It's been five years since Aesop Rock last released an album, but in the time since 2007's amazing None Shall Pass, Aesop has been busy. Unfortunately, he's been busy dealing with everything life could throw at him: a friends' passing, the dissolution of his marriage, and the indefinite suspension of activity by Def Jux Records. Like any artist, Aesop put all of that into his work, and with his newest release, Skelethon, he has spun life's dross into gold.
The thing about Aesop Rock albums is that you either get it or you don't. There are no tales of guns, drugs, or ghetto violence on his records. Aesop's rhymes come more from the encyclopedia than from inner city streets, though the topics he broaches are universal. His lyrics are more abstract and verbose than most hip-hop artists, and he fills in his stories with sensory information, comparisons, and references far beyond the norm for the genre. It's virtually cut-up rap, and William Burroughs would be proud. Skelethon is no exception to these tendencies, and it's an album that is information dense, with phrases and lines that reveal multiple meanings on their own, and still more when considered in context.
Any listeners to Aesop's older albums will notice that his relationship to his beats is still evolving. He was never one to trot out an old tired breakbeat, but on Skelethon, not only are the beats and accompanying music a cut above, but the way he sets up his vocal flow on top of those beats seems more advanced. Album opener "Leisureforce" has a groove to it, but with the skittery beat and Aes's off-kilter wordsmithing, it's hard to know where that groove comes from. The album's first single "Zero Dark Thirty," with its crisp drums and murky electronics, brings the dark urgency that Aesop has become known for, and "Fryerstarter" drills into your head with its downtempo science-fiction bleep-and-grind.
There are odd surprises around every corner on this release, like the tale of a faithful beagle rescuing a drowning toddler from the family swimming pool in "Ruby '81," or the wry humor of "Racing Stripes," with lyrics that start at crazy hairstyles and get stranger from there. Rob Sonic makes an appearance and Kimya Dawson offers a childlike vocal melody on "Crows 1," but overall, Skelethon feels solitary, like it was made during late nights spent in rooms with just the man himself working the knobs. Considering the past five years, he may indeed have wanted to be alone to create this release, but if nothing else, at least he can be satisfied in knowing that he's made something great. Skelethon is a rewarding listen that will cause words and images to drift back into your head long after the last track ends.
