Listening to Wale's mixtapes can be enigmatic. At times, you're asking yourself why you spend your time listening to an oft-monotonous delivery lacking in hooks, and at times you're blown away by his relentless barrage of rhymes and asking yourself why he can't do more with such obvious talent.
His feat is remaining distinct and unique in a diluted rap game through rhythmically aggressive rhymes that never seem to cease.
But his fault is lacking focus and vision. To this point, he has creatively confined himself to others' beats and his natural ability to rap incessantly. Substantively and creatively, his work has yet to paint a picture, present a character or feel like a polished product.
This has been passable because the format of a mixtape inherently carries fewer demands, which makes it his natural creative habitat. He can use other people's beats and songs to flaunt his chops and show them up, but on his first studio album, Attention: Deficit, it must be expected he create a product giving direction to his talent.
Answering any of these specific doubts was clearly not on his mind, as a number of songs still find Wale relying on his mixtape roots, but luckily, he displays an ability to create focus and purpose on independent tracks and shows signs of hope on all.
The most distinct character on the album comes from ""Let Loose"" and its producer, the Neptunes. Pharrell's inviting vocals over an undercurrent of rapidly pulsating yet light bass notes combined with a relentlessness only Wale's syllabic assault could tackle make this song identifiable, though not exceptional. In the end, it doesn't think outside the box as much as it's superficially given a personality. It fills in the blanks with vibrant descriptions, but it doesn't create its own statement.
Presenting similar struggles, ""Mirrors"" has an immediately attractive beat, but it is backed with a soft hook that relies on an immature phrase from a Disney movie. ""TV in the Radio"" is invitingly fun, but it feels like a mixtape collaboration with K'naan, especially since both have a tendency to use over-the-top, overanxious productions.
Fighting the negative tendencies sneaking into Wale's collaborations is the best song on the album, ""Contemplate."" With no featured guests or fancy production to steal some of the spotlight, Wale is forced to give it direction by stripping off layers both aesthetically and personally. The subject matter is a troubled, overdue relationship, which is the most real, personal content Wale has ever submitted. It also succeeds dynamically in ways Wale has yet to really explore: variation and exploration within a beat without taking attention away from the song's identity.
Similar success, perhaps fittingly, comes from tracks that lack a listed featured guest. The production is consistently more controlled and, as a result, dynamic, and a lyrical focus seems to follow the production's lead. On ""90210,"" Wale touches on superficialities in society and female beauty. And the album closer, ""Prescription,"" is the most intriguing and authentic track. Not so much lyrically focused—a brag track is beginners' rap territory—as much as it is the completely unique way he does the boasting. It's subtle, unassuming, almost reserved; he basically turns all conventions upside down, making it a success.
Overall, the album feels like a hybrid, combining elements of the mixtape and studio album. There are collaborations where guest artists clearly influenced the production and style, carrying the spontaneous, unfocused feeling of a mixtape. But then there are a handful of tracks in which Wale appears to open up to listeners through more polished yet organic tracks. Listeners' only hope is that over time, Wale matures into a more independently and assertively creative artist instead of being content as a free-flowing rapper.
