Struggle and triumph, are palpable and plainly articulated in his music, and it makes the best of Dreams and Nightmares (including "In God We Trust" and "Believe It") feel eminently vital. Sneering talking heads and confused elitists use that struggle as a weapon against the music: How can this music, and these artists, be taken seriously when they brag about throwing money at strippers? The genius of Meek's music is that he embodies, fleshes out, and answers the rapper's dilemma. Rap is often about contradiction, of wanting to stay humble and true while still stunting. It's a track that best distills Meek's singularity hurt oozes from his voice and words, illustrating rap's literal and spiritual roots. On the opening title track, he raps unabated for nearly four minutes, tracing lines from his come-up in Philly to strip clubs in Miami and back, over a beat that morphs into menace halfway through. His music channels pain, anger, empathy, and glee into a wave that hits immediately and forcefully, especially on the album's first two songs. It is tense and dramatic, with variations of piano constituting the bedrock of the album and Meek rapping passionately even by his own standards.
After navigating that push-pull, Meek Mill has emerged with an album that is distinct in both voice and sound and also plays to his strengths. So maybe Dreams and Nightmares is something to celebrate, even though it's imperfect. But this is still a thin line for artists to walk, one so difficult that good-to-great major label rap debuts now feel like a minor miracle. Waka Flocka Flame was smart enough to capitalize on his timing simply by turning a proposed mixtape into a debut album, and, most recently, Kendrick Lamar used his unwavering artistic vision to essentially subvert this game entirely. Cole have made better, more accessible versions of the early songs that first got them buzz, and Nicki Minaj plays both sides of the field.
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