Chance the Rapper's Coloring Book

It's hard for me to say this is one of the most fortunate albums of all time. (Or mixtape, or whatever.)

What I mean is, sometimes truly great material comes out of an artist when they are having the most miserable time of their lives. There's David Bowie's Berlin trilogy; "Blood on the Tracks" (1974) followed divorce; Hole's "Live Through This" (1994) was released literally after the death of Courtney Love's husband, Kurt Cobain. You can't go to an artist and say, "Well, that period sucked, but at least you made a great album at the end!"

It's also difficult to find a completely new form of music without going through the wringer. We have Charlie Parker's famous "wood-shedding" - literally spending hours, days, in a woodshed practicing the sax and discovering new forms of expression through it. I'm not talking about working hard - frankly, I don't have too high an opinion of "working hard", because sometimes people say "working hard" is equal to "showing up" - in truth I'm talking about revelation, about spending dreary, depressing, dispiriting days doing the same thing over and over again in the madness that something occurs. This to me describes the approach of a Brian Eno or William Basinski; I mean, Basinski was messing around with old tape, just to see what would happen. Sometimes in the pursuit of nothing you arrive at everything.

I don't know much about Chance the Rapper's life; I don't know how he works in the studio, I don't know how he developed his rapping technique, I don't know what events he experienced in his life, I know very little. But I do know "Coloring Book" (2016) - it just seems, given these thoughts, like the most fortuitous music ever made. And this is very shocking, because it seems effortlessly light. There is no Coltrane-esque struggle towards enlightenment; this is divine revelation. We could never expect this from another musician, much less from Chance, again. This is is rarer than lightning striking.

"Coloring Book" is by no means perfect, but I feel like I should qualify that. It's probably perfect to someone. As a collection of strong songs, it's a perfectly fine album (mixtape, WHATEVER). I personally think there are too many songs on it. To me, a mark of a great album is coherency; I enjoy an album in the same vein I enjoy a painting, where the paint, through the color, thickness and shape, tells one continuous story or express one single idea in a variety of ways. I can be quite forgiving if, instead of coherency, there's a lot of vision. "D.R.A.M. Sings Special" is in the latter camp, a very unusual song that proves its worth; "Mixtape", "Juke Jam", "All Night" and "Smoke Break" could have been removed. This is 4/14 of the album.

If you do remove these specific tracks meant, I think, to show Chance's partygoing / club side, which is a good idea to show his commercial viability but might have served him better if it was explored more in an EP / LP, the vision of "Coloring Book" coheres into one lens. Yes, I deliberately focused on Chance's faith by keeping the more religious songs, but aesthetically I also left behind the songs that show Chance ... at ease. Playing with color. Being corny and punning with instrumentals that push his vocals to the forefront. Being himself, that is; specifically, being exuberant and standing at the top of the mountain.

Look no further than the lyrics of opening song, "All We Got":

Tryna turn my baby mama to my fiancée, she like music, she from Houston like Auntie 'yoncé,
Man my daughter couldn't have a better mother, if she ever find another, he better love her, man I swear my life is perfect, I could merch it, if I die I'll prolly cry at my own service.

I imagine the audience looks at this in multiple ways: Chance is bragging about his fortune, and he's genuinely happy to see the pieces of his life come together. There are many times when an artist is bragging about their blessings that it feels condescending, but Chance, in his expression, is so happy that his happiness is by far the most prominent element of his lyrics; the way he emphasizes "daughter" and "mother" is so joyful it's hard to latch onto any other interpretation. And, with a grin on his face, he even sneaks in a self-deprecating joke about dying at the height of his life.

We're not going to talk about the persona non grata on this song, but that's one of the charms of the music: Chance's presence is so strong on the album that everyone else is ignorable, and indeed they take, temporarily, some of his jubilant qualities. Also, this was released in 2016 before all the shit went down, but I do think Chance's magnetism pulls everyone in lock-step with him, making them seem less like douchebags.

But I think the first really special track in "Coloring Book" is "No Problem". Now, I know nothing about music; I probably shouldn't even bother talking about music; but a quality of the instrumentals that strike out to me is the concept of "space", of the music not entirely taking the hearer's perception. It almost feels as if some of the sound goes to the vault, the ceiling of a church. This is coupled with the album's innovative use of a "pseudo-chorus", looped vocals that don't sound looped or chopped up. They don't sound live, but there's something about the vocals conveying the energy of a live choir. You see this in "No Problem" and, later, in "Angels" and "How Great", where, in "How Great", they had a live choir, but they don't sound like they're in the same room as Chance (it's either in the mix or deliberate). If you heard them alone, you would know they're artificial; but Chance puts so much energy into song that they come back as human.

In "No Problem", Chance sings,

Ooh watch me come and put the hinges in their hands, countin' Benjis while we meetin', make 'em shake my other hand, milly rockin', scoopin' all the blessings out my lap, bitch I know you tried to cheat, you shoulda never took a nap.

Later,

Don't tweak bro, it's never sweet, ho, My shooters come for free so
if one more label try to stop me, it's gon' be some dreadheaded niggas in your lobby

This, subtly, brings up one of the major themes of the album: Chance's success is not his own, it's representative of a community's success. It's very important Chance, in "All We Got", brought up his family first: they contribute to his happiness, and his happiness is in contributing to theirs. Chance's "shooters come for free" because they're looking out for him, and he likewise for them; and note, too, how Chance isn't upset that people are asking him for money, but that they - presumably record labels - are trying to cheat him out of his money.

Where "All We Got" and "No Problem" are sheer exuberance, "Summer Friends", very intelligently, tries to mix the mood of the album and put Chance's blessings on a background. It's overall a melancholy track where Chance recalls,

Socks on concrete, Jolly Rancher kids, I was talkin' back and now I gotta stay at grandma crib, bunch of tank-top, nappy headed bike-stealin' Chatham boys,
None of my niggas ain't had no dad, none of my niggas ain't have no choice,

and what follows is Chance recalling the deaths of that summer. But of note, Chance's tone is not sad; he's mournful, but there's a mile between that and sadness. He treats the song as a memorial to them; this song is what he's leaving behind for them. It's small, but it's better than nothing.

"D.R.A.M. Sings Special" and "Blessings", the first batch, are essentially lullabies. Lullabies. That quality in of itself is noteworthy and remarkable in a lot of modern music. "Blessings", in particular, has this fabulist scene:

Jesus's black life ain't matter, I know, I talked to his daddy, said you the man of the house now, look out for your family,
He has ordered my steps, gave me a sword with a crest, and gave Donnie a trumpet in case I get shortness of breath

Let me interject very quickly that Donnie is Donnie Trumpet.

In another bit of fable-making:

They booked the nicest hotels on the 59th floor, with the big wide windows, with the suicide doors,

which takes the language of a dream.

I think we would be forgiven at this point if we think the collection of songs is cute, rather than substantive. What a miracle, then, that Chance pulls out "Angels", where, in a fire, he begins:

I got my city doing front-flips when every father, mayor, rapper jump ship
I guess that's why they call it where I stay, clean up the streets so my daughter can have somewhere to play

The juxtaposition of lyrics is a bit amazing. The first two lines convey the imagery of "air", with the words "front-flips" and "jump ship"; in the following two lines Chance is firmly grounded, the words "stay", "streets" and "play" being important. But here, Chance is not overly critical or so sardonic as to remove from the airiness of the song; he's focused on the big pictures, which are ANGELS. Yes, everyone can leave Chicago, but angels are ever-present, so why worry?

And so Chance spits:

I got caught up with a lil' Xan - couldn't stop me but it slow me though, yeah a nigga famous but you don't know me though, but every DJ still play me though, damn I don't even need a radio and my new shit sound like a rodeo, got the old folks dancin' the do-si-do 'til they fuck around, sign me to OVO
Oooooo I just might share my next one with Keef, got the industry in disbelief, they be askin' for beef,
This what it sound like when God split an atom with me.

It's worthwhile to note that, when other rappers typically boast about their success, they fixate on their relationship to things: I bought this car, I bought this boat, I'm richer than this other guy. But the brilliance of "Angels" is that he's sharing his success with God, and because success with the deity is limitless he even ties himself around Keef, arguing there's no point to disagreement when the blessings just keep flowing. Because of this anchor, his verses come off as effortless, his words revolving around the images of music, dancing, fame, atoms, as to denote the lightness of his soul. Note, too, how Chance says "this for my day one, ten years, seven days", and how, in a moment of generosity, he sings, "And if they rest in peace, they bunny hoppin' heaven's gates."

Oh, and one of my favorite couplets ever: "I just had a growth spurt, / it done took so long, my tippy toes hurt."

If no one thought Chance had ideas to sustain an entire album, "Angels" really hurts that doubt, which doubt he completely shatters with "How Great" and "Finish Line / Drown".

Beginning "How Great" with a 3-minute long intro is - pardon my French - fucking inspired, and then to succeed this genuinely moving intro with one of his best, tightest, most melodic verses ever is a fucking flex.

Magnify, magnify, lift it on high, spit on Spotify to qualify a spot on His side,
I cannot modify or ratify, my momma made me apple pies, lullabies and alibis, the book don't end with Malachi
Devil will win employee of the month by the dozen 'til one score and three years from the third when he doesn't
My village raised 'em a child, come through the crib and it's bustin', you meet anyone from my city, they gon' say that we cousins

This is like chest-beating, confidence-bearing shit right here that would make any other rapper blanch; and if you mistook Chance's pride for bravado, if you think you can scare him off, he booms, "Shabach, barak, EDIFY". Chance is occasionally a shaky person, but there's real conviction here.

But...I don't think it's the best verse, or performance, in the album. I think that distinction goes to the verses of "Finish Line":

They ain't teachin' taxes in school, it don't even matter, I was acting the fool, but who would think the raps would turn into racks? Don't matter, matter a' fact, it could happen to you.
Scars on my head, I'm the boy who lived, boy who loved playing when the boy too sick, reclining on a prayer I'm declining to help, I've been lying to my body, can't rely on myself,
Last year got addicted to Xans, started forgetting my name, started missing my chance, L.A. for four months, end up leaving right back, I'm in love with my city, bitch, I sleep with my hat,
I felt hogtied ever since my dog died, he lived to 84, damn, that's a long time, I know he up there, he just sit and he wait, I'll be racing up the stairs, I'ma get to the gate.

I still fixate on "Waves", by persona non grata. The dominant feeling of that song is, Life is moving so quickly your only choice is to enjoy it before it's over. I think that theme is seen all over "Coloring Book". A lot of rappers analyze; a lot of rappers observe; a lot of rappers narrate, or tell tall tales; but Chance, in this incredibly rare album, experiences, and is. The predominant idea of the album is a man whose life is moving so quickly but he's thankful for every moment of it, and rather than singing to an audience he is singing to God, or to himself in the future who is telling him to savor every moment. If a work of art requires tension, that is the album's dual sides: of Chance's present self wanting to slow down and catch a breath, and his self from the future saying, Don't slow down, and soak it all in.

I don't know, I'm spitballing. I really don't know why and how it works. The other source of tension is that, Chance himself doesn't know how it's all going to turn out, but he's eager to see. It's an album about the future; it's about balancing optimism and one's own powers at the moment and one's doubt given the reality of things and the bones we inherited. (As Chance so desperately sings, "Gimme the water, gimme the water, / I need the kind from Space Jam.")

But really, I have no fucking clue.

I'll say here, I have a personal relation to Chance's music. I listened to "Acid Rap" (2013) when it came out. I thought of him, in a way, as an older brother. Now that I'm much older, I find I'm artistically very different from Chance. But with respect to his earlier music, he still has that personal warmth: that aura of not being superior to you and being, really, the ideal grandson. One can argue "Coloring Book" is the moment Chance saw himself as a public person, not just an artist, but an artist with a message. You can argue that; I'm not going to say anything on that. "Coloring Book", to me, is still Chance in a kind of amber: him at his most approachable and, by extension, most daring. In it, he is still my big brother, and I'm still trying to do better.

One could argue Chance came at the material at the right time: he was going through a religious revival, incidentally timed around the explosion of his career. He was young enough not to fully doubt his faith - where, in more mature artists, the dark night of the soul deepens their connection to God - but he was old enough to perceive the flaws of the world around him. He was right on time to be exuberant concerning God and to understand just an ounce of the burden that exuberance puts on a person. Apparently, looking a little into his personal life, he was right at the cusp of being disillusioned with marriage, but not at the point where he had lost the energy to fight out the struggles of matrimony. You could argue he was in the perfect spot of delusion to feel, in spite of the chaos of his life, that nothing could go wrong and everything was going up.

Timing is, strangely, very important to art. This is one work of art that was timed to the precise microsecond. I guess I shouldn't cast hard work in a bad light: if Chance didn't work so hard, he may not have hashed out the very raw and fleeting material into its greatest form.

I imagine a lot of people say Chance peaked in his early twenties. I'm sure the concept haunts Chance quite a bit. That's sort of the interesting thing about "Coloring Book": it's a blessing and a curse. Who knows? Maybe that's Theme 156 of the album I hadn't considered: that Chance is reckoning throughout the album the burden of being given the right of making such incredible music. But I can firmly say this: I want more music with the sound and color of "Coloring Book", but it is way too much to ask anyone, much less Chance, to do so. Literally ten years since it was released, no rapper or musician has ever come close to getting the right synthesis of materials. It's lightning. It's God-sent. We accept the blessing, because there might not be more. But, personally, I think there will be. As Chance says, "We in a marathon."