through money and fame.
“Who can I call when I need help, juggling thuggin’ depression and pride”
Preluded by a conversation between James Baldwin and Nikki Giovanni, threaded through by a spacey piano, a love-stricken Vince delves into his Slick Rick storytelling bag on the song ‘Justin’. The songs prelude being aptly titled ‘Liars’. A universal notion. ‘Freeman’ piques interest with its minimal mystique, low sitting percussive elements and questions in existentialism.
“Tryna figure out the ins and outs of where we from, heal the blocks that we spun”
This one-man show is complex, interwoven with sound bath interludes where dialogue is deeply philosophical. ‘Why wont the sun come out?’ delivers a somber sonata to ease you into the credits. “Dark Times’ departs from you with opulence in the absence of light, where bravado can rest, but the familiar will always feel good.
“The ghetto will trap you, but I love it”
You’ve seen the Vince interviews. What else did you expect?
