If you put effort into something it shows; everything you intend, everything you think about, down to the minutia. It. All. Shows. So if you try even just a little bit, people will see that little bit. They might love it or they might hate it, but, at the least, they’ll have to respect how much thought you put into it.
I’ve heard Cudi’s new album. It’s crazy.
I met Cudi at a friend’s party. The conversation started as a shared admiration of each other’s work (which is definitely a cooler story for me). The conversation ended with an invitation to his studio to listen to his new album (which is definitely an even cooler story for me.)
This is not something I’m particularly accustomed to. I don’t roll through people’s studios and listen to their yet-to-be-released albums, so I didn’t really know what to expect. What if the album sucked? I’d have to sit there in his studio and say something like, “Oh that was dope! I loved that part where you used the toms and then also the hi-hat and said that thing about gold chains!” Then I’d have to excuse myself to the bathroom and get the hell out of there.
But you want to know what I did instead? I wrote a fucking story. That’s right. I wrote a story while I was listening to the album. Here it is:
Looks up into the night sky.
From the point of view of a little kid.
The rocket ship took off and traveled.
The crew was in hibernation until they landed.
The birth was of the crew as they awoke from their stasis.
They stepped out into the world. It was beautiful.
As they were entranced with the planet’s beauty, they ran into some trouble.
Beez. They were stung and were seeing blue.
They were down. Slow and sad.
From blue to pristine white within a beautiful meadow.
There is a house. A very modern wooden house with all exposed window walls.
All around them are beautiful hills. It’s night in the house.
He sits on his throne. He wears a crown. A sorrowful crown.
It’s clean and white now. Sterile. But with half black walls. He was alone. He is the only one of his kind. The only human.
And he became king.
He was the ruler of everything and nothing.
Darkness fell. The King went to the forests to kill all the animals.
He wanted to be the alpha.
If he was to be the king, then he would make the rest of this new world feel it.
Visuals of space. And away. Traveled in your head.
It heads to the swamp. Traces of his beast is still out there.
*Unedited straight from my iPhone.
I’m no critic. I like what I like. I hate what I hate. I can’t tell you to feel one way or another. What I can tell you are the facts. Facts say, I wrote a fucking story while listening to the album.
The album is sick.