(I generalise swathes of inspired sounds have also emerged.) Mos Def however, appears to have remained aloof - an existentialist in a world that clubs together in knots and gangs.Īs such and in spirit, this probably sits closer to Miles Davis than Eminem. It's almost as if his own personal musical trajectory instantly veered from a hip hop top-heavy with crassness, vulgarity, sexism and the celebration of male ego. Much of The Ecstatic does seem to have evolved from this boyhood. After seeing Wild Style in his local cinema, he became instantly determined to remain true to his aesthetic course. Even then, he knew that something extraordinary was happening in his neighbourhood. This was where his personal discovery of hip hop began - right at hip hop's source, when the groundbreaking artists were genuine local heroes and the bright young Mos Def could only wander about, soaking in the immense energy. The spirit of a twelve-year-old Mos Def is hereby evoked, living in a dream through the raging heat of a Bronx summer. The lyrical themes of The Ecstatic are equally disparate 'Life In Marvellous Times' is a case in point. So is it too much? Does it spread so thinly that first-time listeners might feel rather distanced? It is, after all, impossible to place on the radar and, in the world of solid categorisation in which modern music rather deadeningly exists, this is a rare thing indeed.
This is thrilling and almost dangerous.Īnd yet, although this is a profoundly politically aware album even that is not at the expense of sexuality. You listen to this and wonder how it sits with Obama conservatism, let alone that of hip hop's glittery illuminati. The Ecstatic begins with a clip of Malcolm X talking about meeting extremism with extreme methods and how he will join with anybody to make an extreme change.
Taken as a whole, it's a wild and vivid dream, locked into the contemporary by Mos Def's omnipresent polemic. Herein you will find a spinning multi-coloured paint box where the punch of hip hop is tempered by unlikely shards of jazz and jazz-funk, soul, electronica and (I can't think of a better name for it) voice-doodling. The artistry remains understated, modest even and, yet again, it takes several plays before the gems begin to form. Instead, and, I suggest, uniquely, the music spreads to gargantuan proportions, an arena in itself where hip hop conservatism is allowed to play no part. Large sales - P Diddy if not Jay Z - would be an easier option, for no classic single has emerged from any of these albums. Now 35, and four intriguing albums deep, he has managed to balance high-level cinematic excursions with a burning desire to remain a multi-genre artist. In a hip hop arena that often rewards the championing of ego over talent, Mos Def remains an enigma.
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