[Rob In Stereo] A Desert of Seriousness

Interscope records

Rapper Wale's newest album "Attention Deficit" does little to invoke dance-party acclaim.

by Rob Hamilton
December 16, 2009

I was at a house party during the winter of 2003, and I remember noting the self-serious vibe pervading every room. The dance floor was empty, save for one or two friends of the DJ politely nodding along with "Umi Says" by Mos Def. Then out of the blue, the DJ put on "Hey Ya!" and an honest-to-God party erupted. People swarmed to the dance floor like pigs to the trough. For the duration of the song, the only thing partygoers cared about was moving their butts. It was a moment of transcendence, pure musical ecstasy.

The song that can pull an arrhythmic, spastic person onto a dance floor without worry about the judgments of others is a dying breed. Despite being the lowest brow in history, content-wise today's pop music emanates seriousness. It has a calculated element to it. The clear processing of the music combined with the glaring lack of joy from the singer makes it impossible to fully surrender yourself.

More than nearly any other genre, hip-hop was once a bastion of joy. It's strange to think that a stoic and stone-faced genre used to have such a life-affirming element to it, but it's true. Think about any song off the Pharcyde's landmark album "Bizarre Ride II the Pharcyde" or De La Soul's debut LP "3 Feet High and Rising" and how they continue to draw people to the dance floor at parties. All of these songs radiate fun---֖a quality that is growing increasingly elusive.

Wale, a Washington, D.C., rapper, seems to have brought us a glimmer of hope with his newest album, "Attention Deficit." Wale has made a name for himself in the hip-hop underground, releasing a series of mixtapes, the most famous being "The Mixtape About Nothing." This album marked the first time that hip-hop had embraced "Seinfeld."

"The Mixtape About Nothing" would suggest that some snarky and occasionally dorky humor might find its way onto "Attention Deficit." No such luck. While we do see a McLovin reference along with a few off-color nods to Heath Ledger ("TV in the Radio") and River Phoenix ("Contemplate"), the humor and good times are lacking.

The only song that lives up to the album's potential is "Chillin." Using delightfully corny "Na Na Hey Hey Kiss Him Goodbye" sample, Wale unleashes the aforementioned "Superbad" reference along with a mention of Judge Mills Lane. Unfortunately, this is a three-minute oasis of fun in a desert of seriousness.

Too often Wale tries to take on heavier social issues, which he handles in a heavy-handed and maudlin manner. He also tries to posture and embellish his swagger, but his rhymes too often sound like Jay-Z retreads for this to be convincing.

Pop music, and especially hip-hop, needs to loosen up. An artist should not feel the need to "grow up" by breaking away from a good-time vibe. Perhaps if Wale had heeded this message, "Attention Deficit" could have been something a bit more grabbing.

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