Very little about Pusha T makes sense or is predictable. He has the in-your-face accusatory lyrics of an N.W.A., the bold (but not disingenuous) confidence of a Biggie, and an unusually refreshing tenor. He made this song over ten years ago as half of the duo, Clipse. He's the president of the Kanye-founded G.O.O.D. Music label. By all accounts, he should be a bigger deal. But very little about Push makes sense.
He is a self-proclaimed drug dealer. Not ex-drug dealer, no, Push claims he still pushes weight. And the more you listen to him, the less he sounds like he's bragging and the more he sounds like he's just telling you about his means of income. Also, he has an emphatic admiration of Ric Flair that pretty much every adolescent wrestling fan in the '80s grew up with. Though immovably confident, he remains human and never seems to be far from the Earth while keeping his head in the clouds. He is the most relatable person I know of who I am 90% sure still makes, distributes, and does cocaine.
(NOTE: Push is almost certainly on coke, because there cannot beenough dopamine in the human body for him to be that happy just freestyling, but you cannot contest that he absolutely loves rapping.)
For the duration of his quietly unanticipated album, King Push--Darkest Before the Dawn: The Prelude, Push makes his points sparsely. Produced by Sean "Diddy" Combs, every line in every verse on every track of the album feels spontaneously conversational. He reels you in with awkward inflections, trademarked ad libs, and keeps you thinking with genuine insights. You want some examples? Cool, I came ready.
Track 4. "Crutches, Crosses, Caskets"
Push's gritty persona is made complex with his integration of lavish riches and eloquent word-play. He turns his nose up to the club lifestyle, but it feels less about elitism than it does about alienation from clubs.
Push's name-drops sound ridiculous when you read them. When you hear them, however, names are just another set of syllables he bends to fit his cadence.
Track 6. "Got 'Em Covered"
The double entendres in this trifecta of social media references are delectable.
"Whichever rapper hot at the moment / Don't realize he a candle 'til he blow it"
Biting wit from the drug dealer? Yeah, this is 2015. Welcome to the party.
Track 10. "Sunshine"
"These ain't new problems, just old ways. / I seen one-time turn sunshine into Freddie Gray"
Here is a timeline of events leading up to the trial of the officer involved in the death of Freddie Gray. When a dude dies in custody before he can face due process, it's troublesome to say the least. Push paints a broad observation on the history of law enforcement's interactions with black Americans in the first line. He moves from his societal grievance to the specific example Freddie Gray, of course playing with the imagery of sunshine turning gloomy. It's simple, it's poignant, it's Push.
The album lives up to the title of Prelude, as it feels as though there is much more to be said after "Sunshine." For what is there, though, we have a lot to dwell on. Pusha T effortlessly ties together incompatible worlds--the rich and the poor, the illegal and the consciencetious. Push loves music from creation to consumption, that much is clear. On almost every project, he seems to throw a curveball, and this project's curveball was "M.P.A."
While Kanye and A$AP Rocky are credited, they are featured strictly on the hook, but the hook is satisfyingly simple. The M.P.A. stands for "Money, P---y, Alcohol," and with a title like that, you would expect it to be a boastful party anthem. Instead, it turns into a Dark Twisted Fantasy kind of lament about the vices of fame, with Kanye and A$AP positioned at the musical center.
Overall, the album is a solid 8.5 out of 10 if I had to assign an arbitrary number to it (NOTE: Numbers are stupid; art is art). While I recognize albums like 2014 Forest Hills Drive and The Album About Nothing were both overall better projects as whole works of art, I find myself repeating King Push non-stop. When an artist hits their stride, you can tell. You feel it in the middle of an album, and they often overstay their welcome with 5 or 6 more tracks after the strongest part of the album is over, sometimes peppering in something substantive near the end to keep you from skipping. Pusha T went in the opposite direction. He felt his way around for nine tracks, settled in on the tenth and final track, "Sunshine," and exited on a gorgeous note. Which, when you think about it, actually makes a fair amount of sense. Good on you, Push.
