As fun as it is to hear Curren$y talk about his amazing life over smooth soul-dream beats, two and a half hours of it with no switch-up would tire anyone out. I always thought Burnie’s should be called Pilot Talk 3 instead, but tacking it to the end of this release might tire out listeners. Pilot Talk 3 isn’t as good a Pilot Talk release as Weekend at Burnie’s, a lovely little record that rivals the first two tapes in the trilogy. Here, it darkens the mood as the album seeps into its late hours. Taken on its own, it’s the least of the tapes by a significant margin. Riff Raff even appears on “Froze,” rapping though a frightening Travis Scott filter. Ski is less involved here, and accordingly, it’s slower, less lush, more Southern. It’s more story-oriented, opening with a narrative of Curren$y’s come-up and featuring the only song among the tapes where his perpetual philandering and home-wrecking actually seems like a cause for concern (“Cargo Planes”). Pilot Talk 3 is the black sheep of the three, released nearly five years after the other two into a vastly different rap landscape. It’s a little weirder, a little harder to just put on in the background. Pilot Talk 2 is all about language, light on the choruses and heavy on the shenanigans, and the beats are earthier and less baroque than on the first. The first Pilot Talk is the most song-oriented and, accordingly, has the best individual songs-“Skybourne,” a posse cut with Big K.R.I.T., Smoke DZA and the psychedelic shimmer of a Shuggie Otis song and “Breakfast,” which is the best song about getting high I’ve ever heard. It’s a listening experience not unlike Todd Rundgren’s Something/Anything?, the gold standard for double albums that deepen and get weirder as they go on. So the compilation passes by like a cloud, and the individual tapes blend into each other. It’s the kind of luxury rap you can listen to in just about any situation and feel like you’re sipping mimosas by the beach. If you miss a detail, there’s bound to be something else you can sink into a couple bars down. And though his rhymes are dense and drunk with language, they’re never hard to follow. He’s not far off on “Montreux” when he compares his music to Marvin Gaye’s 1980 performance at that famous jazz festival. His music is weightless, decked out with lounge guitar and gossamer string samples. That this sameness can sustain itself for so long is a tribute to just how complete and enjoyable Curren$y’s aesthetic is.
Curren$y pilot talk trilogy full#
And though his discography’s full of surprises, like the live-band Muscle Car Chronicles, he doesn’t stray far from his comfort zone on the Pilot Talk series, working mostly with soul-enamored beatmaker Ski and sticking to weed, cars, jets and women as subject matter-with plenty of digressions that make his rhymes all the more delightful. Some songs have hooks some have guests some are just Curren$y rapping for two or three or four minutes with no chorus or guests or interruptions. Each tape is about 45 minutes, and together they sprawl to about the length of one of Curren$y’s favorite classic films. The most lovable facets of the man’s music are on full display on his Pilot Talk trilogy, now freshly packaged together and finally available to stream. He’s the type to brag about his argyle socks or recommend the hand-squeezed lemonade at his favorite diner. Even those who don’t smoke can understand his fixation with creature comforts, often the kind you’d expect to be enjoyed by a middle-aged man rather than an MC in his mid-‘30s. He’s always curled up in a couch, or jetting off to some faraway place, or staring out the window and remarking on just how beautiful the view is.
There’s a pervasive sense of comfort and serenity in the man’s music. I mean people who still remember why they started burning the bud in the first place. Curren$y makes weed rap for people who love weed, not for people who like the idea of weed they can stick with their Afroman and pot-leaf-printed beanies.
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