But forget about them for now, because the Alabama-born Mick Jenkins is better than all of them. That much was made clear when his mixtape, The Water(s), was released early last month. He sounds great over a beat, there's obvious personality in the tape, he's taken the best out of his city's colorful poetry scene, but the first thing anyone will tell you about Mick Jenkins is that he's a lyricist. Jenkins' themes are driven by his view of morality and literary symbolism, all of which combine in his, at times, impenetrable writing. Those traits are always good to have under your belt as a rapper, but they're easy to misuse, as Mick Jenkins did on his 2013 debut mixtape Trees & Truth. His ideas were all over the place, with no clear concept rising to the top, but on The Water(s), a prequel to his debut, his songwriting takes a focused turn that takes most rappers years to acquire. Each song feels like a bigger piece with a cohesive sounds-cape that resembles the tape's metaphorical title.
As soon as "Shipwrecked" begins to bubble through your headphones, its natural to make comparisons. I've seen people draw parallels among Chance, Gambino, and everyone in between. There's one name, though, that I've rarely seen mentioned, yet his influence is painfully obvious. Its Kendrick, dummies. The entire mixtape sounds like "Sing About Me, I'm Dying of Thirst" and "Bitch, Don't Kill My Vibe" on a larger scale. Mick, based purely off his rapping skills, gives me the same feeling I got when I first heard Overly Dedicated. Regardless of how well-versed you are in the genre of hip hop and the subject of English, Mick's writing takes time to digest, but don't let that intimidate you. Similar to Kendrick, Mick Jenkins knows how to walk the line of making thought-provoking bars and being a human dictionary. Unlike K Dot, though, this ability may come a bit easier to out host. His bold flow becomes hypnotizing at times, and whenever his writing gets a mind of itself, Mick can always rely on his voice to keep things on track. Regardless of whatever moral agenda he's preaching, you want to believe it.
This quality almost makes him a puppet master of sort. While Chance and Vic Mensa use their distinct, attention-grabing voices to deliver their emotion, Mick Jenkins' cold and sonorous voice allows him to sit back and meticulously control our emotions. When he wants, he can make a throwaway punchline sound like a unit summarizing thesis in an ethics class. Reversely, whenever he's actually getting to his point, he'll make it sound like something he casually thought up while driving to work. Its all in the voice.
Of course, this mind-controlling style overlaps a personality chomping at the bit to air his anxieties. He sees through the superficiality of his peers' wealth and false sense of freedom given by the corporate side of rap with a clarity reminiscent of Winston Smith. He uses water as a symbol of truth, or any necessity in life that is often overlooked. Its up to the listener to determine what they see as water, as indicated by the bracketed "s". Mick admittedly hammers the concept into your head more than absolutely necessary, but that's a small gripe. There's a adage that basically states "if you tell yourself something enough times, it becomes a reality." A bit ironic, considering the whole idea centers around pure truth, but if that's what it takes for Mick Jenkins to cope with the warped state of Chicago, then so it be.
As I said before, the mixtape works best when listened to as a singular piece, which is why I've left comments on specific tracks at a minimum, but there are obvious highlights. "Jazz" is, unquestionably, one of the best hip hop songs of the year. It marks one of the few times where an instrumental becomes truly epic, while Mick dedicates his hook to his favorite jazz artists (special props for including Charles Mingus; I'd listen to Mingus Ah Um over Kind of Blue any day of the week, but that's getting into a whole different discussion). "Black Sheep" follows it, starting the back half off with the momentum the first ended with, while "Canada Dry" showcases Mick's ability to do Vic Mensa just as well as Vic himself. The second half peaks at "Martyrs", as Mick takes all of his skills and applies them to one fully realized single. Soon after comes one of the tape's biggest anomalies: the Joey Bada$$ assisted "Jerome", a full fledged rap-off carrying more energy than the previous fourteen tracks combined. It makes for a terrific closer, even with Joey's Cookie Monster voice being more prevalent than ever.
And then there's the musical backdrop. Whereas his debut was almost strictly jazz, The Waters(s) is much more eclectic, mixing the jazz with guitar lines and atmospheric synths. The whole tape feels like sitting back in an underwater 1960s blues club, while Mick Jenkins stands at the mic. The style is tough to pin down at first, and upon first listen, I didn't start caring about the project until the sixth song. If you give The Waters(s) time to settle in your head, though, you'll have a hard time putting it down.
If you've bought into what I've been saying and plan on downloading the mixtape, I advise first checking out the video of "Martyrs". It includes a flashed simulacrum of Chief Keef's "Don't Like" video, but with Mick wearing a noose. The "Strange Fruit" sampling instrumental backs the lyrics that fulminate against the empty pursuit of money and sex, and his peers' seamless ability to fall into these traps. This is his form of truth, and the best alternate to Chicago's violence that can't be labeled "backpacker bullshit". Will Mick Jenkins continue to utilize his talents and achieve commercial success? That remains to be seen, but if his ability to manipulate his business endeavors is half way as good as his ability to control our emotions, he'll be golden. He's the puppeteer, all we have to do is sit back and be the marionettes.
Rating: 4/5