In years past, Homeboy Sandman’s scattered, ruminating cadence would’ve been enough to keep your attention. Though on recent work, like 2014’s White Sands EP with producer Paul White and the full-length Hallways, the rapper seemed more tempered when unwrapping his views. “Minimum wage they can pay you/You can praise, you can choose who you pray to,” he exclaimed a couple of years ago on “America, the Beautiful,” a sarcastic take on the nation’s so-called freedom. Sandman has always tackled real issues, but it’s usually been in spurts, packed within unique flows often praised by rap purists. In an era of glossy pop hybrids, the Queens MC is technically precise, a throwback to shell-top Adidas and truck gold chains. “My shit is ever-present,” Sand once told me. “In hip-hop, it’s like it's mandatory to have a specific style. I don't have a way that I always sound.”
Midway through his new album, Kindness for Weakness, the 35-year-old rapper swerves again, opting for spoken-word on “Talking (Bleep),” a squawking funk-jazz hybrid that recalls Miles Davis’ On the Corner. With humor and candor, he critiques delusional fans, rude strangers, and even The Huffington Post on the flat-out rant. Historically, Sand’s albums have had some sort of antagonist—cops, the term “rapper,” unhealthy foods—but “Talking (Bleep)” is actually a rare vitriolic moment on a record full of soul-searching reflection.
*Kindness *finds the lyricist at peace with himself and his surroundings. He isn’t so combative here; instead, he’s happy with what he has and doesn’t sound so irritated by things he can’t control. “God got reasons for shit that’s gut-wrenching,” he muses on “God.” “I don’t have enemies, God don’t have henchmen.” Sand still captivates lyrically, but on songs like “Heart Sings,” “Eyes,” and “Seam by Seam,” he trades frenetic rhyme patterns for introspective narratives. There’s a creative freedom to this album that comes from years of setbacks and hard work, when you’ve finally found a lane and are content in it. Sidestepping urgent themes, “Earth, Wind, Fire, Water” and “Speak Truth” are simple posse cuts on which rappers yU, Aesop Rock, and Shad trade quick bars about nothing in particular. Transitional songs like “Sly Fox” and “Nonbelievers” are breezy and playful, putting Sand’s rhythmic dexterity on full display.
The album feels resolute, though it occasionally suffers from brief lapses that derail the proceedings. “It’s Cold” starts as a gritty ode to New York City nights, but guest vocalist Steve Arrington sounds especially grating. Instrumentals “Gumshoe” and “Funhouse”—produced by RJD2 and Eric Lau, respectively—seem random and don’t fit within the LP’s scope. To that end, Kindness feels like a nice collection of songs without a clear direction and it doesn’t have the immediate rewind factor of previous efforts Subject: Matter or First of a Living Breed. At this stage of his career, with little left to prove, Sand is making comfortable music that aligns with his place in indie rap. All topics are on the table and clever lyrics are guaranteed. Just don’t box him in.
