Bandana by Freddie Gibbs (Review)
[Originally Published on April 2, 2020]
His eyes squeezed shut, Freddie Gibbs bobs his head intently with his toddler son strapped to his lap. He thanks the LA Leakers radio show for having him back on before shredding Dom Kennedy’s “My Type of Party” beat to dust in a freestyle. Snapping out of his rap trance, he defiantly declares himself the best rapper alive before affectionately pulling his son closer. As far as his declaration, he’s not far off. The man behind two classics and at least three more outstanding projects this decade, Gibbs is probably the best rapper you’ve never heard of. Believe it or not, he likes it that way.
For insight into Gibbs’s psyche, we can first fixate on his hometown. Gary, Indiana is one of many impoverished rural cities that never makes it on the news. About 33% of the town’s homes are abandoned or unoccupied; selling crack and losing friends who’ve barely begun to live is an indiscriminate rite of passage; and perhaps worst of all, the misery in the air seems poised to continue to thicken. There are no towering skyscrapers, no innovation hubs, no budding cultural scenes. Freddie Gibbs is well-acquainted with being overlooked, underestimated, and forgotten. He leans into it, thrives in it. His uncompromising beginnings and unforgiving personal life have prepared him for this moment. He ravenously seizes a second opportunity to work with legendary producer Madlib, resulting in the unconventional wizard’s best collaboration since Madvillain.
Proper album opener “Freestyle Sh*t” is the Grammy acceptance speech Gibbs will never give. He depicts how his life has changed as drug dealing evolved from his full-time job, to a part-time, to simply a framework he uses to approach his hustle as an artist. He raps that through “crack cocaine, [he] was [his] own investor” back “when the music wasn’t moving.” No one whose heard Gibbs spit could ever dispute his technical prowess, but many did doubt his ability to make hits. Among those skeptics was ATL pioneer Jeezy—himself known for churning out hits like butter. After signing to Jeezy’s CTE label, Gibbs was sold many empty promises before launching his own label. On this track, he shares how the ordeal and subsequent industry blackballing caused even him to have doubts. “Could I do this shit independent, that was my only question,” he raps. Although he thanks everyone whose remained loyal to him, make no mistake: every door he’s ever walked through was built with own two hands. He makes certain we won’t forget.
Madlib produced the entirety of this album on his iPad—but not because he didn’t bring his A-game. The Oxnard beatmaker wanted to construct a soundscape that was grimy and unpolished, a fitting canvas for the project’s emcee. The result is remarkable. There are enough drums and hi-hats here to satiate hardcore hip hop fans, but this is far from a head-knocker. We hear quiet storm loops, soul samples, and subtle strings throughout. The storytelling is pristine. Gibbs remorsefully recounts past romance on “Practice” and unloads haunting images that seem seared to the back of his eyelids on “Situations.” “Palmolive”, an even silkier song than the title suggests, is a razor thin sparring sesh with fellow coke kingpin Pusha T.
Bandana is sonically and thematically more balanced than its equally elite predecessor Pinata. The 2015 classic could’ve used hype tracks such as “Giannis” and “Flat Tummy Tea” to ease its load. This project is Freddie’s fully realized potential when he focuses on making his music dope, not pitching it. His first effort as a recovered drug dealer set the bar in 2019. This album’s theme was encapsulated in a loaded line from his LA Leakers freestyle: “The rap game easy, the trap game was difficult.”
