Mick Jenkins: Wave[s]

Mick Jenkins’ sophomore tape The Water(s) stood apart in a competitive Chicago scene. With a resonant baritone that telegraphed masculine authority, Jenkins jumped from not mentioned at all to one of his city’s most promising rookie candidates. He combined an ear for poetic language with a principled consciousness and a no-bullshit persona, a formula which quickly snowballed into a substantial underground fanbase. Since that time, in numerous profiles and interviews, Jenkins has wrestled with what this sudden success means. His art has been in many ways about seeking truth in a system designed to obscure it, as an uncompromising, conscientious moralist unafraid to cut through the noise. It’s a relatable pose, but one that doesn’t necessarily lead artist and listener to the same destination. Wave[s] is a new direction, and it may upset expectations, pushing him away from his more strident instincts. Even if it isn’t his best, it’s probably for the best.

What that means in practical terms is a shift from the somber blues and greens of The Water(s) into a more colorful earth-toned exploration of musical possibility. Although his poetic approach and political conscience are still in play, it feels less like a focal point and more a part of the music’s texture. With Haitian-Canadian producer Kaytranada and Chicago-based musical collective THEMpeople providing the backdrop, Wave[s] is influenced primarily by a jazzy neo soul—to be reductive about it—sound. In a time when artists have been celebrated for chasing fashionable worlds of influence through a bottomless hard drive, Jenkins has opted to stick to a core set of inputs, a closed circuit of musical inspiration, and is finding himself within that limitation. His more orthodox listening tastes are refreshing, a reminder of how constraints can provide a framework for freedom.

So when Jenkins opens up his world, it’s for this tradition, one that gives him the grammar to relieve a pressure that had previously driven his work. Thus “40 Below” lets him tell a story of lost love that doesn’t carry the burden of representing some sort of larger structural critique, or the obligation to wake up the world. Jenkins had painted himself in a bit of a corner, and Wave[s] is a sly sidestep, an exploration of possibility from an artist whose overriding purpose had previously eliminated that opportunity. Jenkins could risk didacticism, but it was his willingness to do so that initially cultivated such a loyal following; Wave[s] gives him an opportunity to shake those who may have valued his work only inasmuch as it provided that function.

As a whole, Wave[s] isn’t as strong as The Water(s), and may ultimately be seen as a bit minor in Jenkins’ catalog. His biggest strength as an artist is his pen: as a writer, Jenkins has a gift for poetic turns of phrase and clever wordplay, delivered with potent urgency. The level of applied skill in his writing—the work that suggests he could one day rival some of rap’s biggest names in a larger arena—hasn’t quite been applied to his songwriting. His choruses are things like: “Get Up, Get Out, Get Down!”, bordering on blank cliches in need of workshopping. Even “Your Love”—the album’s far-away highlight, with the potential to cross over—interpolates Lupe Fiasco for its ingratiating hook. Meanwhile, THEMpeople provide a vigorous experimental backdrop, but relative to the style’s jazzy vanguard—think the Los Angeles world of Low End Theory parties, Thundercat, Flying Lotus, and To Pimp a Butterfly—the group is still establishing its voice, working toward a unique approach.

This is not to suggest that the album is a failure, or that Jenkins’ new direction is a bad one; if anything, it points to an artistic flexibility that will pay dividends down the road. The room to grow is there, should he decide to pursue the colors Wave[s] has opened up for him. The artistic success of “Your Love” suggests he has the right instincts, even if the execution is, for now, more of an exploration than a destination.