As a follower of one of New York’s most relentlessly avant-garde pop artists—though you could make a case that she fits well within the genre of anti-folk—Imani Coppola has reached a point in her musical career, where you are faced with the question: is the world catching up with Coppola or is Coppola catching up with the world?
Since Coppola’s 1997 debut Chupacabra, it feels like she is always at the right place at the right time. Chupacabra came out post-trip hop when mixing different genres (including rock, hip-hop, and R&B) became in vogue. She worked with producer Adam Pallin on a vintage soul-meets-hip-hop side project, Little Jackie, while soul turned from black to blue-eyed and noticeably British. Last year’s vulnerable Demos From the Void appeared when everyone was shockingly naked about having poor mental health. But, the difference between how Coppola does it and how the world does it is that she stays armed with exceptional musical talent and razor-sharp wit. She has perfected the art of laughing while crying/screaming bloody murder on record.
And so, we arrive at her latest independent project Air Fryer, released when the entire world noticed hits started to last less than three minutes. Inspired by the quickie method of SoundCloud rap, music now encourages artists to get in, deliver their message in less than three minutes, and either get out or move on to the next song. These fast food or microwavable tracks also encourage artists to refrain from overthinking about making “the perfect hit.” Therefore, Air Fryer is Imani’s way of saying, “You wanted two-minute songs? Fuck it. You got two-minute songs. Imani Coppola-style.”
Unlike many of those SoundCloud rappers, Coppola does NOT write with non-sequiturs all the time. Only when necessary. The first title track will signal that for sure. On this album opener, EVERY DAMN THING considered tangible goes into the air fryer—in a fan-assisted remix, she puts even MORE things in the air fryer. Don’t say she hasn’t been giving.
Coppola will use those minutes to dip into either absurdist comedy (the acoustic sing-along “Bathroom Songs,” where apparently toilet papers can smell like fried chicken) or loose sloganeering (the otherwise-humorous “Dick Down, Tits Up,” the longest song on the album at 2:39), as is her modus operandi. Sometimes, Coppola even digs into her signature brand of dark humor (think the major key stalker anthem “I’m Obsessed With You” and “Bumble Bee,” which worrying references forced masturbation. Yep.
If you notice one thing about this trend, it is that artists who practice such an approach don’t waste a lot of time trying to make a temporary single sound “grand.” Thankfully, Coppolai isn’t willing to skimp out on beautiful musical arrangements. For example, the wholesome “Everything About You” subtly explodes into a baroque violin potpourri over the idea of “adopting [a person’s] girlfriend.” Another example of a song with lovely arrangements is the dreamy “My Favorite Kind,” where Imani celebrates “full-ass underwear” and her favorite kind of dental floss over ethereal doo-wop vocals acoompanied by classical piano flourishes.
So, back to the old question: does it feel like Coppola is leading the pack or following? In a way, both. Air Fryer proves that while she is capable and interested in bending to current ideas within the musical landscape from time to time, she is not interested in doing it any other way but through her own vision. So, for those who believe they can handle Coppola’s realism, Air Fryer is written and cobbled for your pleasure.
