Noname’s ‘Room 25’ Is an Incisive Survey of Society

Adi Mehta

Chicago rapper and poet Noname came to prominence in the slam poetry scene, and makes incisive and articulate music in the longstanding tradition of artists dating back to the likes of Gil Scott Heron, more recently Saul Williams, and the whole Okayplayer universe. Her latest album, “Room 25,” finds her cutting deep into everything around her, with an eloquence and elegance that sets her apart from anyone in the genre as of late. It’s a cohesive, captivating, and thought-provoking release that shows a bold artist taking new strides and rising to new levels.

Opener “Self” is reminiscent of A Tribe Called Quest’s “Electric Relaxation.” with it’s easy, angular, jazzy backdrop. Noname dives right into her spoken word craft, and is immediately at her usual wordplay a few lines in, saying, “Really questioning every god, religion, Kanye.” Anyone who got the Kanye reference knows instantly that this will be an album with plenty backhanded humour. By the end of the first track, however, it’s also clear that it’s a very serious record, very much in the style of the afrocentric, feminist poetry circles in which Noname rose. The songs are full of little zingers that are put together in a way that just sounds badass, and also make you pause and reflect for a moment — for instance, her observation here that “Heaven’s only four-feet tall.” A repeated line of this song is, “Y’all really thought a bitch couldn’t rap huh?” which seems a little overly defensive, as in 2018, with the likes of Nicki Minaj and Cardi B running rap, it’s hard to imagine this being a real issue. If there’s any weakness to this exceptionally solid album, it’s that it sometimes seems to perpetuate issues that are arguably no longer real issues, because they are the very currency of this Bohemian poetry-spawned art-hip-hop scene, and without those issues to protest against, the entire foundation of the style could crumble. Still, even if it seems a little overzealous in its angry righteousness — think Rage Against the Machine, Lauryn Hill — Noname is simply so good at what she does that it’s all pretty perfect.

“Blaxpoitation” runs over a funk beat that recalls the 70s films of the genre given the same name. Lines like “Traded my life for cartoon / Dance monkey dance” recall Spike Lee’s film “Bamboozled,” which exposes the shocking historical buffoonery that African Americans have been subjected to in the media — a phenomenon that most today are completely unaware of, as history is written by the victors. Noname goes on to state, “This is not your fight, black man… It’s not a matter of color / Freedom is everybody’s business,” much in the spirit of legendary hip-hop activist icon KRS One, who received plenty criticism for once saying, “The African American community? Fuck them. This is about everybody.”

“Prayer Song” finds Noname alternating between singing and speaking over a lush backdrop of twinkling keys and jazz-funk drums, sarcastically singing “America the great,” and adding acerbic bits like, “Apple pie on Sunday morning, obesity and heart disease.” She is really sticking it to America, and she does have a point, one which even transcends the urban, socially conscious target market of this release. Morrissey, who once sang, in “America Is Not the World,” “And don’t you wonder why in Estonia they say ‘Hey you, fat pig!’” would be proud. Another absolutely priceless line from “Prayer Song” is “I set my cell phone on the dash, could’ve sworn it’s a gun.” If only we could have a DJ sample this line and repeat it incessantly in a footwork song or something, and have it played everywhere, perhaps it could hammer some sense into trigger-happy cops.  

“Window” has nostalgic cinematic strings, and designedly casual singing from featured artist Phoelix that recalls “Black On Both Sides”-era Mos Def. Sometimes, Noname’s lyrics get downright confounding, as on “Don’t Forget About Me,” on which she says, “This song ain’t even about you, Daffy Duck / Laffy taffy, daffy ducky, fucky all around.” Right. Perhaps we can just attribute such enigmas to the nature of the spoken-word form, in which impassioned artists grab the mic, and occasionally wind up in paroxysms of pent-up energy that can, at times, seem senseless but still sound right, and drive crowds absolutely mad. It’s also one of the particularly charming attributes of this album — the freeness and fluidity that the format allows, imbuing the somber subject matter with a certain whimsical playfulness.  

It doesn’t seem like Noname is really sparing any aspect of popular culture with her acid tongue. In “Don’t Forget About Me,” she takes on plastic surgery and prescription drugs, saying, “Titties 13k, the pretty costs these days,” and “Welcome to Vicodin, I took the pills / I think they save lives.” It’s surprising that her voice tone and manner of delivery throughout the album sound relatively composed, sweet, and at times even, say, angelic. It makes the nonstop onslaught of raging criticism a bit confusing, which ultimately makes it all the more interesting. “Regal” has rather cryptic lyrics, but seems to conjure a portrait of the historically oppressed who end up misdirecting their priorities in unbecoming affectations. Noname elaborates, “May the lord be with me, made me look like reverend / Made me look like regal.”

The featured artists are all well selected, all fitting neatly within the sonic and thematic landscapes, and complementing Noname’s sound in ways that really mesh with the the music. Smino and Saba, who make appearances on “Ace,” and Phoelix and Benjamin Earl Turner, who show up on “Part of Me,” all make memorable contributions, each showcasing styles that are idiosyncratically laidback with a sort of genius spark. The former song has another very necessary observation from Noname: “And radio niggas sound like they wearing adult diapers.” The last song is seemingly something of a statement of intent, as it is titled “No Name.” Here Noname delivers a litany of the negative uses for names, declaring, “No name for people to call small or colonize optimism / No name for inmate registries that they put me in prison,” and continuing, “When labels ask me to sign, so my name don’t exist.” In the last matter, Prince would concur.

Overall, “Room 25” stands out for how ruthlessly unsparing Noname is. She takes on everyone and everything, with no reservations, and you have to admire her for her fearless artistic integrity. Another striking quality is her delivery. She alternates between something like traditional rapping and more conversational speaking, with an expressiveness that transmits her emotion in real time. You can hear her laugh, sneer, mock, wince, always sounding one hundred percent authentic, and it makes for a remarkably emotive listen. The album is a bit cliche, in the spirit of the Brooklyn Moon, Def Poetry Jam, etc. but this is more a mark of success than a failure, as it quite clearly defines itself in this tradition, and captures the style extremely effectively, with a crisp, nuanced sound, and plenty lyrical passion and food for thought.  

“Room 25” is available Sept. 14 on Apple Music.