‘Shea Butter Baby’ review

When Top Dawg Entertainment was declared the “Mafia of the west” by Kendrick Lamar on his untitled.unmastered record some years ago, there was little competition in terms of a record label that could rival what was, at that point, Lamar, Jay Rock, Ab-Soul, ScHoolboy Q, SZA and Isaiah Rashad.

Young Money was running on both Drake, whose OVO Sound label generated few poorly marketed studio albums (outside of his own), and Nicki Minaj, but Lil’ Wayne was still getting his Cash Money deal ironed out. Rick Ross’s MMG label had too many roster overhauls, and was plagued with inconsistency. The J. Cole-conceived Dreamville Records, at that point, had only generated underground praise, outside of J. Cole, with Bas.

Fast forward to 2019, with a more mature cast of stars (the aforementioned two and J.I.D) stuffing the North Carolina-based label — including Ari Lennox, a force who can resuscitate R&B, despite the small sample size shown in her discography — and The ‘Ville might be in contention with TDE.

For those who claim Cole and J.I.D don’t pull enough weight to make Dreamville sit atop the scene, Lennox’s latest release, Shea Butter Baby, can convert the skeptics.

Theo Croker’s trumpet-playing on “Chicago Boy,” which kicks off the album, weaves in and out of prominent bass and hypnotic drums, as Lennox recalls the story of what ensued after meeting a Chicagoan man at a CVS store. Before the next track “BMO,” a detailed account of a highly romantic night in bed, there is a spoken piece about how the succeeding song will be nasty, as she specifically warns men and people at her label to leave the listening space.

The J.I.D-assisted “Broke” has both rising artists speaking about the immediate bond that can spawn when a couple is without money, over minimalist production carried by a raw guitar, 808 drums and punctual snaps.

Lennox broaches the topic of carnal desire over Croker’s saxophone, which is paired with soft piano keys and jazz drumming, on “Up Late.” Neighbors question her job, while she’s doling out a key fab to secure a hookup.

The title track has gotten the most attention hitherto, given its inclusion on the most recent Creed movie soundtrack. It is here where J.Cole and Lennox share the chorus and exchange philosophies on how they like to please their sexual partners, with Cole offering indiscernible “oohs”. Spanish guitar blends well with an empty snare and kicks, with drums that are reminiscent of something one could find on an old Missy Elliot album.

After a forgettable “Speak to Me,” “New Apartment” is a celebratory track, which features Justin Rendall on flute and saxophone, about what it’s like to move into an unfurnished place, and, thus, wholly establish dominance: “And everything stays where I leave it / Every damn rule I created.”

The skit that ends the track, a humorous account on how materialism can’t accompany a person quite like another person can (“I started thinking about my couch and my table and my chairs and all this…that I have, and, it’s just like, all the furniture you get does not keep you warm at night”), embellishes, in a good way, the ever-present quirk of Lennox, differentiating her from neo-soul artists of past generations.

“Facetime,” a Cole-produced joint, has Lennox using the videotelephony feature to bridge a temporal gap in her relationship, a thesis about prior obligation commandeering one lover away from another lover. “Pop” is a testament to how direct the D.C. native can be, as she asks for unwavering devotion before thinking to give her body up.

Steeping drums and bass enter with jazzy piano immediately on “I Been,” a funky anthem about ways to maneuver oneself past the footprint left by an old flame. Her remedy: smoking, which, Lennox indirectly posits, can diffuse some emotional abuses of a relationship. Also, she jokingly advises one not to date until 43, likely to simulate one past the point of childish bickering and grand visions of infidelity.

At moments, Lennox’s voice and her vacillating intonations can recall, say, those of a young Erykah Badu, but Lennox can bust into a higher register at any given moment, and hold notes longer, in ways that Badu never could. It’s also ridiculous to box-in a young up-and-comer, like Lennox, as a carbon copy of a neo-soul legend, a la Badu.

The album’s closer, “Static,” likens Lennox’s significant other to a radio, a device that can be subject to rough patches (static) and dead conversation (white noise), and something that needs a signal, but also one that can help one fall asleep at night. Drums hit hard with bleeding horns, while a lush piano carries the last 15, or so, seconds of the track, all to punctuate a strong debut album from Dreamville’s superwoman.