Angelo Wilson remembers cycling through a litany of creative undertakings as a child. There was compulsive doodling and eight years of violin lessons and poetry. He even loved spelling and vocabulary lists at school.
Then, in middle school, the Cape Girardeau native found hip-hop, and that finally stuck.
"I started realizing how easily I could put together words right then and there," he recalls. And besides, he said, "Who doesn't want to be a rapper?"
Wilson said he grew up idolizing iconic rappers such as Eminem and is the first to admit his indebtedness to the real Slim Shady.
"A big one growing up for any suburban white kid would be Eminem," he said.
Wilson has adapted a number of Eminem's signature motifs in his own music. There are the crude jokes told smartly, the angular, staccato cadences and occasional semi-neurotic or nasal delivery.
He makes them his own, makes them work, and the result is an album whose superiority to Wilson's past work is immediately apparent. He's more confident on "Talkin'"; more willing to commit to the types of risks -- such as singing or staggered rhyme structures -- that fell somewhat flat on his 2014 album "Eyes Closed."
He jokes he mostly wants to forget about his first go-round making hip-hop, and although "Eyes Closed" garnered him positive buzz from local fans, "Talkin'" marks a maturation in form.
It's more engaging, due in part to contributions from Wilson's crewmates, Nik Scarpaci and Amir Waters, known as Niko Scarpy and Amiricle, respectively.
The three of them form Imaginary Friends, a sort of collaborative hip-hop partnership.
Wilson's new album benefits from the Friends' contributions -- from the bizzarro-Chinatown instrumentation on "Dolla Dolla Bill" to the sneering urban moodiness of "Twinkle Toes," Scarpaci's beats are a high point, and Waters has guest verses in a few tracks that have yet to be released.
"Talkin'" also marks an evolution in subject matter for Wilson. The album features much of the typical drug-and-sex fare, but to greater effect. While "Eyes Closed" has moments of truly compelling lyricism -- see the last verse of "I Can't Breathe" -- the emotional impact can get lost in perfunctory shade-throwing or fuzzy aphorisms.
Not so on the new disc. On "Turquoise Hexagon," for instance, the narrator seems at a genuine loss in the face of the social strife around him and the seeming lack of meaningful recourse. But by the end of the track, he's able to embrace optimism and find solace in "explaining something you won't be able to understand -- once again."
And while "Limp" starts out as a deep-grooving paean to golden-age West Coast G-funk, a verse three-fourths of the way in steers it to a surprisingly dark place.
"Tried to kill myself over financial situations," Wilson raps flippantly. "They just added to the debt like they testin' my patience."
It's a reference to Wilson's real-world suicide attempt in Las Vegas. He said that from the outset, it was hip-hop's radical cathartic potential that attracted him most.
"I was adopted, and growing up, I went through some pretty harsh family stuff," he explained. He said hearing Eminem and others articulate similar pains and vulnerability had a profound impact on him.
"I really just respected [Eminem] for putting that stuff out there with no fear," he said.
Hip-hop is his way of processing past traumas to move forward.
"I ain't playin' games no more. Who dealt these cards to me? Cuz I been through hell and back," he raps on "High." "But if I gotta get through that to this, I thank my past wholeheartedly."
But while some of Wilson's subject matter is hyper-personal, he stressed "it's not an entirely depressing album." There are some highs to balance the lows.
And even the racy bits on "Talkin'" hit heavier than those of his previous works. Whether it's for humor, frustration or just irreverent exuberance, the obscenity is wielded -- for the most part -- purposefully.
The difficulty in conveying Wilson's lyrical finesse isn't a dearth of quote-worthy lines. Wilson can -- and does -- deliver. But unfortunately, nearly all the most satisfying turns of phrase are outrageously unfit for print. Readers will have to find them for themselves, either on Wilson's SoundCloud or when the album comes out Feb. 1. It will be available at Hempies, Glassroots and A Different Drummer Tattoo, as well as online.
It's not for everybody, granted. But for Wilson and Imaginary Friends, it's just what they do.
"We're just a bunch of creative children," Wilson said. "Looking for an outlet."
tgraef@semissourian.com
(573) 388-3627
Connect with the Southeast Missourian Newsroom:
For corrections to this story or other insights for the editor, click here. To submit a letter to the editor, click here. To learn about the Southeast Missourian’s AI Policy, click here.