Inspired loosely by this (absolutely wild) review of Dent May’s album in Paste
Where to begin with Chopper Price’s new Album? It’s classic, but it still feels fresh; it’s dark, but it’s funny; it’s sweet at times, but almost sickly so. It’s like a mom who’s a little too into how hot her son is.
This is Price’s 4th album, and this time, he’s decided to scale it back. The production is delicate and restrained, and yet there’s something about it that’s frustratingly not-quite-there-yet. Like trying to pop a pimple before it is ripe, or an al dente banana. You hold Price’s music in your arms, and it looks past you with the placid stare of a CPR dummy.
But maybe the alienation is intentional. Maybe Price’s music isn’t for the Gray Flannel Suit types out there with a wife and a life and a 401K, but for those of us who aren’t afraid to swim a little outside the mainstream.
Chopper Price writes music for nerds, but nerds who fuck. Nerds who are no stranger to a little Moonrise Kingdom and chill. Nerds who would be so much better-looking if they got a decent haircut, and yet, at the same time, the bad haircut is part of the charm. Nerds who would be so lucky to have you, out there with a haircut looking like that. They’d be so grateful; so enthusiastic. Wouldn’t it be nice, for once, to have a lover who’s not afraid to be sincere?
For all of Price’s great hooks, he’s a little too generous with the chorus. Instead of the repetition hammering the lines home, it has the opposite effect. It lessens their power and lets one’s mind wander outside the music—to our phone battery, to how much data we’re using, to how our hair looks, to what’s a cool and casual way to grip a subway pole. Uh oh! We all know that the reason that we listen to music is to be away from our thoughts!
The musical litany makes one self-conscious. Listening to Price sing “she works at the post office/ I’m her priority male” for the 16th time, it’s less of a window into the artist’s mind so much as a mirror held up to the listener. It’s the bitter self-awareness of washing your vibrator. It’s looking through an ex’s Venmo transactions to try to figure out if they’re in a relationship, knowing it’s beneath you, and doing it anyway. It’s going to iHOP, ordering the Rooty Tooty Fresh and Fruity Pancakes, and being too embarrassed to say the name out loud so you just mumble and point to the picture.
That said, Price’s music doesn’t claim to be intellectual, it’s a feel-good album that gives you a good feeling. It’s a music of simple pleasures; of going into work and knowing that you have a great lunch packed for the day. Of breathing through both nostrils after a week of being congested. Of being asked what you want for Christmas, replying, “honestly, just a pair of new windshield wipers,” and meaning it.
So this Christmas, set yourself down with some hot cocoa and a self-congratulatory pat on the back, and treat yourself to the music of Chopper Price. His music’s rich enough to get you through the winter, but it’s not so heavy that you’ll go into hibernation.
Oh, and if you’re one of those nerds, think twice about getting that haircut. Once you realize that you’re hot, your personality gets bad and the spell is broken.
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