The Roots f/ Big K.R.I.T.: "Make My"

Considering the last five years of the Roots’ discography—three albums of murky, minimalist arrangements and unapproachably dark themes, as if the group has been overcorrecting for its day job snickering at Fallon jokes—it’s hard to forget how much sonic texture these guys used to explore. The paranoid neo-soul of “You Got Me,” the from-the-next-room funk of “Clones,” the viable indie chug of “The Seed 2.0”—all were once examples of hip-hop innovation reigning supreme over much of the genre, and now they represent unrepeatable catalogue gems as the band continues to substitute prolificity for proficiency in the studio. It’s certainly convenient to credit the late night gig for building up the Roots’ cover repertoire, but easy to curse as well: as the band has grown peerless at reinventing the songs of others, it seems to have lost the skill of experimenting with its own sound.

“Make My,” however, is quite possibly a return to form. At very least, it puts a muzzle on the increasingly loquacious Black Thought: here he splits vocal duties with Big K.R.I.T., each one dropping a short verse before the track blossoms into the contemplative groove of its two-minute coda. This instrumental outro, in fact, manages to pipe in an overactive and plastic bass line—think Stevie Wonder circa Innervisions (1973)—as well as subtle choral harmonies, fluttering synths, half-measure minor chord teases, and a reverberating percussive shuffle from the ever-reliable ?uestlove. It’s complex yet airy funk, symphonic in execution and sweetly listenable; perhaps an overdue replacement of the middle fingers and raised fists of the most recent Roots singles with a bobbing head in the clouds.

To boot, the lyrics are more than bearable: there’s no faux bravado, no overcooked social consciousness, not even a self-referential use of the word “legendary.” Instead, “Make My” fits near the end of the Roots’ upcoming Undun, a concept album about an innocent kid turning to a life of crime, and plays as a sort of eulogy. Big K.R.I.T.‘s verse is reflective and regretful; Black Thought’s is a simple and subtly clever suicide note. “I’m contemplating that special dedication,” goes one line, “to whoever it concern, my letter of resignation.” This is certainly a new look for Black Thought—rapping neither about his own success nor the struggle of others, but rather masquerading as an oblique character—and a welcome one as well. To rediscover its soul, perhaps the Roots just needed to ditch the ego.