The Saturday Sound — Week 6
Milo — So The Flies Don’t Come
By Gavin Dransfield
Not many rap artists make music for the sake of art these days. For a genre often affectionately interpreted as the acronym for “rhythm and poetry,” the poetry aspect is shockingly scarce among some of today’s most popular (as well as controversial) rappers. Verses upon verses centered on drugs, sex, and violence, dished out in half-enunciated mumbles or unintelligible drawls, in addition to instrumental backdrops that have been recycled or outright contrived from other artists or producers; these traits are growing as the new defaults for up-and-coming rappers, leaving little room for artists such as Milo to gain any attention.
I count myself lucky to have discovered Milo, and you likely will too after you’ve listened to So The Flies Don’t Come, his second full-length album. For a rap album, there’s a stunningly impressive amount of artistry on display, making it very approachable to both newcomers and veterans of the genre. And with songs that are far more relaxed and downtempo than most within the genre, it easily creates a soft, tranquil mood perfect for gloomy nights or rainy mornings. One might even call it cozy hip-hop.
The first thing to catch your ear will be the instrumentation on the album. Produced by Kenny Segal, the backdrop for Milo’s verses is jazzy, moody, and eclectic; a delightful treat for any fan of lo-fi music. Soulful guitars, mellow organs, and soft-spoken synthesizers are all stars of this album’s entire runtime. The drums are clean and straightforward, and never overly showy or distracting. All instruments are on a level playing field here, each one blending with each other and achieving a pleasant and smooth listening experience even before taking Milo’s vocals into account. If it weren’t for those vocals, “Zen Scientist” and “Going No Place” could lull you to sleep if you weren’t careful.
But it’s when Milo (whose real name is Rory Ferreira) starts rapping that you’ll truly be hooked. Before launching his music career, Ferreira studied philosophy at St. Norbert College in Wisconsin, and it shows dramatically in his lyrics. There are references to such mythological figures as Perseus, Sisyphus, and the Argonauts. There are lines about theologians, thespians, blacksmiths, and “an encyclopedia containing the Latin names of the ugliest parts of my insides.”
As if his writing wasn’t sharp and witty enough, Ferreira’s vocabulary alone is impressive. In “Zen Scientist,” he raps:
“It’s a lead lid on this pillbox / I plan on living until the bills stop / Budding curmudgeon with cudgel bludgeon / The kerfuffle of the welterweight that’s understated.”
In “Napping Under The Echo Tree,” we have this:
“In my being, gathering everything’s constant intention / That how-did-he-say ‘gathered, all gathering thinking that recalls’ / That devotional organ, my memory, I remember / The riddle written on my rib cage / The eternal recurrence of the same.”
There’s something so articulate and dizzying, yet intimate about these vocals. Perhaps it’s Ferreira’s clean, thorough enunciation of every word, or elements such as the distorted, pitched-down voice giving a monologue about aimlessness in “Going No Place.” Either way, it’s not so much a meaning that can be deciphered as it is one that can be felt. After all, any English major would probably have to work their butt off to translate these verses. It’s better to just let the imagery and the atmosphere within them take you places.
You don’t have to be a fan of rap or hip-hop to enjoy this album. There are so many feelings and nuances at play among each track that there’s surely at least one thing that anyone, regardless of their musical preferences, can appreciate. You might come to this album for the lounge-jazz instrumentals. You might come to it for the blue, cozy atmosphere. You might even come to it in search of an interesting rap album, but you’ll be pleasantly surprised to find that So The Flies Don’t Come is more than rap. It’s pure poetry.
Stream the album:
