“Am I killing it or am I losing it?” he asks amid the stream-of-consciousness. On “X-Wing,” the album’s best track, Curry swings between urgent thoughts about the life expectancy of rappers, references to professional wrestling and Star Wars, and slick wordplay. “The Smell of Death” is pure flow, Curry bouncing rhymes off a misty Thundercat beat. The best moments on Melt My Eyez embrace free association. When Kendrick bleeps out names in his songs or Vince Staples raps like the booth is wiretapped, the omissions underscore the gravity of the information being withheld. These elisions might be more engaging if they were clearly intentional. “Life is short/Like a dwarf,” slowthai and Curry declare on the chorus. The writing on the otherwise thrilling drum ‘n’ bass track “Zatoichi” is just as lazy. “Got some troubles that these drugs can’t fix/We might struggle because life’s a bitch,” Curry sings. “Troubles,” a bubbly but empty collaboration with T-Pain, is all cliché. “Bullshit” is a frequent descriptor, appearing in two choruses (“Worst Comes to Worst” and “Angelz”), and the album is short on storytelling and melody, the pillars of his best work. Despite the album’s emphasis on candor and self-examination, many of Curry’s takeaways are vague and distant. The metaphor cleverly flips crying-a messy, mucusy, and literally blurring physiological reflex-into an orienting experience.īut Curry never fully realizes the conceit. Curry invokes that image a few times, casting it as clarifying in all senses of the word: warm, liquefying, cleansing. “It’s all in mind/But I’mma feel fine once I’m melting my eyes,” he chants on “Mental,” singer Bridget Perez’s sweet coos reassuring him. “Watching people dying got me being honest,” he says on “The Last,” one of many moments of pandemic-induced lucidity. Forward momentum and acceptance are constant themes. Even when he’s animated, he’s unrushed and loose. When the Kal Banx beat flips into a trap number midway, Curry slips into his signature double-time-but he trots rather than gallops. “Walking with my back to the sun/Keep my head to the sky/Me against the world/It’s me, myself and I/Like De La,” Curry raps in a loose, lolling cadence. The first verse of “Walkin,” a highlight, unfurls like a house cat in sunlight as Curry floats over a yawning vocal sample. Instead of sprinting through these mellow instrumentals, Curry ambles, his words measured and deliberate. The beats are largely soft and uncluttered, full of neat drums, gossamer piano, and spectral vocals. Curry presents the world behind his eyes as a hushed, penitent space. That pivot yields music that’s more self-reflective, with few ragers or bangers. Throughout Melt My Eyez, he focuses on himself, internalizing the skeptical gaze he usually applies to larger political issues. Just Denzel Curry.” The comment overstates the distinctness of his personas, none of which were fully formed identities, but it illustrates his approach to writing. In interviews, he’s described the project as more intimate, saying “this album is about me, Denzel Curry. The album lacks the vividness of his past releases, but its concept offers a glimpse into Curry’s roving mind. On Melt My Eyez See Your Future, Curry again retools his sound, trading livewire energy for introspection and vulnerability.
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