Vince Staples rounds out a trilogy, further exploring the melancholic vibe he presented on his last two releases with a sense of maturity that’s harder to find in the current state of hip hop.
Release date: May 24, 2024 | Blacksmith Records/Def Jam Recordings | Twitter | Instagram | Stream/Purchase
Vince Staples has never been one to avoid authenticity. While a huge indictment was being written on arguably one of the biggest names associated with commercial rap, Vince was talking money, and visibility, and outwardly defending his and his counterparts’ rights on the business side of things (but most certainly claiming a side).
Dark Times is an extension of what he started with on Vince Staples, carried through Ramona Park Broke My Heart, and has found more fruitful expression in the down-trodden, high res, reflections of maturity.
“Black&Blue” has Vince bringing a little more R&B melody into the fold, with a sing-song chorus that’s solemn, but not without its strings of hope keeping things in perspective. Vince has always been good at delivering a subjective and universal perspective that’s only been humanist. His perspective stays in the bigger picture, as if he can’t allow himself to slip into the trappings of tunnel vision. Maybe that’s from hyper vigilance from growing up in a rough environment. I’m not Vince, but having shared a comparable lower class upbringing gives way to understand how it can be relatable.
That idea of not being able to let go seems to haunt him. Both “Government Cheese” and “Children’s Song” have Vince reflecting, and identifying his solemness with his current state of success, seemingly unable to reconcile the two worlds, and refusing to let go of his past for his future. It’s the curse of choosing authenticity, essentially. There’s no way to identify your upbringing with the success you found in your present, but flat out attribute all of your success of the present with the experience of your past. “Children’s Song” has Vince not defending, but not allowing commentary to sway his decision as he tells whomever ‘don’t play with my crippin, go play with your kids, bitch‘. It’s a conscious acknowledgement that he’s doing what he wants, and makes his own choices, but doesn’t allow it to press him. The stoic delivery of this line in particular brings into focus more of Vince’s maturity, that aligns him more sonically, and inspirationally with the likes of Danny Brown’s Quaranta, or his more somber moments in SCARING THE HOES (“Tell Me Where To Go”, specifically).
The production throughout mixes minimal sparsity with glints of shimmering synths. “Government Cheese” in particular, with LeKen Taylor providing a stellar melody that feels frantic, but stays rooted in the base live production, coming off like a wild idea that one lets flurry to completion before tapering off. In between tracks you have beautiful Kharungbian like composition, shining a light on the musicians laying the groundwork for Staples to explore. It’s a gentle touch on an album that carries a lot of weighty subject material. Along with that, in very Vince fashion are clips of gunfire, city background noise, and the audiological mythos of Long Beach Vince has been developing since Hell Can Wait.
Sitting almost center in the midst of all this introspection is arguably one of the best Vince tracks to date. “Étouffée” gives us a taste of what we’ve come to expect from Vince. The slick as fuck beat slithers, as Vince reflects back on fan criticism, his roots to New Orleans, and introspection on his identity. It’s a beautiful track that immediately hooks into your brain, with the chorus continuously on loop in your head. It’s Vince at his most clear, and sobering acknowledgement of his identity, wrapping his roots, and reflections around a positive message that rings true in its establishment of existence before it breaks out into a Mannie Fresh conclusion before sirens and crying cut through it all, and end the track with subtlety.
The other more positive moment comes on track “Little Homies” with Vince finally finding himself in an OG position of mentor, giving the younger ones encouragement as Vince repeats like mantra ‘life’s hard, but I go harder’, and operates as a spiritual twin to “Étouffée”. The remainder of the tracks have Vince dealing with the struggles, and tangly mess that is love. “Justin” is a sad as fuck piece of hip hop story telling that feels classic, but spun through the eyes of Vince’s vision, and comes out as a piece of slice of life art.
It’s fitting Dark Times finishes up with “Freeman” and “Why Won’t the Sun Come Out?”. Vince sounds optimistic as he expresses pride in who he is, how he got here, and who he has become. He never denies the past, and only allows it to represent where is he today. Always grateful, but not in denial of what that was or looks like.
Vince has never been a traditional person. Through his humanist perspective Vince denies any label that anyone gives him, and focuses solely on defining who he is in his own terms. What means for us, the ones that enjoy his work, is that we get another album that may feel ahead of its time in terms of the current trends, and previous output, but shows growth, and demands us to keep up. Like using a knife to cut water, Vince can’t and won’t be held back or maintained. He decides his destiny, and the fans can either follow and enjoy, or drop off. It doesn’t really matter which, because the end result will always be premier, genre defining hip hop that is comparable to none.
