This album made my brain hurt, but in an oddly good way. The biggest mistake that I made in trying to tackle this review was thinking that this was going to be quick and easy. It would not be until my third run through of this album that I would realize how wrong I was. This was an album of parallels and hidden meanings. One where each person will be almost guaranteed to take something different away from it. In order to give it a fair review I had to listen to this work through three different lenses. The first lens was as a musician and a poet, the second was as a person of color, and the third was through the eyes of my grandmother.

As both a musician and poet myself, this album left very little to be desired. One thing that I could really appreciate was the fact that the music created and environment and an atmosphere for the lyrics to thrive. The soundtrack, while excellent, was more than just a background track for the poetry and words. It created an experience. Each track was measured and metered to compliment the surroundings that it was envisioning. My head played canvas to the strokes of the guitar and stringed instruments that painted my mind’s eye as I was placed in a sound track that created more of an experience. Not only did the music compliment the work it also gave the poetry room to grow and held the attention of the listener. As a musician, I was indeed very happy with how the concept was approached, but there were things that I missed because of this lens, and those things would prove to be the most important.

As a person of color, this album had a completely different meaning. Sure, as a musician I could subjectively measure the work of the producer and session players against my limited knowledge and opinion. I could pen this article as though I could do it better myself and release it without truly letting you, the reader, understand what this experience was like because it did not cause me to feel. There are going to be moments as I type this that I wish that were the case. If I am being honest, lyrically, this album was painful. There are many tracks on this project that caused me to stop and replay them. The poem entitled “I Hate Cats” was one of those moments. It started off innocently enough. Propaganda began this story by retelling the tales of his daughter and his wife during their bonding time at a local animal shelter. How his kid would send him pictures of cats with her beaming at him only to be told that there is a problem with this: He hates cats. He assures the listeners that he is sure that there are some God fearing cat owners of the world, but just not in his house. It’s not that he does not trust them, after all he does not see species, but dogs were in his heritage.  I mean, wasn’t there just a cat in the white house?

After all, don’t all animals matter?

I am not sure whether or not the release of this album, given the current political climate was purposeful, but it was not missed.

At that point, the suggested subject matter hit me like a ton of bricks. The metaphor slowly spiraled and so too did my stomach. I had been trying to figure out why what Propaganda had been saying this whole album was resonating somewhere as deep and as personal as it was. I never could put my finger on it until right there and then again later in the project.  A poem called “Darkie” said it best.

 I used to wish I was Puerto-Rican

‘Cause that type of black was different

They had curly hair and accents

And I would be called exotic

I would lie and say I’m half-something

Mixed with this and that of sorts

Anything to not just be a field hand descendent

This album was uncomfortable because it was discussing and giving voice to a lot of the things I was feeling, but had no words to express. It was more than just lyrics and a melody; it gave voice to the doubt in my identity as a person of color. As I began to understand the metaphors, I realized that in many ways this album was describing myself and all of my feelings of my shortcomings. It did more than impress me with its lyrics or melody. This made me feel something, and it was pain. It was a feeling that welled itself up in hopelessness and anger at the current racial tensions in our country. The idea that one too many times I found myself despising who I was for my skin tone, wanting to be something more than a field hand’s descendent, not just another darkie. Generally, I don’t turn to music to feel something, and if I do, it certainly isn’t pain. I come to my musical library to drown out the day, to find worth, to feel more freedom than when I had my headphones off and all I found here were the existence of chains I thought were let loose a long time ago. Lyrically, Propaganda succeeded in what all writers should strive for. They made a listener feel, but in this case, I really wish he hadn’t.

Fat lip, wide nose (you just another darkie)

Looking like some burnt toast (you just another darkie)

Nappy headed, so gross (you just another darkie)

Master got ‘em so fooled (you just another darkie)

Some people still blind (you just another darkie)

Hating on they own kind (you just another darkie)

Put your fist in the sky

And don’t pay ‘em no mind (you just another darkie)

Finally, I saw this album through the eyes of my grandmother. After having been through the civil rights movement herself, and being an avid music scene follower, I was really interested as to her input on this album. I take after her in the way of my extreme distaste for “fluff”. For me, every word has to have meaning. No syllable can be wasted, and filler is no replacement for actual content. From a musical perspective, Propaganda met all of these expectations and more. This would usually be the point where I wrapped up the album review. Where I tie it in a neat little box and bow called lyrical prowess and release it back into my music library, but I just couldn’t. I listened to this album one last time with someone who did not understand it. My grandmother caught none of the jokes or references. The poem “I Hate Cats” lost the wonder and feeling that it had for me. For the most part, she listened in silence until she asked to listen to one of the first tracks called “Its Complicated” again.

We may scratch ourselves raw to erase the image we were made in

Smoke, snort, sex or drown out the silence

We may waste our life savings on makeovers

To try to rhinoplast our daddy’s nose away

But no nip, no tuck could cut away the sense of obligation

We are becoming what we are not

But what we are is inescapable

You are a masterpiece fighting to be a silly selfie with a hideous filter

You are heavens handmade calligraphy

Slumming it among papyrus fonts

You are the complete and perfect works of a perfect and eternal poet laureate

With a laundry list of identity issues

There is something that my 72 year old grandmother caught, that I never would have seen. We both were standing on opposite sides of history. She, being a part of the generation that fought for the rights for me to even have an opinion, and me trying to understand what that was like. Both of us meeting in the middle over a project that she described simply as “needed”.

That was her take away.

That was her only input was that this projected “needed” to be heard. Not only by other cultures, but also by the ones I belonged to. This album was so much more than a project or a mixtape. It was more than a deadline, it was more than words on a page come to life through verbal cues or music. It was a rally cry to both other cultures and to ourselves to shift our way of thinking. To unify around what makes us different and celebrate those distinctions. To face the facts that some African American’s see our skin tone as a shortcoming, while others feel threatened. To face out identity issues and understand that we were created in our Father’s image. We are not “just another darkie” and are more than what we seem. As a culture, we needed this record. We needed the challenge to see something other than what is right under our noses. We needed to look past the melody, and the name on the cover art. We needed to see ourselves clearly, and maybe for the first time.

Propaganda’s newest album was so much more than a project. It was a challenge. Any album can make its listeners tap their toes and sing along, but it takes a special type of lyric to cause that much introspection. If you are considering listening to this album for the first time, or the hundredth time understand that you are going to need to go into this with an open heart, and an open mind. You’re going to need to be ready for a real conversation. After truly understanding this work, the world wasn’t black and white to me anymore. Culture was no longer straight and narrow. My perspective had to shift in order to understand, and when I finally stood up straight, and looked back at where I’ve been and where we’re going I have to tell you, everything looks a little crooked.

-Egypt Ali

Perception Matters is available for free download at Humble Beast Records’ website.