Political commentary through the arts is a rite of passage. When done right, it can deliver scintillating results that stand the test of time. Everyone fancies themselves a commentator, but few have the skill to understand the world around them. Fewer still will release material that stands tall, decades removed from the events that inspired the song. Take a look at Elvis Costello’s Tramp The Dirt Down, a song that can be enjoyed with or without the glorious putdown of Margaret Thatcher’s Conservative government and blood-soaked legacy. Vince Staples looks to profile Donald Trump’s presidential impact with Cry Baby. He is one of many artists to do so, and standing out when the subject matter has been covered by Stephen King tweets to catchy Childish Gambino riffs, is near impossible. But Staples attempts this all the same with a tight, ten-track album to soak in the cultural horrors of a right-wing machine. It’s too easy to try and “make sense” of the times. Staples knows that.
It’s what allows Cry Baby, at times, to stand out somewhat. Staples starts strong with Blackberry Marmalade, a fantastic blur of that rap rock style. A little heavier than expected, and a real treat to head back to. But it’s the highlight of the album, perhaps because of the tempo expectation it sets. Just a little more upbeat and intense than the rest of the songs to follow, particularly the immediate follow-up, Go! Go! Gorilla. Fine enough and reliant more on the lyrical qualities Staples has than the instrumental section, but it feels as though he’s struggling to find a way to have those go hand in hand on Cry Baby. Much of Cry Baby lingers on this feeling of loss and the inability to wind back the clock, and some of it works well. Not all of it, but the batting average from Staples here is decent enough, it warrants a listen. The Running Man is about as mixed as it gets. Clunky lyricism that has all the cliché expected of that post-depressive clarity, but some staggering instrumental pieces that pave over those problems.
TV Guide makes sense as a topic of conversation but it becomes a clunky example of the highs and lows Staples is capable of creating. That channel-flipping style of wordplay he has, gliding through topics and troubles only linked because they’re next to one another, is phenomenal. But he needs a stronger hook, something that isn’t just equating the desensitized mainstream to being turned on by the appeal of taboo. It settles well but feels relatively obvious as a point. When he leans into that rock source, that’s where the best of Staples’ work comes through. Cotton is a wonderful, piano-led piece with a bit of religious fervour deep within it. We should move and groove for Staples. He’s asking for it, after all. He does so with a tremendous penultimate song, a classy closer to follow makes Cry Baby an album with a few special moments to it.
Album closer 7 in the Morning is one of the smartest, sharpest pieces of work Staples has put out to date. He finds himself pushing and pulling at the fury of the country around him. It doesn’t seem to be getting much better. A lot of hope can be found in adapting the political sphere to song or film, but what many are unwilling to acknowledge is that this is the start of a cycle, and we are nowhere close to the worst of it just yet. Hope has faded and you can hear it recede somewhat further on Cry Baby, an album which occasionally showcases its gutsy and grim view of the world. Staples has something here that loses its way in the mid-section, either through being a little loose with its instrumentals or a touch on the nose. But when he rallies around a topic of blunt honesty, it makes all the difference. A tremendous experience at times but not one that feels fully formed.
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