TRAVIS SCOTT AND HIS STAR-STUDDED ALBUM
THOUGH he may not yet have the sort of singles chart history to back it up, there’s no doubt that Travis Scott is a star. His live shows rarely fail to drop jaws with their energy, opulence and unruliness. And though there have been numerous delays in the two years since the release of his last solo album, Birds in the Trap Sing Mcknight, when a giant gold likeness of the rapper’s head appeared atop LA’S Amoeba Music last month, no one under the age of 30 was confused about what it meant.
For his third proper solo release, the 26-year-old Texan certainly gets a superstar’s showcase. Even in a summer crowded with more marquee hip-hop releases than any in recent memory, Astroworld stands out for its no-expensespared production. Overseen by Scott and Mike Dean, the album is a druggie kaleidoscope of textures and techniques, making room for psychedelic guitars, trap drums, hazy synths, haunted house piano, Enya-esque vocal swells, futuristic baubles and start-stop song suites, while remaining surprisingly sonically coherent.
The album’s roster of featured artists reads like a
Met Gala guest list: Frank Ocean, Drake, The Weeknd, Pharrell, John Mayer, James Blake, Kid Cudi, Tame Impala, one half of Rae Sremmurd, two thirds of Migos, and even Stevie Wonder.
So why, for all its moments of magic, does Astroworld often feel strangely empty? Maybe it’s the underwritten protagonist. Scott has plenty of charisma and starwattage, he’s a passable lyricist, and his singsong, Autotuned delivery is instantly recognisable, but he’s never developed the one thing that every A-list MC needs: a compelling story. Judging by his lyrics, Travis Scott seems like a very wealthy, generally happy young dude with a taste for drugs, sex and luxury goods – but hedonistic contentment isn’t exactly the most dynamic theme, and beyond that he remains a bit of an enigma.
Scott is a one-time protégé of Kanye West, whose own impeccable taste and unerring musical instincts have lately come to be overwhelmed by the growing nastiness and narcissism of the man himself. By comparison, Scott burdens his listeners with remarkably little drama. His one-liners don’t get much more cutting here than “Stacey Dash, most of these girls don’t got a clue”. Album-closer Coffee Bean offers a glimpse behind the curtain at Scott’s relationship with Kylie Jenner, though otherwise his personal life seems to consist of a never-ending shopping spree interrupted by occasional trysts.
Materialism in hip hop is nothing new, but great rappers always find ways to hint at the darkness and triumph behind all the conspicuous consumption. Without that narrative grounding, Scott’s raps feel more like a listless scroll through Robb Report.
Whatever it may lack in lyrical substance, however, Astroworld is named after a defunct Houston amusement park, the album is bursting with call-backs to Southern rap history.
These scattered Southern themes may be a bit too loose to count as a through line, but musically the album charges forward with a ruthless momentum that rarely comes across as hurried or frantic. The Drake feature Sicko Mode sees the guest rapper start to build up a head of steam, only for a beat-switch to cut him off midthought, then cut into a Scott verse, then start a new
Drake verse from scratch, as if the song is editing itself.
There’s no denying Travis Scott throws one hell of a rager – maybe next time out he’ll take a minute to properly introduce himself. – Variety