By the time the hidden track fades out, there is nothing to do but admire. Admire and hope that Slug never figures out the art of conversation. “Don’t Ever Fucking Question That” explains why: “If I was better at finding the right words to say / I wouldn’t need to write these motherfuckin’ songs.”
Lucy Ford is one of those albums. It is really that good. Each song is like a platter that emcee Slug puts his heart on and serves to the listener. His rhymes are frighteningly personal, whether it be stories of his “love” life, his biting cynicism and sarcasm or his boundary-free creativity. On top of that, the guy can plain rhyme his ass off. Lyrics like Slug’s deserve beautiful, innovative soundscapes, and the beats-by-committee (Ant, Jel and Moodswing9) approach on Lucy Ford proves to be more than generous in that respect. The noise moves from boom bap to introspection, providing an unevenness in sync with Slug’s words.
By the time the hidden track fades out, there is nothing to do but admire.
Every once in a long while I hear an album that, upon first listen, I know will be the best album of the year. The thought starts to creep up on me near the halfway mark. At that point I almost cheer for the rest of the songs, hoping they can sustain the classic status that the first half had. Most times the excitement is in vain. But sometimes it happens: perfection.
Lucy Ford is one of those albums.