Album Cover via Babyface Ray/Instagram
Miguelito is courtside like Spike Lee.Â
The critical moment of Babyface Ray’s latest album, The Kid That Did, isn’t a punchline or a novel turn of phrase. It’s a prayer. That’s unusual for the East Detroit native, who is more known for his affable nonchalance—the kind that starts a song with “adlib” or says he’s heard his name spoken in rooms he “ain’t been in”—than appealing to forces beyond his control. Much of his subject matter reflects his elevated agency. But his eleventh solo album finds him brushing against the limits of control and using that to find a coherence that’s eluded him on earlier projects.
In Babyface Ray’s music, allusions and entendres flow over you almost passively. You can find yourself losing direct focus until a sharp line pokes out from otherwise massage-like flows. That can range from the directness of the almost-decade-old “Who Beat Is This” to the pure transcendence of “Ron Artest.” And that’s not saying his usual modus operandi isn’t impressive, but much of his catalog can feel indistinct, like submerging yourself in water without feeling a change in temperature. The effect is undeniable though; even that comparison might be primed from loitering around Ray’s discography and mimicking the aquatic vocabulary.
Ray’s subject matter usually involves his own volition. All the verbs are active. He pushes the Benz through Biscayne, uses the Rolex as a stopwatch and dresses up his closet. That relative level of power is reflected in this latest album’s name “The Kid That Did” and there’s definitely evidence that Babyface Ray continues to exercise similar control. He’s an ad hoc accountant with Bossman Dlow on “Count Money” and plainly declares himself the “Rubberband Man” whenever women ask. There’s a sense of encroaching instability though, no matter how lavish he makes it sound. He’s stuck in unproductive patterns or wishing battles with “demonic entities” were only somnambulic episodes.
And so the sixth track, “I Need Some Motivation” starts with a prayer. The text of the prayer itself is nothing new if you’re familiar with garden variety Protestantism, where any lack of theological rigor is made up in pathos. Acknowledgement of God’s grace and mercy, facing the limits of your understanding in light of agony, still being certain there’s some Plan beyond the edge of your knowledge, etc. It’s all here and universalized with an androgynous voice. If you were just reading the words, it seems relatively positive. The petitioner says “You never leave me…I know you are an honest God” and repeats “thank you” five times in thirty seconds. But, hearing it, you feel the prayer’s gravity, the weight that can only come from some form of emotional or spiritual isolation.
You almost want a little more from the prayer though. It’s coming from a strained place, but still chooses to say “Why not me?” in the face of suffering. It doesn’t carry the same indignation as the Book of Job (“Why did you bring me forth from the womb?”) or A Litany at Atlanta, DuBois’ poetic attempt to reckon with the 1906 Atlanta Race Massacre (“Doth not this justice of hell stink in Thy nostrils, O God?), or even the humble uncertainty that characterized the late Ka’s music. While A Litany is frustrated at divine muteness (“Whisper—speak—call, great God, for Thy silence is white terror to our hearts!”), Ray is favored on “I Need Some Motivation” and in the final analysis. He can empty his heart in a prayer and then remind us he’s “your favorite rapper favorite rapper” before he’s picked his head up. All of this and the song is about how a perfectly timed ass pic can give you the push to finish the day strong. A sound, if unorthodox, understanding of “pray without ceasing.” Ray’s estimation is probably a more accurate picture of the standard believer’s ability to keep church and shake not separate, but competing for the podium.
The blog of record has already suggested that The Album isn’t the best format for Babyface Ray’s music, though that’s the furthest thing from an indictment. The fact there’s a moment to be contextualized in this collection of songs is a credit to either Ray’s personal hand in the album’s structure or his keenness to listen to the right voices. The seven song run at the beginning of the album is virtually flawless, crescendoing with the Veeze-assisted “Wavy Navy University.” The album turns more explicitly reflective after that and is weaker than the opening set of tracks. The audience isn’t privy to who doubted or aggrieved Ray and that lack of specificity, or at least an outline, makes you want more of a window into why he feels certain ways. We don’t need to know who did what or read a paper trail of failed relationships to satisfy the voyeuristic disposition of modern rap fandom, but something beyond just the revelation of an emotional state would be helpful.
Still, there are standouts on the back half. “Cherish” benefits from DJ ESCO’s insular orchestration, “2 for 6” features a journeyman G Herbo verse and the song with Peezy, “Ghetto Boyz,” is irredeemably hard. Even the more introspective “High Off Life” worms its hook into your mind and that’s generally how the last bit of the album operates. The Kid That Did kind of just goes on. Not the way a mandatory visit with extended family does but like getting served a larger portion of a banging dish than you were meant to. The ingredients do matter, but it’s more important they congeal into one enjoyable instance, even if it never happens quite like that again. Not every song is going to be remembered and that’s okay. Albums don’t share their acclaim evenly among each track.
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