Happy 15th Anniversary to Atmosphere’s fourth studio album You Can’t Imagine How Much Fun We’re Having, originally released October 4, 2005.
During the mid to late ’00s, some of the best hip-hop music being released was coming out of Minnesota. During a time when most people associated midwestern hip-hop with Common and Kanye West, the group Atmosphere and their Rhymesayers label were considered underground superheroes. Made up of Sean “Slug” Daley and Anthony “Ant” Davis, Atmosphere had spent years helping to create the Minneapolis hip-hop sound and spreading its influence and reach across the Midwest. With You Can’t Imagine How Much Fun We’re Having, released 15 years ago, they continued to create emotionally challenging and complex hip-hop.
Atmosphere first made their mark with their debut album Overcast! (1997). It was God Loves Ugly (2002), distributed by Rhymesayers and Fat Beats, that became the group’s breakthrough release, and allowed them to continue to expand their popularity. The group quickly followed up with Seven’s Travels (2003), another successful and emotional romp through their own lives as they toured the world. With You Can’t Imagine, the group altered its approach musically, and released what I consider the best album in their catalogue.
Atmosphere had long recorded weirdly eclectic music that people from all walks of life could relate to. Not to put too fine a point of on it, but in terms of lyrical content, they recorded what was regarded as “emo rap” of the time, years before artists like Drake would make it acceptable in the mainstream. You Can’t Imagine brings things back to the raw essence. Yes, Slug still expresses emotion and ruminates on his deeper thoughts about his place in the expanding hip-hop landscape, but much of the album feels more urgent and immediate. And even with the title, the subject matter of the album runs between celebratory and deeply thought-provoking.
You Can’t Imagine starts off with the soaring “The Arrival,” the group’s soaring pledge to inspire with their music and “join the main event and fight against the lukewarm.” Amid a clatter of guitars, vocals, and sampled crowd noise, Slug dictates his call-to-arms, stating, “I’m just a man that loved rap / So much in fact I put every piece of myself inside these fucking tracks / What is that, you whisper something from the back? / You think your personal attacks make up for what you lack?”
The album hits its sweetest spots when Slug and Ant charge forward at a rapid pace, charging headlong into barely controlled sonic chaos. A prime example is “Watch Out,” the album’s blistering first single, which is among my favorite songs that the group ever recorded. Amidst a distorted bassline, keyboard strikes, and thundering drums, the song is a high-octane rumination about the group’s increasing popularity and subsequent, occasionally unrealistic expectations among some portions of their fanbase. Slug reflects on how even as Atmosphere continues to succeed on its own terms, some fans have rebelled against the group no longer being “underground.” Slug also uses the track to deliver salvos against corny emcees, rapping, “Turn your mic off, and turn the lights off / Whoever put your record out must have needed write-offs.” Later he mocks his critics, stating “So criticize me, or idolize me / Study from a distance or stand right beside me.”
“Bam” is a more straightforward lyrical strike, as Ant constructs a rugged drum and percussion-propelled track (including cowbell!) for Slug to deliver some ruff rhymes. At barely over two minutes long, Slug delivers a nearly non-stop barrage of bombs. “Gonna build a home out of syllables,” he raps. “Gonna be alone when the whistle blows /Cut the umbilical on the cymbals / The break will shake your silicone when you feel it go.”
The frantic pace of many of the album’s songs do help convey the often-serious subject matter. “Panic Attack” is a frantic screed against the pharmaceutical industry. Ant creates claustrophobic, buzzing “atmosphere” for Slug to let loose his salvo against a culture in the United States that glorifies a reliance on pills. As the country is presently in the throes of an opioid crisis, this song sounds incredibly prescient.
“That Night” contrasts an urgent pulsing track, pounding drums, and pain-filled sampled vocals with the nearly whispered, almost spoken verses by Slug. It’s certainly the most difficult song on the album, as Slug recounts the “night the music died” during a show at the Sunshine Theater in Albuquerque. Marissa Mathy-Zvaifler, a 16-year-old fan of the group, was raped and killed at the venue before the show by Dominic Akers. A janitor at the concert hall, he lured her to her death with promises that he was going to introduce her to Slug.
Atmosphere dedicated Seven’s Travels (2003) to Mathy-Zvaifler, and here Slug tries to honor her memory, though stating, “It's not up for interpret, paranoid of exploiting the verdict / But in the same breath, I got thoughts that I wanna express and let surface.” He clearly struggles through two verses, admitting that “Don't know what I'm trying to write / But there’s a part of me that keeps dying that night.”
Even when things move at a slower pace, things can remain bleak, particularly when Slug discusses his interactions with the opposite sex. He often likens his addiction to unhealthy relationships with women to a reliance on alcohol, and all the issues of dependency that come with it. He’s very overt with the parallels on “Pour Me Another,” portraying a hopeless drunk at a bar, starved for more liquor.
“Say Hey There,” the album’s second single, strikes an even more mournful tone, as he laments the dissolution of a relationship that’s become toxic for both parties. “There, here we go again, with my threats to leave,” he raps. “Like I've ever left a she who wouldn't let me breathe / Instead I kept it deep enough to get you to believe / That I'm incapable of escaping and setting you free.”
Few emcees do introspection like Slug, who spends much of his albums analyzing the thoughts spinning around in his head. On the gospel inspired “Get Fly,” he contemplates appreciating the small moments in life, knowing that sometimes just making it through the day should be considered a triumph. “Angelface” is one of the group’s many great dedications to touring, as Slug reflects on the minutiae of the many destinations that he’s visited to perform, as well as the people that he’s interacted with. “I've lost more to my traveling soul than I care to talk about, so I'll be out, I'll be on the road,” he asserts.
The album ends poignantly with “Little Man,” where Slug narrates three different letters, first to his son, second to his father, and finally to himself. Slug’s admiration for his son is touching, and there’s real maturity as he delves into his complicated relationship with his once-estranged father, with whom he’s still trying to make a part of his life. And yet, Slug is hardest on himself, as he’s wracked by thoughts of self-doubt and feelings that he’s not spending enough time with his family. “Sometimes you're not impressed with the work you’ve done,” he muses. “And love isn’t love if you didn’t hurt someone.”
As Atmosphere continued to grow in popularity, their sound began to shift, as Ant opted for more live instrumentation, adopting a less confrontational approach to production. Slug has continued to explore his own psyche, but his rhymes don’t quite deliver the impact that they did during his creatively fertile period of the mid ’00s. Artists progress and change as their careers develop, but Atmosphere still has something left in the tank. But the group was never better when they kept things as raw and unvarnished as they did on You Can’t Imagine…
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