Part 3
Lecrae, Anomaly (2014)
So if the notes are off it’s ‘cause I ain’t nothin’ to play with
-Broken, Track 14
Music transcends the limits of time and space, transporting you into a moment more vividly than a lucid dream or old photo ever could. When I listen to Lecrae's Anomaly, I'm taken back to the drivers seat in my company '08 Chevy Impala, where I sit at a red light, head in my lap and gasping for air as the reality of every bad decision I'd made over two years comes to a turbulent head.
After graduation, some of my friends got jobs. I got locked up.
No, I wasn't actually behind bars. My prison was actually an office, furnished with a 5x8 cubicle that served as a metaphorical jail cell. In about 15 months I'd gone from dapping up my favorite rappers to dodging two-faced middle managers. I watched people younger than me find great internships and jobs while I remained in an unfulfilling job, a living cautionary tale that motivated them to succeed and not end up like me. All the good work I'd done in college didn't seem to lead me anywhere. I was stuck in a dream-killing job with no idea how I got there or how to escape.
Adding to my misery were peers who overcame underemployment and launched into great careers. Now everyone (seemingly) was doing better than me. If ever I felt optimistic enough to believe otherwise, every "I got the job!" update on Facebook, Twitter and Linkedin reminded me of just how wrong I was.
Whereas rap was once a performance enhancer- the added boost I needed to kill a radio spot or write a bomb paper- it was now turning into another reminder of my failures. All the artists I felt shared my story weren't actually like me at all. They were true success stories- more like the lucky kids from my graduating class who had good jobs in place the moment they left campus- unlike me, the one left smiling through interviews for $8/hour retail gigs.
Outkast already had three albums out by age 21. Kanye didn't even need to waste time finishing school before making it big. I wondered how I'd fallen so far behind.
The turmoil in my professional life spilled over into my personal life. When you do well in college, it's easy to have an optimistic outlook on life: you're young, eager and ignorant to all the struggles of adulthood. However, I learned that the true test of relationships comes when you're not feeling like the best and all your expectations of yourself and your life go unmet.
My personal life wasn't improving either. I learned that when school days are over, relationships you thought were monuments to true love get exposed as facades masking selfish pursuit. Those are then replaced with new ones that are built on an unstable foundation. These new people are meant to replace your college bae who you supposedly only clicked with because you were both young, immature and in the same place at the same time.
These new, even more complicated "grown up" relationships wash out too. At that point you discover the challenge of post college singleness. There's no new face to discover in the dining hall or campus party, just a lot of dull nights with alcohol, Netflix and the company of all your flaws.
When it all falls down, you grab on to the only thing that's left: hope. I'd never found true hope through music until I listened to Lecrae's Anomaly.
I was reintroduced to Christian rap around my senior year of college. In between sessions of Teflon Don and Drake's So Far Gone, I sampled music from Christian artists like Lecrae and Trip Lee, expecting it to sound wack like the faith based hip-hop I remembered from Sunday school. I was surprised to discover that a few dudes learned how to praise Jesus without sounding corny. What made this music even better was that they didn't only quote scripture (nobody is good enough to make King James' "thous" and "the's" sound cool). It talked about real-life-- i.e. common sin-- in a way that didn't leave me feeling judged. Amazing grace.
Anomaly felt like finding a perfect pair of jeans after years of buying knock offs that never quite fit. It hit on on every trial I'd experienced in my post-college slump. Regrets (as talked about on Wish) made coping with a job I hated really hard. Monday mornings were especially tough, as I'd stare off into space at my desk wondering "what if I'd taken that awesome job that I thought didn't pay enough?" or "what if I just tried to intern for that company I really wanted to work with?".
Feelings of remorse then led to doubt (Fear) about whether or not I was ever bound for anything significant. I couldn't find a reason to believe otherwise. Every story I came across of someone who'd made it big included an impossible to reach caveat- a surprise benefactor or networking opportunity at a bar that sounded more the result of dumb luck rather than the fruit of persistence.
At my lowest point and completely defeated, I realized that no job, relationship or sum of money could save me (Broken); my only salvation was through the One who controls and creates it all.
If Anamoly were crafted like one of those movies that ends on a somber note, I wouldn't have liked it as much. Fortunately, in Messengers, Lecrae shines the proverbial white light after experiencing death from an imperfect past. It's a great way to end an hour long album, but also helped me reconcile years of personal letdown.
I looked to music for self discovery, hoping that what I learned would allow for steady travels through my teens and into adulthood. Several detours led me to Anomaly, and I finally found the guide map I needed all along.
"We have all felt that hunger to be known, meaningful, and have purpose. Sometimes we allow social circles, teams, jobs, money, or possessions to define that purpose for us. This is an ode to not allowing our acceptance by others to give us meaning."
-Lecrae
Music transcends the limits of time and space, transporting you into a moment more vividly than a lucid dream or old photo ever could. When I listen to Lecrae's Anomaly, I'm taken back to the drivers seat in my company '08 Chevy Impala, where I sit at a red light, head in my lap and gasping for air as the reality of every bad decision I'd made over two years comes to a turbulent head.
After graduation, some of my friends got jobs. I got locked up.
No, I wasn't actually behind bars. My prison was actually an office, furnished with a 5x8 cubicle that served as a metaphorical jail cell. In about 15 months I'd gone from dapping up my favorite rappers to dodging two-faced middle managers. I watched people younger than me find great internships and jobs while I remained in an unfulfilling job, a living cautionary tale that motivated them to succeed and not end up like me. All the good work I'd done in college didn't seem to lead me anywhere. I was stuck in a dream-killing job with no idea how I got there or how to escape.
Adding to my misery were peers who overcame underemployment and launched into great careers. Now everyone (seemingly) was doing better than me. If ever I felt optimistic enough to believe otherwise, every "I got the job!" update on Facebook, Twitter and Linkedin reminded me of just how wrong I was.
Whereas rap was once a performance enhancer- the added boost I needed to kill a radio spot or write a bomb paper- it was now turning into another reminder of my failures. All the artists I felt shared my story weren't actually like me at all. They were true success stories- more like the lucky kids from my graduating class who had good jobs in place the moment they left campus- unlike me, the one left smiling through interviews for $8/hour retail gigs.
Outkast already had three albums out by age 21. Kanye didn't even need to waste time finishing school before making it big. I wondered how I'd fallen so far behind.
The turmoil in my professional life spilled over into my personal life. When you do well in college, it's easy to have an optimistic outlook on life: you're young, eager and ignorant to all the struggles of adulthood. However, I learned that the true test of relationships comes when you're not feeling like the best and all your expectations of yourself and your life go unmet.
My personal life wasn't improving either. I learned that when school days are over, relationships you thought were monuments to true love get exposed as facades masking selfish pursuit. Those are then replaced with new ones that are built on an unstable foundation. These new people are meant to replace your college bae who you supposedly only clicked with because you were both young, immature and in the same place at the same time.
These new, even more complicated "grown up" relationships wash out too. At that point you discover the challenge of post college singleness. There's no new face to discover in the dining hall or campus party, just a lot of dull nights with alcohol, Netflix and the company of all your flaws.
When it all falls down, you grab on to the only thing that's left: hope. I'd never found true hope through music until I listened to Lecrae's Anomaly.
I was reintroduced to Christian rap around my senior year of college. In between sessions of Teflon Don and Drake's So Far Gone, I sampled music from Christian artists like Lecrae and Trip Lee, expecting it to sound wack like the faith based hip-hop I remembered from Sunday school. I was surprised to discover that a few dudes learned how to praise Jesus without sounding corny. What made this music even better was that they didn't only quote scripture (nobody is good enough to make King James' "thous" and "the's" sound cool). It talked about real-life-- i.e. common sin-- in a way that didn't leave me feeling judged. Amazing grace.
Anomaly felt like finding a perfect pair of jeans after years of buying knock offs that never quite fit. It hit on on every trial I'd experienced in my post-college slump. Regrets (as talked about on Wish) made coping with a job I hated really hard. Monday mornings were especially tough, as I'd stare off into space at my desk wondering "what if I'd taken that awesome job that I thought didn't pay enough?" or "what if I just tried to intern for that company I really wanted to work with?".
Feelings of remorse then led to doubt (Fear) about whether or not I was ever bound for anything significant. I couldn't find a reason to believe otherwise. Every story I came across of someone who'd made it big included an impossible to reach caveat- a surprise benefactor or networking opportunity at a bar that sounded more the result of dumb luck rather than the fruit of persistence.
At my lowest point and completely defeated, I realized that no job, relationship or sum of money could save me (Broken); my only salvation was through the One who controls and creates it all.
If Anamoly were crafted like one of those movies that ends on a somber note, I wouldn't have liked it as much. Fortunately, in Messengers, Lecrae shines the proverbial white light after experiencing death from an imperfect past. It's a great way to end an hour long album, but also helped me reconcile years of personal letdown.
I looked to music for self discovery, hoping that what I learned would allow for steady travels through my teens and into adulthood. Several detours led me to Anomaly, and I finally found the guide map I needed all along.
_
