Half-Year in Review #3: R.A.P. Ferreira - Purple Moonlight Pages
Album release date: March 6, 2020
Anyone who became a fan of underground hip hop sometime during the past decade would probably be forgiven for thinking that the (admittedly ambiguous) genre was entering a golden age similar to the one gangsta rap experienced in the ‘90s. Already present names like billy woods and Ka refined their artistry to an impeccably fine point, Standing on the Corner and the sLUms collective were putting their own lo-fi, experimental spin on the New York rap scene, and in the midst of these and countless other pioneers existed milo, the weird kid down the street that everyone mostly liked even if they didn’t quite understand why he was like that. The basics of his approach to rap are, individually, readily found among his peers: lo-fi instrumentals, abstract lyricism, and a veritable smorgasbord of influences and references that confuse just as often as they impress. The issue with milo is that he cannot readily claim to be the best at any of these tenets; what he provides is more ambiguous, an off-kilter approach to flow and baffling, often sordid punchlines that stand as even more of an acquired taste than most artists who forever scoff at mainstream acceptance. Clearly there is enough of an audience for such a niche so as to allow milo to continue creating, but even if the rapper’s undeniable talent has garnered him a considerable fanbase, not even he is immune from the need to justify his existence within a sea of artists all occupying similar aural lanes. Despite retiring the milo persona in 2018 and now returning under his real name (Rory Allen Phillip Ferreira) for his newest project, the question of his artistic essence still remains, and it haunts the series of eerie, off-kilter tracks that make up Purple Moonlight Pages: what kind of rapper are we really dealing with here?
We could try and ask Ferreira himself, but like the rest of his lyrics, he can only be so helpful in deciphering the truth. The opener DECORUM offers many wry self-characterizations (“Brother of the wind and the wisdom body”, “the ignoble peon poet from nowhere”, “Him who has the filthy fits”), few of which make any sort of tangible sense. His ‘Black Orpheus’ moniker returns as well, but if LEAVING HELL is anything to go by, it functions more as a piece of self-criticism than an apt descriptor of the man behind the mic: “Wandered wearily for several eternities/Gaining acclaim, using fake names”. Tracks like this and NO STARVING ARTISTS are obsessed with the idea of ‘real’ art, and even though Ferreira claims he has “fallen off the wheel” of underground innovation, no one could deny that he is still unmatched in his creative oddity. Someone like Open Mike Eagle is as good a reference point for Ferreira’s undefinable quirk as any, but even his clever bars on PINBALL (“A three room house with a bathroom prison/The front looks good but the back tooth’s missing”) can’t keep pace with someone who spits out “Avoiding win-loss dichotomy/Litmus testing my own toxicity/Categorical error, botched history“ as smooth as an overpriced Merlot (“This flow my inalienable right” he adds as a too-accurate afterthought). His newfound infatuation with the style and sound of jazz progenitors might make Purple Moonlight Pages a more comfortable listen for the uninitiated, but Ferreira is still not giving out any lyrical freebies.
Honestly, the fact that Ferreira isn’t drowning in the influence of jazz rap’s godfathers is better proof than any of his bars as to his singular appeal and brilliance. Of course, his inability to feel embarrassment is no doubt a great asset here; even if A Tribe Called Quest or Digable Planets had seen fit to rap over a saxophone melody as eccentric as that on NONCIPHER, would any MC of yesteryear have the courage to strain their voice into the stratosphere as Ferreira does without an ounce of modesty? Maybe André 3000 could do it, but even he has too much suave to croon out something as ridiculous as “Dare to peek through the viewfinder/Up close with a rude reminder/Deuteronomy in E minor” while mixing in references to Barbosol, Shakespeare, and chess’s en passant rule. (Far from the last chess reference on the record; at least Ferreira has stopped rapping about hentai for the moment). It’s abundantly clear that Ferreira has done his homework, and even if many bars seem designed to be indecipherable, the shameless charisma that keeps everything held together makes the rapper an absolute joy to listen to. The production pulls significant weight in this department as well, handled by The Jefferson Park Boys (a trio including frequent milo collaborator Kenny Segal) who sustain Ferreira’s rambling absurdity with tight percussion, jazz-influenced keyboard melodies, and inspired risks like the guitar line on ABSOLUTES or the Pharaoh Sanders-influenced closer MASTERPLAN. Only when these instrumentals are practically not present (OMENS & TOTEMS, DUST UP) is there cause for concern; an ear for nuance is appreciated, but Ferreira’s voice turns downright lethargic without something to make him keep pace, and the album’s slower moments suffer as a result.
Introspection is the other main draw of this record, an aspect nebulously present on the rapper’s previous endeavours but often buried underneath an avalanche of irreverence. LAUNDRY opens with more of Ferreira’s inane musings, yet here he finally decides to reckon with the futility of his point: “I wonder if Chance the Rapper do his own laundry/Who cares?”. Surprisingly, this is one analogy Ferreira actually deigns to develop; as bright piano chords and stuttering percussion trill in the background, the chore in question becomes a lens for sterile routine, an otherwise tumultuous life framed merely by how many loads of laundry are yet to be done (“A family just growin’ together/The hoverin’ scent of cool linens/While the loop demands the fools keep sinnin’”). Similarly obsessed with the circular repetition of life, CYCLES is a starkly vulnerable moment, beginning by tracing Ferreira’s artistic journey to where he is now but transitioning to something any artist will recognize: a vain attempt to derive some sort of greater meaning from one’s creativity. That Ferreira is finally rapping under his real name is no coincidence; Purple Moonlight Pages bears his emotions more blatantly than any previous project, and even if the song’s repetitive chorus is shamelessly meta, the downtrodden chanting of “Funny how cycles work” and “Swear I just know my worth” strikes quite the poignant note as the rapper tries to brute force himself into believing he matters.
If you wanted to pitch milo to an unsuspecting initiate, you could probably spin the rapper’s more eccentric qualities into assets with a little poetic license. Talk about his offbeat flow, his ambitiously understated approach to rapping, maybe quote a few bars and hope they can define Sonderweg but don’t know what futanari is. If you want to pitch R.A.P. Ferreira, just refer them to Purple Moonlight Pages and let the rapper’s newfound candor do the talking for you. More than a personal reinvention, this album finds one of modern hip hop’s most outlandish figures at his most consistent state yet and gives him the tools he needs (in the form of The Jefferson Park Boys and their immaculate, jazz-heavy production) to devise something truly fantastic. As for the question of what exactly separates Ferreira from the pack, what essential qualities define him in the world of underground hip hop, it turns out he actually did offer an answer within the aforementioned track LAUNDRY: who cares? When you’re making music this brilliant, listeners don’t want a reason to hold you in higher esteem than all your profusely talented peers; they just want more.
8.5/10
Favourite Tracks: LAUNDRY, NO STARVING ARTISTS, MYTHICAL