Dive in deep into those you know nothing about. Logic is a name which skitters around the edges of the mind but never quite plants itself as anything to take note of. Where it may take some time to shake off the Confessions of a Dangerous Mind reputation, College Park goes a long way in showing how far he has come. Any shift away from rock bottom is a move in an upward trajectory. To his credit, College Park and its acoustic, softer opening, feels as close to an apology as needed. Borderline art pop as his voice is stretched and muffled under echoes and waves, Logic uses Cruisin’ Through The Universe and a freer, coasting feel well nicely throwing down his jazz rap style.
Yet the RZA-featuring track struggles to maintain such a free-flowing pace, such is Logic and his need to micromanage. Earnest intentions, at least. An interlaced story of Logic and friends is not the most convincing experience but it was either this or a sudden end to each track. Narration from the likes of Lucy Rose is acceptable. Logic soon spirals into slurs and Star Wars, a fatal combo which will delight the hardcore unit of sci-fi fans. Perceiving himself as a renegade on Lightsaber sees Logic put relatively flat experiences and interests at the forefront. At least this is him. It just turns out the man is rather dull. Still, it is difficult to hit hard at an album whose collaborative credits boast Family Guy mastermind Seth Macfarlane. The bar is low.
Logic manages to vault such a low expectation a few times through. Clone Wars III is a stark and sudden change in pace. Comparing himself to others, and realising originality is impossible if not the true self, Logic hits College Park’s peak with sentimentality and earnest lyrics. It is here it is provided best of all, and never again on this album. Again, those number two orders, the backdrop story as mundane as it is, hope to reflect To Pimp a Butterfly and its narrative draw. It does not, and if anything, it kills off the likeability of Logic’s openness. “My shit is dope, take a hit of it,” Red Pill VII offers. No, thank you, because if this is as dope as it gets, Logic only proves he is dopey. His stop-offs and spot checks of counterculture and modern-day values are the equivalent of bingo hall tombola raffles. Whatever sticks, sticks. It is at least from the heart.
College Park, as flat as it can be, is a way of knowing Logic. He is open and as honest as can be throughout over an hour of solid, well-maintained mixes. Playwright sees some faux comments on the movement needed for song. It is a fine line between portraying his real thoughts on his work and maintaining this brash and weak fictional narrative. College Park sees Logic aim for honesty, but even then, he shrouds it in a perceived self-worth. A sincere shame, since the best parts of College Park are sadly mired and hooked into this strange trip through a storyboard college project. He is on the titular park, after all. Logic guns for a narrative which not only torpedoes the strong mixes and beats but also showcases a lack of understanding of self-history. Listeners do not have his POV, as Insipio states, and presumably Logic means Incipio. Every track holds the aim to start again, but Logic never reaches a conclusion.
