André got his old babysitter to sing backup on one song. And it led to the moment when Erykah Badu, André’s baby’s mother, broke in with so much beauty and gravity in her voice that I pretty much had to renegotiate my feelings about neo-soul on the spot.īy all accounts, the Aquemini sessions were a family affair all the way down. In 1998, it was fully and completely alien. They were able to do things like the 3AM jam session that led to the nine-minute astral funk excursion “Liberation,” a song that might be even more radical than “SpottieOttieDopaliscious.” An A-list rap album with a song built from a late-night live-musician jam session would be unthinkable now. Along with a crew of musicians, OutKast spent months on Aquemini, basically living and breathing the album. They were given the space and the means to truly find their sound, and what they found was magical.Īndré wanted to produce, and he wanted to get into live instrumentation, so that’s what he did. And so they were able to take their time and experiment. That gave them artistic control, and it also gave them the kind of budget that only existed in the late ’90s. Long story short: OutKast had made two successful albums, so they had faith from their label. So how could it exist? How could a commercially successful rap group, deep into rap’s first gilded age, make something that warm and layered and imagistic and thoughtful? How could they make something with no rapping on it? It took time, and it took work. A guitar murmurs out the riff from Genesis’ 1973 prog excursion “Dancing With The Moonlight Night.” And then there are those horns.
A deep and heady reggae-style bassline slowly unfurls itself. Sleepy Brown squeaks out an absolutely lovely scene-setting verse. While André and Big Boi get lost in their memories and fantasies, the music underneath them ripples and undulates for a full seven minutes. (Big Boi’s turn on that song is the first time I can remember hearing anyone using the word “trap” the way we now understand it, 20 years later.) And maybe that would lead to you sitting at home, wondering how you’d scrape up enough money to keep that new life alive. Maybe, four years later, that night would lead a new life into this world. Maybe you’d fall in love, or at least lust. (The one time he made it to the parking lot, he was too drunk to get through the door.)īig Boi meditates on the ways a night at that club might change your life. He’s never actually been there, and he’s not scared to admit it. André lays out the scene: The sounds, the smells, the possibilities, the fights that might suddenly break out deep into the night. On that song, André 3000 and Big Boi reflect on the existence of an old Southwest Atlanta roller-disco, on the sorts of things that might happen there. Those horns come from “SpottieOttieDopaliscious,” a song from near the end of Aquemini, OutKast’s third and best album, which turns 20 tomorrow. But they hadn’t really done anything to prepare us for those horns, or for the song that those horns call home. They’d pushed themselves and tested their audience. When we first heard those horns, OutKast were an acclaimed and successful Southern rap group - a group that, if you were paying attention, had already released two classic albums. The riff they’re playing is long enough that you can chop it up, make tons of little riffs out of it. They will never go away.īecause it’s not just the horns. They will keep coming back to us, again and again. Those horns have floated lazily through Childish Gambino and Joey Bada$$ songs. Lil Wayne used those horns as his backing on the first Dedication mixtape, when he was explaining why he called it Dedication. Beyoncé has used those horns on two songs, “All Night” and the “Flawless” remix, and in her Coachella set. Those horns have become a signifier, a calling card. The riff they trill out is pretty complicated, but it’s also instantly memorable, a melody that seems familiar the first time you hear it.
The horns sit calmly atop the track, precise and regal.
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