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When I first heard Grimes was releasing a new album, I was ecstatic. When I heard “Scream,” the first single, I was extremely disappointed and almost convinced myself I would hate the entire album. Fortunately, that was not the case, as my dancing to parts of Art Angels while writing this review proved.
Art Angels begins with the ethereal “Laughing and Not Being Normal,” a short song that serves as an introduction and segue into the catchy sounds of “California.” The 14-track album continues in much the same way, with some songs seeming to serve no other purpose than to connect the stronger parts of the album. That’s not to say those tracks aren’t fantastic. “California,” “Pin” and the redux of the previously released demo of “Realiti” are Grimes at her best: poppy and quirky. With Art Angels, Grimes has clearly broken into the more mainstream pop and electronic genres without losing the soft lisp and dreamily layered sounds that set her apart from so many of her contemporaries.
The chief disappointment of this new direction is that it loses some of the bite Grimes’ older music was known for. In her 2012 single “Oblivion,” Grimes made her experience with assault very public. Even before having read interviews where she discussed the meaning of the song, it was clear how important “Oblivion” was to her. There are no songs on Art Angels that have the same feeling. She seems lost in her own music, and underneath the song itself, there seems to be very little meaning. Even the flashy video for her single “Flesh Without Blood” feels derivative and fluffy, with no real meaning behind the imagery.
That said, in spite of the lack of meaning in her songs, Grimes is clearly having fun with Art Angels. Her own eclectic taste in music covers a broad range of genres and decades, from Aretha Franklin to Kanye. And despite dabbling more in the pop genre with this album, she still explores sounds and combinations many other artists would not attempt.
Art Angels is an average record put out by someone with an immense amount of talent. Had Grimes not wowed audiences with her earlier work, her new release would not come as such a disappointment. The hits on Art Angels do not make up for the misses, but they give the listener traces of the creative, genre-bending Grimes we know, love and miss.
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By: Sunanna Bhasin
In 2011, Adele released what she called a break-up album titled 21. After a painfully long hiatus, Adele is releasing 25, which she calls a make-up album. The teaser track, appropriately named “Hello,” was released to the public on Oct. 23, 2015. Having been out for just a few days, it has already generated positive feedback from fans, who are excited to see what is to come on Nov. 20. Covers of the track are already all over YouTube, and it seems like the music-loving community in general has a case of Adele fever. What is it about “Hello” that makes it resonate so completely with listeners? While Adele may have a flawless track record, there is something hauntingly beautiful about “Hello” that makes it stick out after only a single play.
In “Hello,” Adele refuses to go back to that dark place — whether it is a failed relationship or some other struggle — rather, she faces her past head-on and questions what went wrong. Instead of questioning in order to recreate the old scene, she sings about learning from past mistakes, accepting them and moving on.
“Hello” starts out apologetic with a slow, wistful verse: “Hello, it’s me / I was wondering if after all these years / You’d like to meet, to go over everything.” Yet, this song isn’t about resignation. Resignation would be too easy and would not allow for any personal growth. This is a song about acceptance and learning. It’s about re-visiting the past to learn from previous mistakes by considering both sides.
After the first couple of regretful verses, there is a gradual crescendo into an empowering chorus that makes listeners realize that it is possible to move on from a terrible situation and be okay with it: “Hello from the other side / At least I can say that I’ve tried to tell you / I’m sorry, for breaking your heart.” These lyrics are an indication of reconciliation with a partner or past problem as well as with oneself. Adele teaches us an important lesson with “Hello”: it is enough to try. Once you come to terms with a problem, internal or external, you are free to move on to the next stage in your life. That is when you can make up with both your present and past selves.
Does this track’s popularity stem from the fact that Adele is the one singing it? Absolutely. I don’t think anyone can dispute her powerful, warm voice. However, the lessons this song teaches are unique to the music we hear daily. We often hear of the messed up, unapologetic protagonist that moves on without looking back. This can be falsely empowering, while “Hello” reflects people’s realities by saying that ghosts from our past can haunt us, but that we do have the power to look them in the eye and reach some sort of resolution. Adele tells listeners that it’s okay not to say goodbye to your past because it is truly a big part of who you are. It’s better to say “hello” to your present and future and use the lessons you’ve learned along the way to become a better person and make the present worthwhile.
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When I meet Chris Baio at Toronto’s Drake Hotel he is exhausted and mildly anxious, but still smiling. Slightly bleary-eyed from his cross-Atlantic flight that day, the London-by-way-of-New-York musician is about to do sound-check for one of the first shows in support of his debut solo album, The Names, but is waiting on a crucial part of his performance.
Nursing a coffee in one hand while warmly shaking my own with his other, Baio leads me to the patio to both get some air and explain his predicament.
One would think that Baio’s experience playing with Vampire Weekend would render him immune to pre-show jitters, but that doesn’t appear to be the case. In this case, it has got more to do with his equipment than his self-belief.
“Right now, the pedal-board belonging to the guitar player that I’m playing with is somewhere between the airport and here. So I’m just waiting on a piece of equipment. We just flew in today from London [England] to Chicago, and from Chicago to here. I’m doing okay, I slept a lot on the flight.”
Passing up the golden-opportunity to make a Wilco joke (“Via Chicago”), I ask how life in London, England is treating him. Having grown up in New York’s surrounding suburbs before moving to Manhattan for college, the wiry musician had spent most of the time he wasn’t touring with Vampire Weekend in the city. As fate would have it, Baio would have to be geographically separated from his beloved New York Rangers due to a career-related move for his wife.
Not one to take his sporting allegiance lightly, Baio has been sacrificing rest to watch the Rangers late at night.
“I tend to live like a reasonable person, but I found that every time I watched the game it would go to double-overtime and I would be on my couch yelling at the TV at 5 a.m.” he said with a chuckle.
Luckily for him, the Rangers’ recent trophy haul has been enough to offset Arsenal’s 10-year cup drought (the F.A. Cup is consolation for consistent failure), the North London football club of which Baio describes himself as a “casual fan.”
What Baio lacks in taste when it comes to soccer teams, he makes up for with his astute musical ear. The EPs that he has been releasing on his own since 2012 (Sunburn, The Silent/New You, Mira) all veer in different, but focused directions. The need to start recording and producing his own music arose from a desire to use the time spent at home from tour productively. While he had been messing around with Logic on his laptop since 2009, this was the first time he began to take it seriously.
“It came from having ideas in my head and not being able to get them out. You can have an idea for a synth tone, a melody, a way a voice will sound but if you don’t know anything about production there’s no way you can convey that. I was very bad before I got good, and I think that I don’t regret doing it that way. Sometimes you can spend a lot of money and hire someone else to produce, but you don’t have that same level of control. Taking the time and spending five years figuring out how to be a producer before finishing this first record has lead me to listen to and understand music very differently than when Vampire Weekend started and it makes me excited to make another one of these records down the line.”
Baio also said that watching his bandmate, Rostam Batmanglij, produce the first two Vampire Weekend records on his own was a factor in his desire to keep production in-house as he saw the creative license it gave them.
“I wasn’t in a record contract or anything like that and just took it to a place where I had something I was really happy with before even starting to send it to people. When you’re just making a record on your own there are less expectations and pressure. I can’t say that anyone was really clamouring for a solo record from me, which I think was a good thing because it meant I could focus on the thing itself and make a record that I was really psyched on, which should be why people make records.”
If you sit down and listen to Baio’s discography chronologically, you won’t begin to hear his own voice until you hit his most recent EP, Mira, released in 2013. While he is quick to condemn his vocal performance on “Welterweight” as “not very good,” it showcased an artist growing more comfortable with himself and led to the testing of his limits. Sometimes, as Baio explains, these limits were pushed too far. When playing back the rough cuts of experimental songs for his wife, Baio was on the receiving end of some scathing words.
“She said she liked it, but she also said that when I’d sing in a deep voice it reminded her of the movie Planet of The Apes, which struck me as a funny first reaction.”
“Sister of Pearl” is one track that could have been included under Baio’s wife’s umbrella, but the vocal flows and cadences he employs are anything but ape-like. Inspired by the works of David Bowie and Bryan Ferry, Baio broke away from conventional singing with his staccato-like yelps and the results are seductive. Although they forced Baio to break away from his comfort zone, risks like the ones he took throughout The Names make it an imminently more infectious album from front to back.
The Names was finished approximately a year ago, and Baio says the gruelling post-production routine the record went through before it was picked up by Glasslands makes touring all the more appealing.
“I’m just trying to enjoy the ride. I’ve always enjoyed playing live and I feel it’s kind of like the payoff of the work of making a record.”
Whether you buy the record and end up singing in the shower, or hit up one of his shows, you’re guaranteed a pleasurable ride as well.
Photo Credit: Dan Wilton
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What a time to be alive indeed. If you’re not a corny old-head who thinks the height of rapping is astute grasp lyricism, your favourite rappers right now are probably Future and Drake. With the pair coming off of absolutely massive years in which their only competition has been each other, it makes sense that they’d pool their star power together link up for a full-length project.
Although Drake was effusive in his praise for Future at OVO Fest, no one could have seen this one coming and the internet was thrown into a frenzy by the announcement. Recorded in a week in Atlanta, What A Time To Be Alive bears the marks of its impromptu creation, but still boasts a fair bit of quality.
Whenever Drake has linked up with Future on tracks like “Tony Montana” and “Shit,” the pair’s joint efforts have always seemed a tad disjointed. While getting in the studio together may have brought them closer as friends, it hasn’t helped their scant chemistry in the booth. Certifiable stars in their own respective lanes, when the two get together on a track it can sometimes feel forced.
Take the mixtape opener, “Digital Dash.” Future immediately entrances listeners with some mumbled lyrics and ad-libs, but we’re left waiting for Drake’s verse, which is slotted into the last minute. “Big Rings” is quite awkward at best, with Drake drowning in the swells of the beat and his own shoddy hook.
Things pick up on “Live From The Gutter,” where the two MC’s seem to find their rhythm before they absolutely crush the next song, “Diamonds Dancing.” It’s the first track that seems them working in tandem rather than just tacking on their own bars to the end.
Perhaps an ode to Drake’s deal with Jordan, “Jumpman” is the clear standout of the mixtape and not just because of Metro Boomin’s insane production. The song boasts amazing one-liners like “chicken wings and fries, we don’t go on dates” and “jumpman” is really fun to say consecutively.
WATTBA is not without its flaws, but they are more ideological than technical. Both rappers will remain problematic favourites for their fans, with the pair still degrading women to no end. In many a way, they have both risen to mainstream fame via their misogyny; Drake with the boo-hoo nice-guy simping that has made millions of bros believe the friend zone is a thing, and Future with more rampant hatred like the pettiness found on Monster, the mixtape he made following his very public breakup with Ciara (see “Throw Away” for a brilliantly tortured five-minute summary of their relationship).
We must also must have willingness to listen to the black male experience and attempt to understand where there pain is coming from rather than just critique how it is expressed. Very often, the angst that they are misguidedly dumping upon the women in their lives is motivated by familial and financial loss. One only has to look to “Blow A Bag”, a single from Future’s Dirty Sprite 2 to grasp this. On the anthemic track full of boasting, Future takestime in the first verse to expose some of his personal demons: “I know I came from poverty, I got my name from poverty, I know for sure, for sure, if my granddad was livin’, I know he be proud of me.” That said, one can always hope that artists would find a better place to dump their frustrations than on the backs of women who suffer enough at the hands of patriarchal society.
If you can excuse the cringe-worthy chauvinism, you’ll be able to appreciate the few really good bangers that the tape yielded. Think of it less as an album and more of a stocking stuffer to compliment the massive presents that Future and Drake’s full-length solo projects were to music fans this past year.
When Lauren Mayberry isn’t busy putting misogynistic assholes in their rightful place, you can find her on another plane of existence along with the rest of Chvrches (multi-instrumentalists Iain Cook and Martin Doherty) as they bless us all with infectious electronic bangers. This blessing has recently manifested itself in the form of the band’s sophomore album, Every Open Eye. A combination of tantalizing synth hooks, clever beats, and emotionally-charged lyrics, Chvrches has delivered once again with their usual finesse and charm. The signature filigree quality of Mayberry’s voice infuses every song with a dreamy, iridescent quality. From start to finish, the album is so pure and crystalline that each tune slices you right in the jugular—but you won’t complain in the slightest.
Winning critics and audiences over with their acclaimed debut album, The Bones Of What We Believe, there were high expectations for the Scottish trio to meet. In Every Open Eye, the sounds are more complex, the instruments more diverse, and the songs a whole lot bigger.
The album feels unrelenting and honest, bursting with themes of emotional pain, healing and surviving in between the two states. The album is a carefully curated repertoire of desperate pleas and resolute defiance that documents the journey through a meaningful romantic relationship. There is pain, but it is far from the cry of the wounded. The album swells—almost cinematically—with strength and synth twirls, consuming you with spine-tingling shivers and glimmering epiphanies. Songs are unhinged and vulnerable, but also self-reliant and redemptive.
Despite being filled with great singles (“Leave A Trace”, “Make Them Gold”, “Down Side of Me”), its strongest (and my favourite) has got to be “Clearest Blue.” The song builds up until it finally releases with Mayberry’s plea of “Will you meet me more than halfway up?” It’s easy for anyone to identify with the plead for compromise and understanding, but the lucidity of Mayberry’s voice over the hard edges of the tune makes it even more vivid. A few songs later in “Bury It,” she boasts pride and self-confidence. There is no space here for emotional obfuscation. These songs will wrap you up in a wave of emotions that will prove to be invigorating, cathartic and perhaps even a little healing.
One of the album’s criticisms (if you could even call it that) lies in the repetitive nature of certain songs, or the redundancy of their upbeat style. Though this is their self-defining factor, the repetition could prove to be overwhelming if you’re not in the right mood. This, however, is extremely minor compared to the abundance of refreshing buoyancy that the rest of the album offers.
The most exemplary quality of Every Open Eye is the generosity and openness of its songs. Their lucidity and sharpness will stun you. While at first glance this may seem just to be another solid electronic record, it is an expertly crafted chronicle of the ups and downs of human relationships. Chvrches manages to merge a cavalcade of electronic beats and thoughtful lyrics to take this album—and their artistry—to another level.
She’s been called the meaner Taylor Swift, the darker Lorde. Her single “New Americana” has been hailed as a pop anthem for the new generation. But 20-year-old Ashley Nicolette Frangipane, otherwise known as Halsey, is so much more than that and she demonstrates that in her debut album Badlands.
Badlands seethes with fury. Halsey spits venom throughout the album, challenging anyone who tries to stop her. Her lyrics are frank and shameless, as the first line of “Strange Love” proves: “Everybody wants to know if we fucked on the bathroom sink.” Halsey is brutally honest about who she is.
Throughout the album she refers to her mental illness and dangerous vices. These themes are brought up multiple times, including the haunting “Control,” where she sighs, “I can’t help this awful energy/Goddamn right, you should be scared of me/Who is in control?” In “Castle,” she shows her defiance for authority and in a way establishes herself as a young feminist voice with the line, “And there’s an old man sitting on the throne that’s saying I should probably keep my pretty mouth shut.”
The brilliant part of Halsey’s album is how easily she weaves her moody, sometimes uncomfortable lyrics into the catchy, lush landscape of her songs. She sweeps the listener away with her, especially in songs like “Drive,” which includes sound effects that mimic an old car driving down a rainy highway.
Most of Badlands is a strong, unique take on an issue close to the singer, who has fought her own personal demons and has been forced to deal with losing friends to substance abuse. However, at some points Halsey’s message begins to feel repetitive. While it shows how closely her emotions are tied to her music, it feels stale after a while.
Despite its convoluted moments, Badlands remains a strong debut for Halsey. Her music has already set her apart from Swift and Lorde, and as her fame grows, she stands in a position to become a definitive voice for the supposed darker side of this generation.
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Rodeo is Travis Scott’s major label debut and boasts the studio-refined polish that is befitting of an artist who counts Kanye West as his mentor.
Despite being laden with all the right features, Scott’s album reeks like the output of someone who would drown without the help of those whose influence he’s leeching off of.
It’s funny that Kanye went from ostracizing Kid Cudi, who he described as his favourite artist in 2010, to singing praises of Scott, who seems intent on trying to become a current day version of the Cleveland rapper.
Everything from Scott’s faux rags to riches tale, his penchant for breezy sing-song melodies, to his adoption of Cudi’s first name (Scott Mescudi) is a poorly veiled attempt at fashioning himself into Kid Cudi 2.0.
After his 30-minute set at this past OVO Fest, Kanye grinned as he introduced Scott as the torchbearer of the new generation before the latter pranced upon stage to begin an energetic performance. Despite the excitement he inspires in crowds, the University of Texas dropout could do with less slack from his G.O.O.D. Music cohorts, as his penchant for disrespecting innocent cameramen and yelling homophobic slurs on stage will begin to grate on even the more buzzy PR companies that desire to propel him to the top of the charts. People were quick to throw Troy Ave, a talentless New York rapper billed as 50 Cent’s heir, to the curb for his shitty views, so why can’t the same be done with Scott?
While Scott doesn’t struggle to produce conventional bangers like Rodeo standouts “Antidote” and “90210,” something tells me
that’s more due to his talented peers than the meagre breadth of his artistic vision. My qualm isn’t with $cott’s induction to the mainstream, but rather with his insistence that he is pushing anything more than an amalgamation of his inspirations.
Billy Haisley best summed up my gripe with Scott in his Deadspin piece, “Travis Scott is Worse Than Iggy Azelea,” when he said: “While he talks a big game about artistry and honesty, almost all of his songs are basic party anthems; he big-ups Drake’s honesty but gets on a track with him (“Company”), waits while Drake drops a verse with concrete images demonstrating his selfish approach to relationships, then kicks a bland verse about doing drugs and hooking up with a completely amorphous girl.”
Kanye plugged millennials heavily during his acceptance speech at the recent VMA’s, but the term when used by West is a general one that only seems to encompass wealthy, apathetic, fake-deep scene kids like Scott, Jaden Smith, Ian Connor and Luka Sabbat. If the youth that Kanye so trusts with revolutionizing the world are simply being weaned on Scott’s bourgeois turn-up plagiarizing then we all have reason to fear the future.
At its best, which isn’t saying a lot, Rodeo reeks of the vapid soma-induced escapism that made Aldous Huxley’s Brave New World so incredibly frightening. In a world where the Yeezy-clad privileged middle-class is so eager to get through the week just so that they pop pills at a club, there remains little hope that anyone will actually do something to change the condition of anything in the world other than their Fear of God-inspired wardrobe.
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When North Carolina based record label Paradise of Bachelors announced they would be handling the American release of Tamara Lindeman’s new record Loyalty with her band The Weather Station, they teased fans with beautiful album artwork as well as the back sleeve of the LP which included the lyrics in their entirety.
This may have been the shrewdest marketing decision I’ve seen from any label in a long time. Having Lindeman’s lyrics precede the record itself shows the label knows exactly what they gained in signing her: a lyricist with few equals.
To refer to her as just a musician seems limiting in that it misses the power her words have even when rendered plainly in size twelve font on the back of an LP. Her songs feature an interplay between poetry and music rare even in the world of ever self-conscious singer-songwriters. With just a handful of lines Tamara addresses weighty existential dilemmas that other artists would struggle to cover even across an entire album.
Knowing her careful attention to details, it comes as a bit of a surprise that an album entitled Loyalty would feature songs like “Personal Eclipse” that express such a deep sense of disconnect like “Lately I find myself lonely - I wouldn’t have called it that before. I always took it as a comfort - what all the distance was for.”
In fact many of the songs deal with themes of distance and nothingness, a lack of touch and silence. The idea of loyalty demands some kind of relationship, something for the devotee, to be devoted to. It’s strange that these songs find Lindeman on the road far from friends or listening to the bedroom recordings of a lover who has passed away. There is distance both geographically and physically between the singer and anything she could be loyal to.
However, this absence is what clarifies where her loyalties ought to lie. Having removed herself to distant places like Montmagny and Nebraska it becomes easier to assess what is worth her loyalty. The ability to hold polar opposites in tension without having them break her has always been one of Lindeman’s greatest strengths as a songwriter. “Floodplain” friends simultaneously advise her “don’t move too fast” and “don’t let it pass you by” and Lindeman seems fully capable of doing both.
By the end of Loyalty, Lindeman has come to terms with the idea that distance and intimacy are often not very far apart. The closing track, “At Full Height,” embodies this as it finds Lindeman proclaiming her loyalty to a lover and finding peace with the paradox that “I don’t even know him- but he’s mine.”
The brilliance of Loyalty lies in its ability to bring the listener close, to provide a glimpse of Lindeman’s world while maintaining enough distance to give the captured moments an intriguing sense of intimacy. Like she sings in “Floodplain,” the newest release from The Weather Station is an experiment in “seeing double.”
Jokes about Kristian Matsson’s height are well past their expiry date. Yes, the odd class clown who never grew up may be tempted to make a jab at the Swedish singer-songwriter’s decided lack of stature given that he goes by performing name of The Tallest Man On Earth, but he more than makes up for it with his natural musical talent.
Oft subject to lazy comparisons to Bob Dylan just because of his gravelly voice, a three year period between his last release sees Matsson seeking to distance himself from the folk legend with a fiercely individualistic new record. Entitled Dark Bird Is Home, Matsson’s fourth full-length record is largely concerned with the dissolution of two marriages; the first being Matsson’s recent divorce from his wife, and the second between his voice and his guitar. Normally one for vague lyrics, Matsson explores his personal challenges with a newfound directness. Having plied his trade as a one-man show for three albums, Matsson opted to pick up a slew of instruments during the recording process and will be backed by a full band on upcoming tour. The results, if anything else could be expected from Matsson at this point, are terrific. Certain albums could be found guilty of stewing in misery solely for the sake of it, but Matsson’s albums have never been lacking in intent. Dark Bird is Home shares this characteristic and always seems to be trying to uncover a new leaf and move on with life all while taking one’s losses on the chin.
Album-opener, “Fields of Our Home”, finds Matsson resorting to his usual pastoral references, but the way he cavorts through them has changed. Gone is the almost panicked strumming of days past in favour of a more lackadaisical approach. With his older records so full of youthful urgency, the more considered and decidedly slower sound is a stark departure for Matsson who now seems focused on slowly building up in order to achieve a massive moment of catharsis.
“Little Nowhere Towns” is another standout for how Matsson takes the piano, which has featured prominently in his old songs like “Kids on The Run”, and produces the same nostalgic tone. Joyous at some points, mournful at others, the track serves as a worthy one capable of serving as midpoint in the album and tying things together with aplomb. “Seventeen” is perhaps the best indication of what Matsson is capable of when he combines lush instrumentation, with his voice and guitar. While not the greatest vocalist you’ve ever heard, Matsson’s charm lies in how he inflects his voice with subtle intonations that pull at your heartstrings, which grow more and more vulnerable with each verse.
Dark Bird Is Home serves as an impressive shift in style from the Swedish artist that fans old and new can latch onto for a comforting listen.
When Nicki Minaj announced her third studio album, The Pinkprint, she declared it to be Jay Z’s The Blueprint for female rappers. While the album is by no way a classic, it actually should be seen as the gold standard for a female rapper looking to make it big. It’s not blatantly pop (Iggy’s The New Classic is neither rap nor a classic), and doesn’t feel the need to prove itself, unlike Azealia Banks’ Broke with Expensive Taste.
Minaj has polarized her fans throughout her career. Her mixtapes were great showcases of her hip-hop sensibilities, but were so lyrically aggressive that it came off as a girl trying too hard to join a boys club. Her studio albums represented the other end of the spectrum, as her ear for pop hooks and playful raps launched her into Top 40 stardom to the dismay of her early fans. The Pinkprint finally lands the sweet spot; it’s a cohesive, if overlong, album about heartbreak where “Super Bass” and Minaj’s verse on “Monster” could coexist.
The most impressive aspect of The Pinkprint is Minaj’s success in pulling together a roster of very different genres, productions, and features. “Feeling Myself” is a swaggering highlight that sees Beyoncé taking her riskiest dabble in hip-hop. “Get On Your Knees,” featuring Ariana Grande awkwardly smudging her squeaky-clean image, provides subtle commentary on gender expectations in that its sexually aggressive lyrics feel uncomfortable simply because it’s from a woman’s perspective. “Want Some More” sees Minaj at her most lyrically dexterous and is a great showcase for her ability to move effortlessly between flows. Then there’s “The Night is Still Young,” a sequel to “Starships” that’s lyrically darker and much catchier than the pandering original.
Surprisingly, her singles contextualized in the album are its weaker tracks. “Pills and Potions” is impersonal when compared to cuts like “Bed of Lies.” “Anaconda” is still only a banger when you’re drunk at a party. “Only,” despite featuring Drake in his most unintentionally hilarious and thirsty verse, is underwhelming when compared to the far superior “Truffle Butter,” which also features Drake and Lil Wayne.
The Pinkprint is the standard for female rappers because it is authentic. Minaj is vulnerable and honest in a genre that demands bravado. She is firmly in control of her presentation as a brand, but also shows that she is more than that. The pink wig is gone, and we’re all the better for it.
