"It's not that deep" might be one of Vince Staples' favorite sentiments, whether in his recent Apple Music interview or when responding to overzealous fans online. The West Coast native has a beloved reputation for his upfront, earnest, and unfiltered perspective on hip-hop, commercialization, and the Black experience that is often perceived more comically than it should. What he says is not for shock value or nihilistic validation, but just a clear-cut explanation of why he views the world more cynically and skeptically than most. Vince always crystallizes reasons for this approach into his music, especially on his new album Dark Times.
This LP also serves as a bit of a sonic, emotive, and structural continuation of the ideas he championed in his last two solo studio albums. Vince Staples' self-titled record was a moody deconstruction of his personal woes, beliefs, and demeanor whereas Ramona Park Broke My Heart nostalgically reflected on how the blessings and stresses of his upbringing in Long Beach shaped him. With Dark Times, he combines those two narratives to craft a more holistic, complete, and broad statement on history, temptation, and struggle as stormy clouds that are hard to strike light through in his life. Despite the sheer weight of this approach, the 30-year-old engages with it calmly and compellingly across a gorgeous sonic pallet that says much more in 35 minutes than most rap projects do in 70.
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Dark Times' Production Lives Up To Its Title
Brevity and tightness are a staple of Vince's recent catalog, and while Dark Times is not the most extreme example of this, it's the most fully realized. Thanks to seamless song transitions, consistently watery and soulful instrumentals with wondrous sample selection, and a very consistent emotional temperature, this album feels carefully constructed and assembled in a no-frills, minimal way that makes it clear that this deliberation is the result of a focused mindset at the moment, not meticulous and over-explanatory planning. As far as the sound, even the "Liars" interlude holds some dreamy woodwinds and tender piano, a beauty which other moments like the subtle bass on "Shame On The Devil" reinforce. Even if the album can sound ominous, the guitar licks and peppy percussion on cuts like "Children's Song" embody the blue skies in Ramona Park.
There are guest vocalists on here like Baby Rose, María Real, Maddy Davis, and Kilo Kish that add more color, harmony, and ethereal vibes to already pristine productions. As far as the personnel behind the board, LeKen Taylor and Tyler Page take over most of the beats, with Cardo, Jay Versace, Michael Uzowuru, and more also being big players. Yet the extensive production roster doesn't dampen the cohesive flow of Dark Times, nor does it render its warm, cavernous sound redundant. Songs such as "Étouffée" give the album a welcome bounce to keep the energies afloat, while the pots-and-pans drums and wintery keys on "Nothing Matters" bring us back to concrete. In fact, even sparse, staccato notes on "Black&Blue" combine with organs to really make bare elements sound all the more lush, and the dreary but lyrically triumphant "Freeman" solidifies this "less is more" belief.
Vince Staples' Lyricism
Over these beats, Vince Staples delivers sharp, relatable, blunt, and sometimes brutal bars on all the topics his catalog tackles. The lyrical matter (in this case, not directly from his pen) comments on systemic paradoxes and conflicting experiences, such as the short intro's breezy wind chimes leading into lynching imagery: "To live is to be, like the n***a in the tree." But it also invokes vast pop culture knowledge and boasts cheeky lines like, "I don't need your flowers, I'm living / First time I seen a million dollars, I squinted." Vince also flexes some storytelling muscles through the disillusionment of cheating on "Justin" and a conversation with an incarcerated friend on "Government Cheese." The ode to music's apologetic power on "'Radio'" and the more positive and hopeful "Little Homies" flesh out the overall character portrait through specific periods of growth.
All in all, Vince Staples talks a lot about duality and misleading behaviors in Dark Times. Whether it's his commentary on how disposable people treat romantic partnerships, or his thoughts on the cyclical violence and combative frame of mind that white institutions exploit, his skepticism is overt. Most interestingly, though, the "SAMO" spitter seems to flip the idea of "making it out" on its head. Whereas this would be a grateful escape for someone of his background, he actually can't fathom how his fame wouldn't make him more sensitive and hyper-aware of his hardships. But it's also not as hopeless of a conclusion as you might expect. Rather than use the light to forget the dark times, this album appreciates and savors those sunny days while acknowledging there is always something murky and much more real and urgent underneath.
A Stellar Career In Sum
Empathy is a dangerous quality in Dark Times. It can falsely equate rich people's problems to prison time, blind one to insincere romantic advances, and serve as a crutch for guilt, separation, and evolution. Vince Staples faces these contradictions with his head held high and an unflinching gaze. Still, through deepening that empathy and understanding of the less green grass he came from, someone of his stature and lived experience can characterize it. Much like the grounded selflessness and removal of ego that this comes from, the lyricism and sonic pallet here are easy to comprehend, but difficult to fully reckon with if you don't share that 20/20 hindsight. Most importantly, they portray a man who "longs for loving and affection," but chooses to value simplicity and familiarity in the face of once again placing misguided trust in justice, love, or safety.
Dark Times as an album is fulfilling despite its short runtime, and the somber but occasionally bright production and well-paced, measured writing go a long way to impress and evoke. But it's also somewhat of a summary and acknowledgment of everything Vince Staples has waxed poetically about since his Def Jam debut over a decade ago. The "Blue Suede" synth returns here, and the closing bird chirps and background noise on the Santigold-assisted outro, "Why Won't The Sun Come Out?," bleeds perfectly back into the project's opener, "Close Your Eyes And Swing." This thematic distinction and journey is not a loop that Vince feels stuck in: it's one that he's just been patient with unpacking. It resulted in an amazing artistic run that, while "not that deep," speaks volumes to the need to understand our world for ourselves, and ourselves alone.
