As Freddie Gibbs’ first album not fully produced by Madlib or The Alchemist, “$oul $old $eparately” (“$$$”) is his first true solo album in almost a decade. And in his moment alone on stage, Gibbs shines.
The introduction to “$$$,” released Sept. 30, is an accurate representation of the Indiana rapper’s ethos as a whole. In the first seconds of “Couldn’t Be Done,” the first track on “$$$,” the laid-back soul instrumental turns to boisterous horns, echoing the complexity of Gibbs’ character. With one foot in the old school and one in the new, Gibbs is back, adding to his drug-dealing protagonist’s narrative canon.
Gibbs’ 2014 “Piñata” and 2019 “Bandana” were both critically lauded as two of the strongest rap albums of the past decade, the former considered a modern trap classic. His 2020 album “Alfredo” was nominated for a Grammy for Best Rap Album, narrowly losing to the somewhat well-deserved Nas album “King’s Disease.” As my pick for 2020’s album of the year, “Alfredo” felt relevant and entertaining, and my discussion of the album on my blog led to being retweeted by Freddie himself!
“$$$” is another delightful thematic journey through more of his unfailingly entertaining stories. An extremely contentious artist still technically considered to be underground, some christen Gibbs as the best “coke rapper” of all time, while others deem him utterly overrated. As is often true with these pop culture debates, he is neither messiah nor overlookable. Easily a genre-progressing artist, Gibbs is clear of all but perhaps Pusha T. The two have staked claims to the title of best drug rappers of the generation. Carrying on a trademark narrative of the rap genre, Gibbs plays the JAY-Z, T.I. or Eazy-E of the contemporary rap scene, each song a short story compiled into a thorough account of his rise to stardom.
Gibbs’ creativity continues to shine through his use of a conceptual thread through the album's runtime. He has employed such thematic architecture in the past, utilizing a robotic hype man as narrator on “Bandana” and clips from mob movies on “Piñata.” On “$oul $old $eparately,” the conceptual complexity dives even deeper, as the narrative takes place in a fictional hotel in space. Sonic motifs tie songs together, and on “Blackest in the Room,” the album’s second track, the entire instrumental is produced to sound like the intergalactic hotel’s elevator music. The creativity and lengths to which Gibbs travels to string these conceptual webs together surpass his prior attempts. On “$$$,” Gibbs plays the protagonist in his own manufactured universe.
As he has in the past, Gibbs brings the best and most relevant performances out of his featured artists. From Offset to Rick Ross to Scarface, the guest verses on “$$$” land with sharpshooter accuracy. However, the features that will cement themselves as staples are Anderson. Paak’s haunting refrain on “Feel No Pain” and Pusha T’s youthful, yet confident, verse on “Gold Rings.” Paak has established himself as a top-tier feature artist of this generation, similar to Nate Dogg’s essential run of hip-hop features as an R&B artist. Paak’s presence is also heard behind the drums, giving him production credit in addition to the writing. His masterful instrumentation is a living fossil in a modern hip-hop industry dominated by electronic drums. Paak’s drumming carries on the late J Dilla’s unique and petrifying style of off-kilter, utterly human drums.
Beyond feature artists, celebrity guests saturate the album as they might in a Las Vegas hotel lobby. Guests include Brooklyn Nets aging star Kevin Durant, comedian Jeff Ross and Jesus Christ, played by rapper Gerald Johnson. However, the funniest of the guest skits is of Joe Rogan, who raves on Gibbs’ voicemail of his vast supply of psychedelic drugs before recommending possible evening activities including “Kevlar underwear and extra bullets.” The presence of many significant celebrities further serves the narrative of the “$$$ Resort” as an uber-fancy travel destination in the sky.
Beyond the conceptual layout of “$$$,” Gibbs tackles social issues with a zest we have not seen as much on prior releases. Comparing himself to activist-artist Sam Cooke, famous for his meeting with Malcolm X, Jim Brown and Muhammad Ali, Gibbs voices his opposition to Black artists’ assimilation to white standards. Later, on “CIA,” Gibbs sheds light on anti-Black American policy, tying the intelligence agency to “crack, Instagram and AIDS,” three phenomena he sees as detrimental to the Black community. Gibbs’ position within the rap game as an artist who prioritizes such communal improvement in spite of both his criminal themes and benevolent attitude is complicated, and listeners could understandably identify the conflict. I think he’s doing it on purpose.
Freddie Gibbs serves as an artist who entertains with his stories while allowing them to be cautionary tales. A drug dealer praying for social improvement is a contradictory concept, but Gibbs’ character evolution allows for the growth necessary to move toward his affable goals. On “Grandma’s Stove,” the album’s narrative conclusion, Gibbs reflects on the death of his contemporaries, seemingly understanding that his commitments may lead him down similar paths. He also acknowledges his reliance on substances as a means of coping with his mental stability, a vulnerable moment for an artist known for his stoic bravado. Even the title of the album, “$oul $oul $eparately,” cut and paste from a line on “Bandana” that indicates the futility of chasing a life of fame and fortune, points toward a mature outlook. In this thesis, our drug-dealing protagonist implies that one can have the highs, the vices and the dream for a price, but not without trading away the spiritual. With “$$$,” Gibbs locks himself away from the dangerous world, choosing career over street corners.
