This deep into their career Atmosphere has very little to prove. They’re icons and built an empire in one of the last places you’d expect hip-hop to thrive. They’ve proven that it’s true: greatness can happen anywhere, so long as there’s an equal amount of heart and soul. They’ve also been purveyors of truth, and if there’s one harsh truth left to face it’s that creativity comes with a shelf life.
Fishing Blues is a testament to longevity but it’s also wildly inconsistent. It’s an effort that feels underdeveloped, almost unnatural; out of touch from Ant’s side and stretched thin on Slug’s. Lyrically some beloved tropes reemerge but at 18 songs it’s too heavy-handed; they would have benefited from having nightly tightly worked songs than 18 average joes.
Atmosphere is too revered to have one album bring them down, but it’s a project that should have been executed differently and approached with a different level of intensity, even if it’s from a veteran’s point of view.
‘Like a Fire‘
There’s a fine line between speaking about hot fire and spitting hot fire, and Slug opens the album by falling in the Antarctic. For the average rapper it would pass, but for a living a legend with a diehard group of fans it’s not enough. Ant engineers a breakneck beat, but it’s not gelling in the way we’ve come to expect. The heart is there, but the edge is noticeably absent:
‘Ringo‘
A song that could easily find itself on one of the Sad Clown Bad Dub EPs, which isn’t a good thing. He’s rehashing a proven formula, which is one sign that the end is approaching. The playful beat is reminiscent of “Sunshine” and Slug delivers a hearty dose of self-deprecation, but so what. It’s him recapturing an antiquated sound and he’s a much better writer than that:
‘Besos‘
Ant hammers out a beat like a seasoned blacksmith; hard boom-baps with just the right dosage of whimsy. It leaves a proper runway for Slug to take flight, but he stumbles a bit on the takeoff. He’s swinging valiantly, but it doesn’t thump with intensity. What’s missing are those dew drops of insight. Before they’d balance out the thunder, and without them it sounds wild and haphazard:
‘Pure Evil‘
The spaghetti western beat brings out the orator in Slug, and he smashes it with a simple yet authoritative verse. He’s analyzing police brutality, but not being overt about it. The subtle delivery opens the imagination and Slug handles the responsibility with precision and grace. But don’t get it twisted, he’s aiming for the jugular; just doing it in a way that suites his current state of mind:
‘Perfect‘
It has all the elements of a great song; a solid beat, a stealthy verse and a catchy hook. But it’s too glossy, so clean that you almost have to do a double take to make sure it’s them. Slug is expressing unbridled positivity, and sounds scripted. What’s lacking is that wretched, unresolved pain, the ingredient that made Atmosphere shine with such force: [LISTEN]
‘Seismic Waves‘
Slug chisels away at the American Dream, knocking off huge chunks at a time. He takes it even further by chipping away at his own ego, dismantling all the distractions that has kept him away from the truth. The beat holds steady, which gives Slug the room to breathe. It’s yet another milestone moment but not as seismic as he’s hoping. The insight is there, but it’s missing its edge:
‘Next to You‘
True to the album’s namesake, the blues fits Atmosphere like a glove. Ant is able to find a compromise between the genres with some savvy sampling and the thoughtful placement of breaks. By slowing it down Slug is able to ease into his verse, which is a pace that (whether he believes it or not) suites him well. He’s a vet and he doesn’t need to blow his top anymore to get things straight:
‘The Shit We’ve Been Through‘
Ant continues with the cinematic themes, reminiscent of some nasty Ennio Morricone soundtrack. Slug pulls his journal out and digs deep, offering insight into the life and how unforgiving it can be on relationships. It’s all love, but not without some heady self-doubt and pain. This is vintage Atmosphere where honesty is the foundation, a player’s anthem that speaks the cold hard truth:
‘When the Lights Go Out‘
Slug revisits his Deep Puddle Dynamics days and invites a few microphone misfits along for the ride. The verses are heavy and slam against the beat like a monster wave hits the shore. This is the menacing Slug that fans grew with and to hear him return to this level of intensity is promising. Ant handles the beat well adding the right amount of audible tomfoolery to keep everyone on their toes:
‘No Biggie‘
Ant conjures up a heavy potion that lands somewhere between El-P and Just Blaze. It’s constructed well, but slightly over-produced. The high gloss puts Slug in a bad mood, and he proceeds to air out some of his frustration. Who exactly he’s referencing is a mystery. But the dark cloud that looms over gives off a feeling of ill will and malcontent, a vengeful song with vendetta on its mind:
‘Everything‘
Ant lights up a campfire and Slug delivers a hokey rap. He’s analyzing his mortality and in the process aging himself more than he needs to. He still has a ton left in the tank, and to hear him rap like this is like hearing Calvin Johnson calling it quits. In the end he says he’s inspired, but it sounds like his lyrical legs are buckling. The heart is there, but a bit on the campy side:
‘Chasing New York‘
Slug hits the perfect stride; soulful and contemplative, but not so nostalgic that he loses the audience. He’s an elite storyteller and he captures the mood perfectly; an admixture of ambition and disappointment. There’s a confident bounce to the beat that mirrors Slug’s attitude and it offers the necessary groove to keep matters light. Aes enters in the end, adding a quick shot of hot sauce:
‘Sugar‘
When Atmosphere adheres to the less is more philosophy they hit a note that can resonate for days. Ant has a bag of piano licks that he can pull from at anytime, and Slug knows exactly what to do with it. One of his best skills is the ability to frame love in such a way that captures both the misery and euphoria. In Atmosphere’s case it’s always better when there’s a little bit of pain involved:
‘Fishing Blues‘
The thesis to the album. It’s slow and mellow, and the Grouch adds a much appreciated blue collar perspective. It’s unfortunate that it’s buried this deep into the album because there’s about four other songs that capture the same vibe. At this point it’s running on empty, and it leaves a sour feeling of redundancy. Slug is opening up, and the fish just keeps getting bigger and bigger:
‘Won’t Look Back‘
Atmosphere takes a hard right turn and ends up in pop central. The beat is sparkling and caters more towards Kim Manning than Slug, which is enough to turn off even the most diehard fan. Lyrically Slug stays true to his ways, and is as honest as can be. But it lacks candidness and is empty in the sense that there are no gory details. This is a crossover and it doesn’t sit well with the savages:
‘Anybody That I’ve Known‘
The references to his former self is reaching a breaking point. It is so egregious that it dilutes previous efforts. These are add-ons and are only half understood, which adds an unnecessary turbulence to the album. It’s not a surprise to hear Slug sing, but it is a surprise to hear how tentative he sounds. He’s unsure and wading in uncharted waters. A song that does far more damage than good:
‘Still Be Here‘
Slug reminds the world of his dedication, but it’s more for himself than anything. It’s self-preservation; something that this album can do without. His legacy is already sealed and all his fans know that he’ll be in it to the end, so there’s no need to state the obvious. If there weren’t so many songs maybe it would have been more poignant. At this point, however, it’s another long winded verse:
‘A Long Hello‘
The acoustics give it a dimly light, hole in the wall bar feel. But it’s too clean, not enough blood or sweat on the stools to make it real. Even Slug sounds detached, rambling on in an intentionally off beat way. If he was wasted maybe it would work otherwise there’s no need to simulate the real. It’s an odd way to close out an equally odd album, the final stumble across an overdue finish line:
