Evincing Vincent in Vince Staples
On Vince Staples’ self-titled album, he strips away the flashier elements of his previous projects in favor of a minimalist and deeply personal account of his harsh upbringing.
Between 2015 and now, Staples has taken a maximalist approach to his albums, melding incisive descriptions of Long Beach with conceptual layers and elaborate sonic landscapes. His 2018 album, FM!, is framed as a futuristic radio show, incorporating skits by the hosts of Big Boy’s Neighborhood. Big Fish Theory, his 2017 album, features EDM beats and some of Staples’ most avant-garde flows yet (Staples jokingly called it afrofuturism in an interview with the Fader). Even 2016’s Prima Donna, a harrowing portrait of celebrity insanity, was followed by a ten minute music video that accompanied every song on the project.
His inclination towards the thematic makes sense given his interest in alternative forms of media. Staples has long been outspoken of his love for visual mediums, claiming that he doesn’t “care who listens to my music, as long as the video is tight.” His minor role in the 2015 comedy, Dope, and his voice acting in 2018’s animated feature, MFKZ, showcase his talents outside of music. One of his more recent projects, the YouTube series, The Vince Staples Show, may even be distributed on Netflix before the end of 2021. Through all these projects, Staples seems to have satisfied his interests in mediums peripheral to music. On Vince Staples, he seems more eager than ever to strip down his music to the bare bones.
Clocking in at 22 minutes, Vince Staples is Staples’ shortest album yet. No song lasts past the three minute mark and two of the tracks are minute-long skits. Fortunately, Staples wastes no time, coupling incredibly efficient verses with some of his most heartfelt choruses to date. He does not spend more than 16 bars on a verse through the entire tracklist. Nonetheless, he manages to illustrate a vivid portrait of childhood. Take “Sundown Town,” in which every line reveals new details about the eviction of his family. Or the harrowing “Law of Averages,” in which Staples manages to subvert the pervasive sexism in hip-hop through a painfully lonely depiction of paranoia in just four bars.
Staples’ concise lyricism can also be attributed to his mastery of the technical aspects of rap, and he demonstrates a knack for wordplay unseen on his previous projects. On “Are You with That,” he reflects on his childhood friends with stacked double entendres, spitting “some of them outside still, some of them inside graves.” The many meanings of “still” in this context (perpetually and/or alluding to death) reveal the inescapable cycle of the streets. Even more impressive, he pulls off a three word punchline on “Taking Trips,” rapping “Quidditch, catching snitches.” It’s easy to appreciate the tight double entendre with the multiple meanings of snitches. But what I find even more fascinating is the juxtaposition of gangbanging and Harry Potter. Crip he may be, he loves Harry Potter as much as the rest of us Zoomers. There’s even a parallel between Staples’ indoctrination into a gang and Harry Potter’s introduction into the violent and alluring wizarding world.
Evidently, despite Vince Staples’ brevity, there is so much content to unpack. Staples does not tread any unique thematic territory here, yet his lyrics are more confessional than ever as he projects his guilt over his childhood onto his songs. His regret manifests in lines off “The Shining,” in which he claims he “can’t be saved with no sermon.” The term “saved” can be interpreted in two ways: in one reading, Staples asserts that there is no redemption for him and his fellow Crips. In another reading, Staples further emphasizes the inevitable downfall of a gangster in the hood; not even prayer can keep them alive. Even more tragically, Staples seems to suffer from post-childhood PTSD. On “Take me Home,” he addresses a lover, confiding how he “don’t wanna dream ‘bout the shit I done did.” Even with the comfort afforded by his rap career, Staples can never forget his past.
Staples seems to believe that his past life will come full circle. Paranoia seeps into every track on the project, and Staples wastes no time glorifying his lifestyle. Quite the opposite, with lines like, “Hanging on them corners same as hanging from a ceiling fan/when I see my fans, I’m too paranoid to shake they hands.” Staples sees death as unavoidable for kids on the corners, and he retains some survivors' guilt over how he managed to become successful despite the odds. Even his interactions with his fans are marred by the looming spectre of his past. There’s also the clear double meaning implied in the homonym “fan,” suggesting that both could usher Staples’ downfall.
Nevertheless, Staples stays committed to his roots. The two skits on the project underline Staples’ devotion to his native Long Beach. “The Apple and the Tree” finds Staples’ mother recalling how she lied on the witness stand to defend Staples’ father from a charge for attempted murder. Staples takes after his mother, dedicating himself to his gang. After six tracks detailing his childhood and his psychological trauma, he spends the end of the project rebuilding his callous skin. On the final two songs, “Lil Fade” and “Mhm,” he embraces bravado, reasserting his grit. Granted, Staples continues to harbor the same distrust towards anybody and everybody, but the tone of these songs feel out of place. By no means bad songs, but I would have preferred if they were bonus tracks on a deluxe release.
While the lyrics run the show on Vince Staples, it would be foolish not to acknowledge Kenny Beats’ production. If anything, Staples’ straightforward pithiness reflects Kenny’s motto “Don’t Overthink Shit.” Yet, Kenny clearly thought hard about these beats, which range from trap bangers (“MHM”) to melancholy dreamscapes (“Take Me Home”). Kenny combines contemporary trap percussion with a nostalgic old-school aesthetic. In “Sundown Town,” Kenny mixes muted trap drums with a high-pitched vocal sample, reminiscent of Kanye West’s “chipmunk” production in the 2000s. “Law of Averages” sets airtight 808s side by side with a lofi sample of Reske. However, much like Staples’ performance, Kenny’s production truly shines in its restraint. Although perfectly capable of flashy instrumentation, Kenny elects for sparse compositions on Vince Staples. He seems intent on leaving room to showcase Staples’ concise phrasing and deft flows, ultimately aiding Staples’ direct approach on this album.
Vince Staples is another thoughtful piece from one of hip-hop’s most illustrious storytellers. By favoring directness over extravagant instrumentals or heavy concepts, Staples manages to convey an impressive amount of emotion. He strips down the abstraction that characterized his previous work, offering up his most intimate project yet. Staples brings hip-hop back to its essentials, letting his words lead the way.
Edited by Tatiana Jackson-Saitz, editor of Reviews
Cover art by Trent Davis