The album’s second half is less distinctive but more coherent, with a consistently slow-funk, live-instrumental sound and an intent focus on the personal rather than the social. A duel between acerbic lyrical acrobat Vince Staples and English conscious rapper Slowthai forms the stripped-back tune’s centrepiece before Aminé returns to bookend the piece over a blissed-out vocal from Bree Runway that recalls the ethereal sound of FKA Twigs or Björk. A frantic, low, shifting bass beat opens “Pressure in my Palms” with a notably more energetic Aminé nimbly weaving together touchstones of mainstream white culture to tap into the friction that comes when Black artists are forced to justify their place amid a hostile cultural establishment. Perhaps the most thrilling track on Limbo is its most propulsive, but also the most impressive articulation of the mid-20s nether-space Aminé and his contemporaries find themselves navigating. Ruminating on failed and difficult relationships (a recurring theme on the album), “Compensating” sees a gritty beat playing off against tropical steel pans - Aminé himself leans into his new, sadder delivery but cedes keenly to a more aggressive verse from guest Young Thug at the track’s apex. This change of tack does mean that a number of the tracks aren’t quite as immediate as some of Aminé’s previous highlights, but there are still obvious standouts. It’s a more pared-back affair, with most embellishments quietly reinforcing the steady quality of these early songs rather than taking over entirely. Neatly utilising the dual meaning of its title, “Roots” sees him mining collective Black ancestry and legacy while promising to “bring my flowers to the world” as an ascendant gospel choir brings the track to a massive, ostentatious climax.Ī more muted approach doesn’t dilute Aminé’s sonic creativity, as can be heard in the intertwining of a mournful Spanish guitar with a snappy 808 beat on “Can’t Decide” or the chopped up choral samples that give “Shimmy” its backbone. There’s swagger, sure, as the braggadocio kicks into Aminé’s flow over a wavy trap beat on “Woodlawn,” but the rapper can’t escape that urge to reflect. Many cuts are undeniably chilled-out and summery, harking to hip hop’s hazy 90s heyday, but they are decidedly not party-oriented hits. The track’s soulful chorus adds a note of melancholy persists across the record. First track “Burnden” opens with a howling vocal loop and slinky guitar on the instrumental, with Aminé spitting forthrightly “when your skin darker, shit gets harder.” His delivery is steadier and more traditional than before, as he reflects on how it feels to grow up in a harsh and uncertain world. Whereas Good for You is springy and scattershot - bouncing between hyperactive bangers with juvenile abandon - Limbo is sturdier, slower and generally more consistent. It’s an obvious shift in both the music and in the rapper’s vocal delivery throughout. Here, he uses of a toolkit rather than a toy box to build tracks. This is expressed in Limbo’s decidedly moodier sound, which stands in contrast to the playfulness and whimsy of Aminé’s 2017 debut Good for You. Without those guiding lights, the next step can feel impossible to navigate, justifying the album’s title. For 26-year-old Aminé and the cohort of young collaborators who appear on this record, the disappearance of these aspirational touchstones which helped them form their identities and dreams in youth signals a difficult step into adulthood. On the skit “Kobe,” comedian Jak Knight articulates this idea explicitly by proclaiming that his “innocence died” with the NBA icon’s passing. Bryant and his untimely death become emblematic of Aminé’s broader contemplation in Limbo over the loss of foundational icons.
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