Aesop Rock Albums From Worst To Best
Ben Colen
In 2014 we appraise hip-hop on its forthrightness. Take, for example, the two front-runner Grammy-nominated hip-hop albums of 2013: Kendrick Lamar’s Good Kid M.A.A.D. City and Macklemore’s The Heist. Both albums, in different ways, present up-front opinions on the word we live in, be it the gangland problems still present in Compton or the bigotry persisting in American suburbia. Forthrightness is a valuable thing, especially in a world where mainstream and so-called underground hip-hop both resemble dance pop more and more with each passing month.
However, there’s something to be said for decoding. The hip-hop community has produced plenty of classic albums with somewhat obscure lyrics — lyrics that that require multiple listens to untangle and unpack — from Wu Tang Clan’s Enter The 36 Chambers, to the Beastie Boys’ Paul’s Boutique, to pretty much everything Kool Keith ever recorded. These albums require time and attention. Theoretically, hip-hop lovers grew close to those artists by poring over their wordplay and deciphering the meanings therein. And in the aughts, at least, no emcee did obscurity better than Aesop Rock.
Born Ian Bavitz, the Brookyln-bred emcee played an important role in the proliferation of underground hip-hop at the turn of the century. His albums with NYC’s Def Jux records are among the best work that the backpack-rap scene produced. That movement was curated largely by Slug, of Minneapolis duo Atmosphere, and El-P, cofounder of Def Jux. But both of those emcees dwelled largely in their own worldviews and personas. Aesop looked at the world around him and spent much of his career relating what he saw — and what he saw looked both whimsical and bleak.
Figuring out what he had to say, however, remains a task. Aesop still spits by Emily Dickinson’s mandate to “tell all the truth, but tell it slant.” His flow feels like water gushing from the crack in a dam. His verses are often endless streams of ten-dollar words, rife with double entendres and esoteric cultural references — this is a man who will drop allusions to Lord Of The Rings, Issac Asimov, Marx, and Dostoevsky in a single record, with no regard as to whether his audience knows what he’s talking about. His clever wordplay sometimes comes at the expense of the beat, as he often runs over a bar and halfway into the next before finishing a couplet. Call him the patron saint of the enjambed line. At maximum capacity, an Aesop Rock song sounds like the stylized ravings of a man tumbling down a hill, filling the air with thoughts in the moments between his face hitting the dirt.
Which isn’t to say Bavitz is all style and no substance, as his critics frequently claimed. The tattoos on his forearms read “Must not sleep/ Must warn others,” a mandate to educate his audience on injustice, as well as a reference to Invasion Of The Body Snatchers (Aes quotes this exact line on his off-album track “Dust Storm,” a must-listen). His lyrics often meditate on city life, economics, ethics and other important-but-human topics. Bavitz is simply unafraid of twisting his subjects around themselves until they become Gordian Knots — in fact, he seems incapable of expressing himself any other way.
If he’d delivered an album like 2001’s seminal Labor Days with Macklemore’s congeniality, people might not have stood for it. Bavitz was Caucasian, raised Catholic, and attended a top-tier public high school at a time when those were still unusual traits in commercial hip-hop, at least on the surface. It was his oddness, however, that made him a breath of fresh air. Where even progressive emcees like Nas were interested in race politics, Aes was more concerned with growing class disparity. While his contemporaries were concerned with accumulating money, Aes wondered why there wasn’t enough for everybody — or why money even matters. His stories are mostly nonviolent, he mourned the sorrow of others rather than celebrate his victories, and he seemed utterly disinterested in flaunting sexual escapades or substance abuse. Even in the company of Def Jux emcees, that was unusual. That kind of originality is exactly why Aesop Rock deserves to be remembered and celebrated right now. So here we are, counting down all of Aes’ major work, LPs and EPs (leaving aside the blatantly inessential stuff like the jogging soundtrack he made for Nike), from worst to best.
Music For Earthworms (1997)
There is a vocal and powerful sect of music listeners who believe that a musician's career begins and ends on the first album, that nothing will ever taste so good as the first sip. And while many emcees have peaked on the first album, the same can't be said for Aesop Rock. His 1997 debut, Music For Earthworms, functions well enough as a showcase of his lyrical ability, but little else. Aes was a talented emcee at the beginning of his career, but his flow had room for improvement -- a few times here, Aes loses track of the beat, and not in the arty-and-on-purpose-way he does on later records. His vocal tone, a bit nasal and clogged, comes off one-note compared to the versatility he'd develop later. A monotonous delivery isn't a problem when it's juxtaposed with interesting beats, but Music For Earthworms shows its age there as well. The beats are minimal in terms of layering and melody -- this style makes an interesting prelude to Labor Days, but lacks the intimate details Blockhead wove into that record. In fact, this independent release is so rough that one track, "Live On 88.9 FM Night Train,” is simply a rip from a freestyle on an actual radio show. It's endearing, but feels unfinished. The most notable thing about Music For Earthworms is its rarity -- the album was only ever issued on CD-R and has long been out of print, making it a hot collector's item. Illegal downloads are common enough, though, and those interested in digesting this album can do so, but it's not as necessary as his later work. Or put it this way: Aes has re-issued every one of his older releases except his debut, maybe for good reason.
The Uncluded - Hokey Fright (2013)
Of all Aesop Rock's albums, this one is the most unique, though far from the best. Aes wrote this ugly duckling in collaboration with singer-songwriter Kimya Dawson of the Moldy Peaches. Opinions on the album will likely hinge upon how much an individual likes Dawson's music. Personally, I can't stand her. Her observations on life feel mundane in the extreme, her quirkiness is cloying, and her voice grates on me. Dawson's sound dominates Hokey Fright, with Aes' production filling out her arrangements. It makes for an interesting listen when taken as a fusion between folk music and hip-hop but some songs work better than others. For example "Bats," the highlight of the record, strikes a good balance between Dawson's jangle and Aesop's smoother groove. Lyrically, Aes and Dawson share some common ground -- both find deeper significance in the mundane moments of everyday life, and they share a pitch-black sense of humor. Their sensibilities work well on songs like "Organs," which comments on the inherent kindness of organ donation. Trouble is, Aes just works better as a prophet of doom than a court jester. Fans of Dawson and her ilk will like this release more.
Fast Cars, Danger, Fire And Knives (2005)
While there's no official confirmation, it's easy to imagine that Fast Cars is what became of all the beats Blockhead produced for Bazooka Tooth. He contributes three strong tracks here, but compared to Labor Days they’re harsher, as well as more openly dance-oriented. The instrumentals on the EP might make for a remixer's delight, even if Aes' lyrics are looser and goofier than those on Bazooka Tooth. There's something reminiscent of both Rob Zombie and Parliament-Funkadelic in the beat to "Number Nine." Meanwhile, "Winners Take All" feels like Aes taking over a John Carpenter soundtrack, and "Zodiaccupuncture" sports crisp trance bass drops underneath synthesized guitar licks. Aes offers a more relaxed flow in this set of tracks than either record flanking this EP, although he does pull some real gravitas out of his chest for "Food, Clothes, Medicine." The takeaway cut here is the syncopated rattle of "Rickety Rackety," a posse track featuring appearances by El-P and Camu Tao. Fast Cars, Danger, Fire And Knives was released during a pivot in Aes' career, between one of his oddest releases and one of his strongest, and out of all his EPs it feels the least like a cohesive piece and more like a very short B-sides collection. Maybe that's why the disc came styled as a circus sideshow pamphlet -- it feels more like an oddity than an essential release, even if track-by-track it contains some strong material.
Hail Mary Mallon - Are You Gonna Eat That? (2011)
Jay-Z has Watch The Throne, and Aes has Are You Gonna Eat That?, his collaboration album soundalike with fellow Def Jux vet Rob Sonic. Both records are louder, more exuberant creations than anything else in their respective discographies. Light on the social commentary and heavy on shout-along hooks, Are You Gonna Eat That? sounds like a birthday party, but was released quietly on Rhymesayers in 2011 in the wake of Def Jux's dissolution and four years after Aes' last album. Aesop has collaborated with a who's-who of underground hip-hop luminaries, including El-P, Vast Aire of Cannibal Ox, and Slug from Atmosphere, but he frequently outshines his guests, who can match his lyricism, but not the manic quality of his delivery. Aes found his perfect foil in Sonic, who had shown up twice on his previous album, None Shall Pass. Sonic writes more straightforward rhymes than Aes, but can equal his partner's syllables-per-minute. The chemistry between the two is palpable: They emulate prime-era Beastie Boys as they trade barbs on "Grubsteak," a short-but-sweet laser blast of a song that sets the peppy tone for the remainder of the record. Sometimes the proceedings run too chipper, such as on "Breakdance Beach," which throws only the same irritating hook over and over without so much as a weave or a dodge. It's the closest thing to a filler track on any Aesop Rock record. Songs like "Meter Feeder" and "Mailbox Baseball" walk the line between big hooks and lyrical content better.
Aes has made no bones about including Hail Mary Mallon songs as part of his repertoire, even if it's not part of his solo work. Sonic has toured with Aesop frequently since his comeback, and the two often incorporate multiple tracks from Are You Gonna Eat That? in their sets. According to Aes' Twitter, he and Sonic are collaborating on a second Hail Mary Mallon album as I write this. Hopefully it will boast some more intellectual content than this tasty, but saccharine, album.
Appleseed (1999)
On his second self-released piece of music, the Appleseed EP, Aesop Rock began his longstanding habit of releasing prolonged EPs shortly after major albums. Most of these stopgap releases feel like short B-sides collections cobbled together from whichever songs didn't make the cut of the preceding record. Appleseed, though, marks a huge step forward from Aes' debut LP. It is on this EP that Aes begins to slip and slide through bars -- he's not yet the preternatural emcee he would later become but that side of him begins to show its face. On "Sick Friend,” for example, Aes spends the early part of the song sucking wind behind a zippy orchestral sample, before catching up with the song near the end. In that synchronous moment, Appleseed goes from a pretty-good EP to a fascinating piece in Aes' music history. During the final track, "Odessa," Aes manages to hit his stride for the full length of a song, rolling l's and popping p's over new age flutes and jangling guitar lines. It's the first essential listen of his catalog. Appleseed also offers a glimpse into what might have been. More than any other release, it sounds as though it was intended to be a part of the traditional New York hip-hop scene, especially on "Dryspell," with its Ornette Coleman sample. It's a great track, but it's also the most traditional-sounding song Aes ever wrote. Most notably, Appleseed marks Aes' first collaboration with instrumental trip-hop artists and producer Blockhead. The two would collaborate many times over the course of Aes' career, and Blockhead's hypnotic and multilayered approach to hip-hop production was arguably as instrumental to Aes' notoriety as his vocal skill, at least at the start.
Bazooka Tooth (2003)
Listening to Bazooka Tooth without distractions is like playing a mid-'90s first-person shooter video game with cheat codes -- specifically the kind that supply unlimited ammunition, and unlock every weapon from Kalashnikovs to laser pistols to boomerangs. Bazooka Tooth has everything, even the proverbial kitchen sink. It comes relentlessly from all angles, bristling with some of Aes' quickest tongue twisters. Its production, handled almost exclusively by Aes himself, recalls the Bomb Squad, but with a digital sample library to fuel their creativity. Public Enemy never sounded as overwhelming as the collage of white noise, gang vocals, incessant scratches and keyboard wails that make up "No Jumper Cables." And that song was the radio single. Sometimes, Aes revives his earlier, more casual flows on "Super Fluke" (coincidentally the weakest track on the album) and then fifteen minutes later he's spitting high-speed vitriol ("Isn't it strange how it's a fad to bite your idols/ when the whole reason you liked em is cuz their shit wasn't recycled") over massive G-funk-esque beats on "Frijoles." To make things even more confusing, Bazooka Tooth comes with a fat Rolodex, sporting guest spots from some of Aes' most under-appreciated Def Jux contemporaries, including Mr. Lif, and P.F.A.C. His battle with El-P on "We're Famous," is another highlight.
Bazooka Tooth stands apart from the rest of Aes' work in theme as well as production. As an emcee, Aes' primary mode of operation is observation -- he spends more time describing the lives of others than disclosing his own status, and his self-aggrandizing moments come so quickly and so rarely as to be nonexistent. Bazooka Tooth, on the other hand, finds Aes fixated on the sudden celebrity status he found in the wake of Labor Days. In some ways it's a victory lap, while in others it laments his loss of anonymity ("Cameras or guns, one of y'all gonna shoot me to death," he spits on "Easy"). The center can't really hold -- Aes returned to his old ways on every subsequent album, leaving Bazooka Tooth as his diamond in the rough. It's a wild, uneven ride. Some days I feel it's his masterpiece, some days I feel it's half trash, which is why it belongs squarely in the middle of his body of work.
Skelethon (2012)
Released in 2012, five years after Aes' previous album, Skelethon feels like a turning point in the artist's career. It's a series of firsts: his first album as a San Francisco resident, his first solo release on Minneapolis-based label Rhymesayers Entertainment, and his first completely self-produced LP. As the first unfiltered view inside Aes' mind, Skelethon portrays the emcee's psyche as a morbid place. It does not sound as though the break from Def Jux or the move to California did him much emotional good. On this LP, Aes has a talent for turning simple facets of modern life like buying donuts ("Fryerstarter") and eating green beans ("Grace") into exercises in intrigue and conflict. Each song tries to outdo itself in terms of bleakness, and Aes frequently paints himself as an eccentric ("I am so completely off the goddamn grid it's not a question of addressing me it's 'what do these symbols under the dresser mean?'" he spits on "Crows 1"). The album's sole lighthearted song, "Racing Stripes," takes time from shit-talking about haircuts to reference Camu Tao, Aes' follow Def Jux alumnus who passed away in 2008. Sonically, Aes does an admirable job, and while he lacks Blockhead's ear for mood, he proves himself adept with percussion. In particular, Skelethon maintains a gold standard in drum breaks -- album highlight "Saturn Missiles" would still sound gripping as an instrumental, from its furious hi-hat hook to its creepy left-piano-hand bridge. Aes' attention to detail doesn't always serve the material, as overly polished sonic elements fight for the front of the mix. However, Aes makes some adventurous choices in Skelethon as well, like "Ruby 81," a two-minute (nearly) a cappella freestyle about a dog saving a toddler's life. Likewise, his collaboration with Kimya Dawson on both parts of "Crows," drips with the unease that his earlier work only hinted at. It's one of Aes' most dynamic (and catchy) records, but its pessimism might wear some listeners down. Aes is recording a second Hail Mary Mallon album before a proper follow-up to Skelethon; maybe he needs a reprieve from its darkness as well.
Daylight (2002)
On the surface, Daylight seems like one of the laziest Aesop Rock releases. The EP reeks of an attempt to make a quick-buck: a collection of B-sides tacked onto the most obvious single from the Labor Days album. Appearances are deceiving: Daylight is one of the most essential releases in the entire Def Jux catalog, if only for the one-two punch of "Daylight," and "Night Light." The lead track, one of Aes' best singles, finds him at his most whimsical, channeling his inner child and crafting one of his best choruses. Its evil twin, "Night Light," is something else entirely: Aes goes as dark as he can, assuming a persona somewhere between the Antichrist and a hip-hop Michael Bloomberg. Even in an overtly pessimistic and cynical discography, "Night Light" is an abnormally twisted song -- probably why it was not included on Labor Days, even when it's easily as strong as that record's best cuts. It's the literal evil counterpoint to "Daylight," with Aes matching the songs verse for verse, bar for bar, rhyme for rhyme. Where the former blends feminism and optimism ("Life's not a bitch, life is a beautiful woman/ You only call her a bitch because she won't let you get that pussy/ Maybe she didn't feel y'all shared any similar interests/ Or maybe you're just an asshole who couldn't sweet talk the princess") the latter revels in its own cynicism ("Life's not a bitch/ Life is a bee-otch/ Who keeps the villagers circling the marketplace out searching for the g-spot/ Maybe she didn't feel y'all shared any similar interests/ Or maybe you're just an asshole. Maybe I'm just an asshole"). Both songs are excellent on their own, but they're more powerful together, so much so that Aes routinely ends his concerts with a medley of the two.
The rest of the EP doesn't quite live up to the first two tracks. "Forest Crunk" is just an instrumental, and "Bracket Basher" survives by referencing its far-superior non-album cousin, "Dust Storm." That said, "Nickel Plated Pockets" carries some historical weight as the first "El-P beats Aes" spat over. The sonics are solid, as is the guest spot by Vast Aire of Cannibal Ox, but it sticks out like a sore thumb. Really, the Daylight EP could have been a 7" single of "Daylight" and "Night Light" and still been one of the best releases from the Def Jux heyday. Come for those songs, stay for the remainder if you like.
Float (2000)
It's easy to miss the gem that is Float. Aes' sophomore LP was released in 2000 on then-young label Mush, just one year prior to Labor Days. It's never gotten the acclaim of its younger sibling. At that time, Mush existed as an outlet for instrumental electronic odd and ends. The most notable artist on the label at that time was avant-garde kinda-hip-hop outfit cLOUDDEAD, next to whom Aes seems like a positively normal emcee. Float lives up to the rest of the Mush roster at the time -- its production teems with nervous ambition, such as the degenerating free-jazz horns that close "Prosperity." On Float, Blockhead's instrumental breaks provide much-needed moments of serenity. Their collaboration appears to have been fruitful from the start, because there's enough variety on the album that it's difficult to take in a single sitting (the hour-plus runtime doesn't help). While Blockhead’s arrangements on Float don't always play nice with one another or with Aes' flow, they consistently give him something interesting to work with. Aesop's attack methodology grew astronomically between his debut and his sophomore LP. Really, Float is the first record where Aes sounds at home in his own skin. Lead single "Big Bang" is the first example of the twitchy trigger finger approach that is his signature. As a character, though, Float shows a more paranoid Aes than before or since. The best songs on Float, like the TV-hating "Basic Cable," and the observational "6B Panorama" portray him as a highly-critical outsider -- maybe that's what drew El-P, a notable cynic in his own right, to sign him in the first place. The whole record sounds more anxious than his more assured later work, which makes for an exciting listen. That anxiety probably stemmed from Aes himself, who filled the record's liner notes with fragmented sentences describing each song's inspiration in detail. In fact, he suffered a nervous breakdown not long after Float hit the streets.
Labor Days (2001)
For a lot of people, this is the album that put Aesop Rock at the forefront of underground hip-hop. Slug's outfit Atmosphere had more albums and more fans, but they didn't have an album to rally the people around. With Labor Days, Aesop gave the ambassadors and critics of independent hip-hop something to point at and say "there, that is what we are talking about." Along with Cannibal Ox's Cold Vein, this album put Def Jux on the map. On Labor Days, Aes focuses completely on the dissatisfaction that comes with 9-to-5 jobs, and the difficulty of making a living as a creative person in the 21st century (and this was before the financial crash), which tied his attitude into pre-gangsta hip-hop philosophy, and made him relatable to more privileged creative types at the same time. Given all the ink that's been written about Labor Days, diving into the albums lyrical and musical content can be tough. It's a somewhat inaccessible album, as hookless and low-key as MF Doom's Madvillainy is. Labor Days marks the height of Aes's long-running collaboration with Blockhead, and the producer serves up a relatively dark and low-key series of beats. Without Aes, the Labor Days beats would still prove to be a relaxing, if melancholy, instrumental suite. His mix focuses on his trip-hop influences, with behind-the-beat jazz samples propping up sparse horn and string sections with a healthy dose of vaguely ethnic 'world music' percussion elements, most prominently on "Battery."
Aes' verses, however, show a newly energized fervor. The ferocity he displayed on the earlier "Big Bang" single comes out to play all over Labor Days. "Right I'ma give it to ya, with no trivia/ raw like that Aesop Rock iron-fisted bliss milita" on the Wu-Tang-referencing "Boombox." He speeds ahead of the beats, his voice barely restraining a reservoir of frustration. It often sounds as if he's vocally pushing against Bockhead's lethargy -- an impression that dovetails nicely with his lyrics' constant railing against consumer culture. Aes' "Year of the ___" verse on "9-5'ers Anthem" stands as maybe the crowning moment of his flow and lyricism. To wit: "It's the year of the landshark/ Dry as sand, parched, damn get these men some water/ They're out there being slaughtered/ In meaningless wars so you don't have to bother/ And can sit and soak the idiotbox trying to fuck their daughters." But it's not all sturm und drang: he shows a narrative acumen absent from his earlier work on Labor Days, especially on the song "No Regrets," which chronicles the entire life of one woman, Lucy, from childhood to death.
None Shall Pass (2007)
None Shall Pass is not the obvious choice for Aesop Rock's best record -- most of his fans would probably pick Labor Days for its gravitas, or Bazooka Tooth for its exuberance. But on None Shall Pass, Aes matched his creativity with intensity. On Labor Days, he cultivated an audience, and the realization of that shook him up on Bazooka Tooth. On None Shall Pass, Aes stood confident, commanding that audience's attention.
His delivery sounds playful on much of the record, like he's rolling each individual vowel in his mouth, luxuriating in the shape and taste of them -- he shovels a's and e's into a hypnotic nasal honk on the second half of "Bring Back Pluto." On the very next track, "Fumes," he's chops his delivery into smaller, more jagged bits before launching into one of his signature fluid syllable streams, "Now the dizziness is similar to whimsy with a pretty twist if pretty is a bidding war for meteors of iffy sniff and cigarettes, and pills on a speaker silhouetted by the muted television and the rickety Venetians.”
In all those slippery words, Aes packs in as much storytelling and observation as ever before, this time taking aim at criminality -- None Shall Pass is the closest thing to a gangsta rap album in his catalog. While it might sound funny to think of the former affable graffiti-philosopher as a banger, he summons up some grit: "guns don't take bribes, stupid, they shoot shit" he drops in a husky bridge on the El-P produced "39 Thieves." Speaking of thieves, Aes paraded an impressive roster of guest vocalists into the studio for None Shall Pass, including raucous verses from El-P on "Gun For The Whole Family," and a more than worthy collaboration with Cage (always the most underrated emcee on Def Jux) on "Getaway Car." The last words actually come from the mouth of John Darnielle, mastermind behind freak-folk outfit the Mountain Goats, who bleats a creepy singing section as the coda to "Coffee."
It's diverse territory for Aes, whose interpretation of mafia stretches loosely from pickpockets on "Five Fingers," to pirates ("This Harbor Is Yours”), to organized religion on the rollicking title track. None Shall Pass marks Aes' last (for now) collaboration with Blockhead, whose work on the title track, with its twinkling keyboard hook and a mournful electric guitar, has no peer in either artist's discography.
But Blockhead doesn't take the spotlight as he did before. The seemingly inexhaustible energy that runs through None Shall Pass comes in large part from Aes' own production. The attention deficiencies of Bazooka Tooth gave way to a funk-inflected sound, complete with horn sections and fat, rubbery bass tones best heard on "Citronella." On None Shall Pass, Aesop Rock made his bid at producing a "classic" hip-hop record in terms of sound and lyrics, and largely succeeded. It would turn out to be his last hurrah at Def Jux, which went on indefinite hiatus two and a half years later. It would be four years until his next release, a loss in momentum that Aesop Rock is still recouping from. Those facts don't detract one iota from the fact that None Shall Pass capped off a run of three groundbreaking records. Aesop Rock's work on Def Jux both flipped the conventions of an era as well helped define it.
