Fredo - Independence Day

The Guardian 0

(RCA)
The London rapper’s melancholy third studio album may not be a genre game-changer, but his renewed focus results in sharp street portraiture

The second Fredo album in the space of six months begins in portentous style. There’s a reading of an extract from an 1852 speech given by the former slave and abolitionist Frederick Douglass – a speech that contrasted the celebration of “freedom” on 4 July with the lot of the slave – followed by a churchy sounding organ playing a figure that distinctly recalls Bach’s Toccata and Fugue in D minor. “I know labels don’t want it to end this way,” offers the rapper on the chorus, “but I had to tell them it’s independence day.”

It’s the kind of bullish declaration of freedom an artist might make had they recently quit, or been dropped by, a major label: a new beginning, free from the interference of A&R men and bean-counters suggesting you round your edges and demanding to know where the next hit is. But the advance stream of Independence Day arrives from Sony, bearing the logo of RCA, which has released every preceding Fredo album.

Fredo doesn’t really bother with the kind of deep self-examination that Dave goes in for, nor any explicit politicking

Related: Fredo: Money Can't Buy You Happiness review – melancholy rap realism

The Guardian 0

(Sony)
Stunning verses propelled by intricate production elevate the west London rapper’s second album this year

Marvin “Fredo” Bailey has always made much of his west London roots, so it’s jarring to find that he’s named his second album of the year after an American holiday. No matter. Independence Day is as English as EastEnders, but what was once soap is now opera. Fredo’s gruff truculence is supersized, given widescreen swagger by the propulsive production, a dense lattice of piano, strings and subtle samples. Always articulate and intelligent, the word cloud hovering over his busy brain has barely changed since his early mixtapes. Prison. “Opps” (enemies) trying to drag him down. Drugs. Money, and the creeping paranoia that comes with it. Women – rarely to be trusted, even if they gave birth to you.

Predictable enough, yet so persuasive in Fredo’s relentless, rolling thunder flow. “I don’t write songs in English, they’re written in pain,” he raps, and you believe it. Some verses, particularly on Freestyle and Talk of the Town, are stunning, approaching the heights of Mercury-winning mate and Funky Friday collaborator Dave. Fredo may not yet be the GOAT (greatest of all time) for storytelling, but with his dark wit and wordplay, he’s now grazing in the same field.