Actually André, You Still Got Something to Say

Photographs by Renell Medrano from GQ

It’s Friday, and I sit here minutes away from hitting play on “New Blue Sun,” André 3000’s first album release in almost twenty years. I have no disillusions over what I’m about to get into. I’m not a flutist. I’ve never played a woodwind instrument in my life. I wasn’t even among the “lucky” ones hurled into that world of reeds and embouchure holes as so many were — often involuntarily — during my braces and glasses-wearing formative years. I’m under no pretense that, yes, I’ll get some woodwind, but I’ll also get some modicum of the 3 Stacks with the impeccable wordplay, storytelling, and wisdom I’m accustomed to. No, I know what I’m getting. I don’t even necessarily expect to connect with the album, as I’m certain those with a background in the woodwind world may.

I’m from that generation who remembers when the hip-hop world orbited around its city of origin, New York City. It was a generation where the mere mention of a southern rapper or any rap song from any place below the Mason-Dixon line got you laughed into a corner so hard you wanted to retreat in embarrassment like a Homer Simpson meme. I remember the infamous Source Awards in New York City when Atlanta’s own Outkast won Best New Rap Group, were booed, and the call heard industry-wide was issued by one of its most creative sons that would change the trajectory of the music industry forever — “The South got something to say.”

I’m hitting play on this thing simply because it’s André 3000.

In André’s recent GQ interview, he makes clear that there are no vocals on this release at all. Not only that, he explicitly says “rap isn’t what comes” to him anymore, and he essentially no longer feels it as he once did. I completely understand about “vibes” and “feelings” not aligning with certain experiences. However, when he expounds further on the “whys” of no longer feeling rap, it seems more about how external pressures make him feel versus some deep spiritual realignment.

I can also understand that — the strain of the world’s expectations. On top of everything else, there’s the layer of today’s social media with its viral trends, the public’s invasive proclivity, and its simultaneous impulse to seek displays of the failure of something. It is vast and deep. It must be overwhelming for a man who’s usually on most people’s top ten of all-time greatest emcee’s list. With each passing year, the desire for epic verses from André rises, and along with it, the expectation that when he does emerge from his life of tranquility, his bars will be from Mount Sinai, sent down from God himself.

Pressure.

André touches on that. He mentions how the idea of being in the limelight and the nature of the notion of celebrity has shifted during his time in the industry. It is partially why he developed social anxiety. I can completely empathize with how the public nature of everything now can be overwhelming for someone with an introspective and sensitive disposition like André’s. However, he also mentioned something that, while I respect, I’m not sure I quite grasp.

In the interview, 3 Stacks says, “I’m 48 years old. And not to say that age is a thing that dictates what you rap about, but in a way it does. And things that happen in my life, like, what are you talking about? ‘I got to go get a colonoscopy.’ What are you rapping about? ‘My eyesight is going bad.’”

Um… yes ‘Dre, that’s exactly what you rap about.

I’d offer that he should probably have a discussion with Nas, Black Thought, Jay-Z, or Phonte about how to rap as a mature artist and still find your footing. They’ve all managed this, and nothing they rap about seems inauthentic.

One of my favorite Phonte songs, Expensive Genes, is from his 2018 release, where he discusses many of the nuisances of entering middle age, from antihistamines to high blood pressure to sleep apnea machines. Jay-Z has graduated from braggadocio around being an active participant in the drug world to how to leave it and build a legacy of wealth for your children (no matter how you may or may not feel about his particular expositions on capitalism). Black Thought is, well… your favorite rapper’s favorite rapper. And while I’ve always been a Tarik fan, at 52 years old, he’s just now peaking, in my opinion. Some of his verses on Glorious Game are among my favorite Thought bars. Then there’s Nas. His last releases also do a similar thing, touching on what he’s learned from his younger years and what it’s now like to be an older man. Not only does he no longer desire certain things, he often lacks the energy to even participate in them if he did. All of his recent work, especially with Hit-Boy, has been well-received, even garnering him a Grammy nomination this year for Best Rap Album.

I’d say to André that you have an entire generation of 40+ year-olds who grew WITH you and are also dealing with health, aging parents, kids, thinking about their legacy, losing loved ones, etc. It’s exactly what we need and want to hear. Sure, you may not be what’s going viral on TikTok or “trending” (which I say is a good thing nowadays, actually), but you certainly will have an audience there for you ‘Dre. And they’ll be enthusiastically awaiting every verse you’d lay about bad vision and colonoscopies. Why? Because that’s now our life as well.

We’d tell you that if you no longer feel rap because you are no longer inspired to do so, then we respect that. However, please don’t shy away from it over some perception of what you think we may want to hear. And please, don’t shy away from it because of the acute intrusiveness of today’s culture featuring algorithms, news feeds and fyp’s. Drop your ‘ish and walk away — the same way you’ll approach this instrumental project, I assume.

Anyway, I’ll listen to the flute album. At the end of the day, we love you and wish you nothing but your best mental health above anything else.

But also, yes, André, you still got something to say.

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