You gotta hand it to the Kid...
Landing at a lazy 70 minutes, the only gripe with Kid Cudi's third record Indicud is that it overstays its welcome. Not that we should have expected any less, with roughly the same amount of jams (18) featuring on his previous two Man On The Moon records.
And yes, on first listens the album seems like a collection of musical strangers; roaming transients that are never rooted long enough in one particular locale to get comfortable and familiar. But within Indicud's wide expanse, Scott Mescudi gives us a lot to enjoy. The staggering Unfuckwittable acts somewhat as a modus operandi for the uncompromising LP to follow. You've got the weed haze of Just What I Am, leering tales of skirt on Girls, and the dark, stormy and tortured flow on Lord Of The Sad And Lonely, where Cudi's verbal reach outs seem processed through an Atari video game console. His guest spots are daring; Young Lady marries a Father John Misty sample with a static guitar riff and burns holes right through you, while the Haim sisters assist on Red Eye, creating a piece of pop rap brilliance with their moving harmonies. Oh, and Michael Bolton's here, and he's doing it, and that's fucking cool. But Cudi, why! Why do you make us pan for these gems? Mad Solar? Burn Baby Burn? We both know these cuts are weak, man. And it takes away from the experience, in the moment. But the thing is, you reflect on what you heard – you hum, you tap. Then you know what you do? You dive back into the album and do it all again.
You gotta hand it to the Kid...