NONAME BRINGS GORGEOUS TEXTURES AND STIMULATING WORDPLAY TO AN AIRTIGHT NEW RECORD, THOUGH NOT WITHOUT ITS COMPLICATIONS.
WORDS: Benny Sun
August 16, 2023
Living an uncomplicated life in a complicated world has never been harder. Unignorable internet discourses end in single faceted, 240 word conclusions, while global tragedies are distilled to their few most compelling words, shaving off what’s deemed insignificant, losing its foundation in the process. Art is no stranger; people have work to demystify humanity and its products at every turn, hoping to find straightforward answers in a twisting reality. In spite of that, complication provides art the edge it requires, delivering a sense of furled nuance unfound elsewhere. There’s no artist more aware of that than Noname.
To describe Noname as left field would be too moderate, who came up in the Chance the Rapper-induced jazz rap renaissance. Even through 5 years of full-length silence, Noname hasn’t shied away from headlines. Her vocalized frustrations surrounding rap, its audience, and its actors have put a red dot on Noname, one she consistently seemed conflicted about. A focus on education and the Noname Book Club turned into an extended hiatus from music, one fans were unsure would ever end. And though Sundial marks the indie rap darling’s first record in a half-decade, it comes complicated.
Opener “black mirror” sets the stage auditorily, its chill grooves resonating like an ethically sourced vacation. A peek into the credits displays a slim but comforting number of hands behind the record; though a few recognizable names appear, a handful of unfamiliar musicians with backgrounds in jazz and soul handle the bulk of the production. As a result, an organicism flows through the record, twanged with jazz, soul, gospel, et al. aesthetics. Paced percussion pitter across Sundial, complemented by small embellishments of synths, basses, and choirs.
Sundial’s gorgeous focus on rhythm and timbre make way for the rare melody to shine, demonstrated in the Voices of Creation contribution on “hold me down.” The melodic duty is typically relegated to guests, which leaves many hooks feeling ever so slightly thin. Even on personally delivered choruses, Sundial’s choruses often feel secondary to its firepacked verses, even when they store plenty of meaning within them, as heard on the industry lambasting “potentially the interlude.”
All of this is to make way for Noname’s pen, the centerpiece of the record. In the past, she’s consistently failed to disappoint, and the bulk of Sundial is no different. External ponderings on capitalism, false activism, the commodification of music and hip hop, and reflections on her place within it all fall on just a single track, as “namesake” works to provide more nuanced fervency some produce in a lifetime. Every track is littered with subtle wordplay and interstellar thoughtfulness, whether the noxious empowerment of “toxic” or the observant soliloquy on “balloons.”
It is on the aforementioned “balloons” where Sundial finds its unignorable, pungent, complicated blemish. The record’s supposed lead single had already generated reaction when Jay Electronica’s presence was announced, but the messaging he’s chosen to deliver reads as a flagrant miscalculation, or a calculated self sabotage. The 24 bars spent waging war on the Jews feels like 24 bars wasted, especially in addition to bars like the repugnant “It’s all a hoax, quite simple, a joke like Zelenskyy.” Though music and rap may not have responsibility towards correctness or morality, it’s nearly impossible to abdicate an artist for platforming such violence in music, especially when so inextricably tied to violence in the world. In Noname’s defense, this is nothing new for Jay Electronica, but hardly anyone receives her level of scrutiny. For her, the valorization of others coming on the heels of her demonization is a fiery frustration she wants to play into. Maybe that’s the point, to add another complication, stir confusion, incite discourse, place herself deeper in the hypocritical context she feels she’s already entrenched (Go, Noname, go / Coachella stage got sanitized / I said I wouldn’t perform for them / And somehow I still fell in line). Regardless, it leaves Sundial with a glaring asterisk, a burden it will forever carry.
Sundial leaves listeners with its strongest legs yet. “gospel?” touts verses from $ilkmoney and billy woods on a beat fitting its namesake. Both MCs fit flawlessly in an unfamiliar aesthetic, juxtaposing bleak verses with a hopeful instrumental. “oblivion” holds a sense of desperate urgency, as if she’s close to giving up the crusade she carries. A questionably desolate conclusion to a record with so much to say, Noname truly may have no fucks left to give. After all, waging constant war on an industry you love and words of power falling only on deaf ears would leave any sane being exhausted, ready to call it quits. There’s just too much to handle, too many battles to cry, it’s too complicated.
Noname doesn’t seem ready to give up though, she just won’t be the one to admit it. Giving Chicago legend Common the last word on the record, Noname’s existential dejection is spun into a beacon of hope: “into oblivion, we gon’ dream.”.
Grade: A-
Listen to “black mirror,” Sundial’s first track, here: