The Middle of Nowhere #16
After 10 years of Isaiah Rashad's Cilvia Demo, I write about hip-hop superheroes and how the album and the artist saved my life
10 Years with Cilvia Demo
I used to look at rappers like superheroes. In a world of Supermans and Spider-Mans, I had 50 Cent, Kanye West, T.I. The music was all I knew. Music videos were my worlds of choice when I wasn’t on Nickelodeon watching SpongeBob and Little Bear. The grandiosity of it all was so unattainable and it left me awestruck. The gigantic rims, the beautiful women, the gold, the money, it all felt impossible. They were living the dream.
For most of my childhood, that was the only kind of rapper I knew. Even in sadder or more introspective records, they never felt particularly tangible. It didn’t help that I was so transfixed on 106 & Park. The everyman wasn’t exactly getting the number one video introduced by Terrence J and Rocsi. There were plenty of rappers who felt familiar to me, the Mac Millers, Big KRITs of the world. But they were never quite me.
Isaiah Rashad is a superhero. Rather than selling invincibility, the strength was navigating the cool and relatable with the harrowing and personal. As much as Rashad was and is transparent about his battles, it never stopped him from talking about falling in love, smoking weed, having sex, or going on side missions to the liquor store. It is important never to shroud yourself in the overwhelming scope of mental health. There’s power in the ordinary.
He painted Chattanooga with the kind of distinct homeliness you can only get watching the trees on car drives down south. It was Rashad’s attention to detail that painted that perfect picture of home. The rimless Bentley he rode in on the title track, the gas station order at the end of “Brad Jordan,” or the thick humidity that swarms the intoxicating love ballad “West Savannah” all build a world even the uninitiated could appreciate. That sense of local familiarity was a safe haven when things fell apart in my life. It made grappling with the idea of depression a lot easier.
Cilvia Demo saved my life. Back in 2014, I didn’t totally understand the complexities of my own mental health. I grew up believing that I had to be the man of momma’s house. By the time I didn’t have to do that anymore, I led with the idea that none of my problems were that big of a deal. Isaiah Rashad was key in interpreting internal instincts and abstract feelings into words and scenery I knew. Something as simple as “You can’t handle pressure on your own, so why you carry boulder by yourself?” was massive. Nobody ever told me I didn’t have to saddle myself with mountains.
He performed a medley of songs off of Cilvia Demo for Spotify. “I was so 22,” he echoed between songs. I thought long and hard about where I was around that time. Prior to then, I mirrored Rashad’s frustrations in Complex, “I just be upset a lot. I be irritated. I hate feeling like I’m stuck in one place, like I’m chained down or something. That’s a pet peeve of mine, feeling like some shit ain't going somewhere. It make me want to quit shit. Patience is not my strong point.”
By 22, I was manic and/or disaffected by the world around me. I lost one of my best friends. I lost two of my grandfathers. My mom committed suicide. I was close to crashing my car several times by letting go of the wheel and letting speed take me. I did not care about my life or my job, just angry and isolated. What was the point of staying on an earth slowly withering away?
Even as I grew more hedonistic and self destructive, the details of the Cilvia Demo took on a new meaning. The suicide pondered on “Heavenly Father” and “West Savannah” grew increasingly intimate. The heavy head Rashad carries on “Tranquility” was a burden I knew far too well. When he looks in the mirror on “Hereditary” and contemplates the complicated relationships with his family or the detached, calloused affect he gives to others, it was like he told my story. There I was, still grasping for air, hoping someone understood this misery I faced. Isaiah Rashad did. I needed that to help move forward.
Nowadays, Cilvia Demo serves as a reminder of where I came from. In the midst of anthems about bitches and blunts, weed and money or wondering where God is and the state of the world, Rashad shines as a motivational force. Even as he declared himself among the “young and Xanax” on “Banana,” he remembers that he can’t go back to working retail jobs. All the grand gestures of being ‘the best in the rap game’ act as beacons of light, prophecies of a greater future. If he didn’t believe it, nobody would want to listen to him. The struggles make the triumph richer.
In his performance, he seems a lot wiser and understanding of the coming of age 10 years ago. It was beautiful to see his beaming smile, the gold teeth sparkling in the orange light. He frequently reminds everyone and himself that being in this position was never promised. The drugs, the depression, the frustration, it all could’ve consumed him. This album could’ve been a blimp in a tragic journey. But there he was, slouched in a chair between songs, grateful to be here. It reminded me of what he said when I spoke to him about The House is Burning and living in Los Angeles for GQ, “I just stopped harping on things I couldn’t control.” I’m grateful to say I finally reached that point with him.
I don’t know what this album will mean to me in another 10 years. It’s not as revelatory as it was to me as a teen, still so naive to the sheer magnitude of pain this world can give. Back then, all I needed was someone to tell me they understood what I was going through. Lord willing, I won’t face rock bottom again to need this album to drag me back up. Regardless, Cilvia Demo will be there, a sanctuary when nothing else makes sense.
The Cut
Nobody told me Devstacks was so fuckin’ good man. He’s got this song “Sold Me” that sounds just like this Boyz N The Hood song “Trap N—“ if it was set in Final Fantasy. The horns and drums are virtually the same but the synths are mystical and the use of autotune reminds me of these little fuckers in Kingdom Hearts 2
Thinking a lot about Brian McKnight lately and the divide in the 90s between Mariah Carey/Boyz II Men balladry and the fly, cool veneer R&B. These artists, or more accurately the labels and A&Rs, often split the difference in order to maximize market interests, knock key demographics, and form the fullest package they could put together. It’s rare to be a jack of all trades there. Going through Brian McKnight’s 90s catalog is frustrating because he truly was cool. “The Way Love Goes” and “On The Down Low” is peak hoop earring, heartthrob music. But the stuff that won over so many hearts was the bare, stocky piano ballads of earnest, devoted love and pleading for forgiveness (“Anytime”.) He has the chops for it, he really shines as a singer on these Blue Note Jazz pianos but it also strains for color. But the people loved it, it didn’t ostracize non R&B markets. All I can do is imagine McKnight on Forever My Lady Devante Swing drums
Speaking of Devante, The Bassment era Ginuwine records are phenomenal. Part of it is the 90s R&B flavor that only Devante could’ve sold. But in another sense, the divide between Ginuwine in ’94 and ’03 is massive. He’s always been an extremely expressive performer but he fully leaned into the maximalist absurdity during the “In Those Jeans” era (fantastic song fwiw.) As comically horny and dramatic Jodeci got, there was always a measure of discipline to their records I favored. There is inherent goofiness but it’s never distracting from the sexiness they sold. Additionally, when he wasn’t going overboard, Ginuwine would occasionally play it too plain— my hottest take is that I never loved “Differences” the way everyone else did, it’s a little too vanilla outside of his live renditions. You can tell where Devante’s DNA was in Da Bassment Cru but he clearly wasn’t that great of a teacher given the abuse. Once they shed themselves of his tutelage, they got a lot looser, for better or worse.
So who was going to tell me Tyrese spent his whole Fast and Furious check on this gigantic divorce anthem last year? He has never sounded better. He navigates the loss of love with deflated, exasperated sighs and massive wails of grief and frustration with a lot of tact, really highlighting the whiplash felt after losing the love of your life. The optics of publicly interrogating his ex-wife is questionable but he doesn’t sell it maliciously. He seems genuinely dumbfounded how he reached this point and feels betrayed that his devotion wasn’t as mutual as before. Tyrese truly brought back R&B with this one.
I’ve watched Anyone But You three times now. I can truly say that Will Gluck is a master of the rom-com. Let’s not get it fucked up: he’s a hack. Anyone who makes the Peter Rabbit movies or 2014 Annie are content as firm cogs in the larger Hollywood machine. But Gluck has seemingly proved himself as vital to the rom-com genre. He understands that the cliches are instrumental to the rhythm of these movies. Hot people flashing their goofiness is a form of comfort food. He’ll even tinker with the form by highlighting cliches in dialogue as robotic and strangely self-conscious in funny ways or using Shakespeare quotes on backdrops during scene transitions. It’s all very odd in detail and blissful when letting it wash over you. Even hacks have occasional value.