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Watch as he navigates being a dad, new business opportunities, and going through a divorce.
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That hit led to Flockaveli (2010), a Top Ten album armed with “Hard in da Paint” and “No Hands,” similarly rowdy and memorable hits that were quickly RIAA-certified. Since then, he has multiplied his number of intermediate mixtape releases, and has expanded into the reality TV space. Lawrence marks the transitions and calls out the effects, theoretically making his process transparent, the song retains its mysterious power.One of the biggest commercial rap breakouts was that of Waka Flocka Flame, an Atlanta-based artist who crashed the Top 20 of the Billboard R&B/hip-hop chart with “O Let’s Do It” (2009), a boisterous collaboration with producer L-Don Beatz. McAllister-Dykes’s hollering give it nearly gravitational force.) Even as Mr. (The last two minutes become breathtaking: the shifting harmony, and Ms.
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Its tag line is “You’re not a spiritual being having a spiritual experience/but you’re a spiritual being having this natural experience,” and from a slow-funk start, with several keyboardists talking among one other with trickled lines, the song builds a tower. That bit comes from “Spiritual,” the record’s masterpiece.
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“In case you don’t know the fruits of the spirit, we gonna sing ‘em to you. He leaves teacherly fingerprints all over “YRM,” delivering small introductions and compact religious messages, chattering through the tracks, speaking a line before the choir sings it, introducing every musician at one time or another, calling cues for a band that clearly doesn’t need them - “Split the parts!” “Glissando!” - or invoking higher orders of direction. Lawrence’s constant attention: his maintenance, his alterations. The songs always win.īut even those songs transcend their period clichés because of Mr. He’ll draw out repetitions for a good long time for the song’s music and message to work on you. He’ll add more countermelodies than he needs, and they can create an eerie tension. His pop-gospel ingredients aren’t so unusual: upward key changes, syncopated and synchronized horn lines, the introduction of new melodic strains, the gradual swelling of volume and harmony. On this record songs that first seem as if they might just founder in triteness - sentimental pastel-pop chords, anonymously slick electric-guitar solos with clean overdrive, washes of percussion chimes - eventually rise up and become moving, fully engaged, sometimes brilliant. Lawrence’s will as composer and arranger, and to a much lesser degree as a light-voiced singer, that makes each song expand and transform.
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This is a live-in-the-studio record with a burly band, full choir and several strong vocal soloists, including Blanche McAllister-Dykes and Kim McFarland-Anderson. If you don’t like a track at first, wait three minutes and notice your reaction. Throughout “YRM (Your Righteous Mind)” he’s always got something up his sleeve. It’s an art about the real-time shifting of feelings, and the bandleader, songwriter and singer Donald Lawrence is alive to that. Gospel depends on the closely monitored connection between artist and audience. And when he looks beyond the domestic, he sees ruin: “Creeks and rivers dried up, down around my place/My woman’s tears are cried up, down around my place.” In “Damn This Town,” a grim march about a deeply dysfunctional family, he allows, “I got a sister who’s a thief and she’s filled with hate/Now she’s got a job working for the state.” But even his celebratory moments, like “I Love That Girl,” hint at tough back stories. In “Adiós to California” the singer suddenly finds himself alone and bereft: “Two cigarettes from the package gone/You must have thought about it just that long.” And he draws a lesson from moments like that in the unplugged, toe-tapping bounce of “All the Way Under”: “I don’t trust a man that ain’t been lost/I don’t trust a woman that ain’t been double-crossed.” “I hide in the darkness/It’s all I can do,” he sings in “Till I Get My Lovin’ Back,” a slow country waltz about a man who can only hope for a reunion. Love has to pull his narrators out of deeper holes this time, reflected in minor chords and mournful realizations.