So is ‘Magna Carta Holy Grail’ a piece of transcendental musical brilliance? Erm, not really. Of the 14 tracks (bulked out by two 50-second musical interludes), a couple are excellent, seven are decent, four are yawny in the extreme and one sounds like it was rescued from the studio bin while they were creating the ‘Great Gatsby’ soundtrack.
No faulting the production, though. ‘La Familia’ is awash with shimmering, off-kilter computerised textures that could be J Dilla soundtracking a Megadrive game. ‘Heaven’ – alongside a number of this album’s highlights – sounds like a futuristic update of the Wu-Tang's ‘36 Chambers’ beat, with a scratchy oriental loop overlaying jerky percussion. ‘Part II (On The Run)’ is enveloped by ringing piano chords and layer upon layer of Beyoncé’s silky, multi-tracked voice.‘F.U.T.W.’ unleashes a galumphing bassline upon a music-box melody, organ stabs and a wash of flange-heavy brass. And in the track’s final verse, Jay suddenly hits his vocal flow: his rhymes lock into a tight, funky groove and for one glorious moment, he’s riding the beat for all its worth, once again spitting like the MC who created ‘Reasonable Doubt’.
But it’s a moment that’s notable by the absence of similar fare. ‘Tom Ford’ is a bloopy 8-bit dirge whose conceit seems to involve Hova repeating the designer's name as often as possible. ‘Somewhere In America’ features a curious Miley Cyrus-baiting outro where he spends a full 45 seconds yelling ‘Twerk, Miley, twerk!’. At one point he attempts to chalk Cassius Clay’s Parkinson’s up to a government conspiracy. And on the acoustica-strafed, string-laden paean to fatherhood that is ‘Jay Z Blue’ we get the snigger-inducing rhyme of: ‘Baby need Pampers/Daddy need at least three weeks in the Hamptons’.
Essentially, it’s business as usual: another competent effort from a once-stunning MC who hasn’t produced anything breathtaking since midway through last century. It’s not bad. It’s not great. But one thing’s for sure: Gods don’t make music like they used to.
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In case you didn’t know, Scandinavia is cool right now. The food, the fashion, the facial hair – plus the Vikings have invaded the British Museum. All we need next is a healthy economy, a reliable public transport system and a sense of social justice, and London will be indistinguishable from Oslo. Meanwhile in Hackney, there’s yet another Northern European-inspired incursion. Or apparently so: the website claims this bar-restaurant-club draws on ‘a Nordic aesthetic’, although it’s not immediately obvious within. Oslo occupies the previously deserted old Hackney rail station and takes on a bit of a railway theme with its luggage-rack lighting, plus there are industrial stylings that give the whole place a Janet Jackson ‘Rhythm Nation’ video feel. The restaurant part is rather fancy, its food incorporating a few of the forages, pickles, jellies and marinations of New Nordic cooking. The kitchen is regularly given over to guest chefs, and you have to book – it’s always heaving. Eat in the bar and the food is more straightforward. Where once the standard snack in pubs was a toastie, sausage roll or pork pie, now it’s the slider or fried chicken. These are served alongside frankly obscene portions of chips, slathered with the likes of cured bacon fat and bacon salt, or braised oxtail, gravy and cheese. There’s a commendable range of craft beers from the vicinity, including a couple from Five Points Brewing just five minutes up the road at the Downs.Head upstairs and you’ll find a
Venue says: “Join us every Thursday night until late for Soul Soul Soul – a night of vinyl appreciation with DJs playing soul, funk, disco and more.”