Vinyl LP, Compact Disc (CD), Cassette
In the second verse of “Saylo,” the opening track on Seafood Sam’s majestic new album Standing On Giant Shoulders, Sam asks and immediately answers a defining question: “Is Seafood the smoothest? Always drop cool shit.” It’s his thesis statement, his raison d’etre—those two words, “smooth” and “cool,” are his favorite descriptors. In a recent interview with POW Mag, the Long Beach rapper expressed his desire to fully embody those terms; he wants his music to soundtrack everything from pleasant drives to raucous parties to counting up money—ultimately, to sweeten the vibe, no matter the situation.
Sam’s 2018 breakout track “Ramsey” found him gliding over funk loops that felt like sunshine and soft breeze, calmly rapping about his bonafides as though absentmindedly peeling hundreds from a thick, folded stack. It serves as the north star for his entire discography; though he tries on a lot of different sounds (check the post-hyphy drift of “Dayton 88” or the ‘80s muzak of “Luv Baby Soft”), everything he does hints at classic jazz, soul, and R&B. Standing On Giant Shoulders is the apotheosis of this exploration. Seafood Sam turns from rapper to galactic bandleader in the vein of Lonnie Liston Smith or Roy Ayers, taking us on a journey from South L.A. County directly into the cosmos.
To complete this transformation, Sam linked with Tom Kendall, a Long Beach multi-instrumentalist who leads an ensemble called Soular System. Sam would explain how he wanted a certain drum pattern programmed, and Kendall would start sketching it out on the MPC. Instead of plumbing old jazz records for samples, they’d call in members of Soular System to flesh out the arrangements. The result is a lush, resplendent funk-soul album deeply rooted in the relaxed bounce of West Coast hip-hop. There are Stax-indebted horn sections, dramatic Philly soul strings, and lithe, undulating basslines. Each song joyfully bursts at the seams with sung hooks and codas that stretch heavenward, replete with harp glissandos (“Can’t Take the Hood to Heaven”), Charles Stepney psychedelia (“Bullets of a Butterfly”), or massive, twinkling synthesizers (“Overseas Sam”). In the middle stands Seafood Sam, effortlessly commanding the towering swirl of sound with James Brown rigor. It’s easy to imagine him onstage in a perfectly tailored suit, the musicians in his backing band taking their cues from the slightest changes in body language.
Sam occupies a similar lane to lifestyle rappers like Curren$y or Larry June. Most of his lyrics revolve around being exceedingly well-dressed, perfuming rooms with freshly extinguished weed, and occasionally issuing warnings to those who might mistake his laid-back demeanor for weakness. He’s not flashy—he emphasizes vibe over technique—but there’s nothing underwritten or lazily delivered here. Whether it’s a subtle tweak of flow from slightly behind the beat (“Brownskin Cinnamon”) to impressively metronomic (“Bullets of a Butterfly”), or the level of specificity with which he writes about his wardrobe (“Lagonda”), Sam’s precision is what holds everything together. His vocals aren’t merely window dressing for his and Kendall’s vibrant compositions, he is their center; all the well-appointed details are there to help him shine most of all. Standing On Giant Shoulders is remarkable not because of its marriage of throwback and contemporary, but because it’s the sound of someone fully embodying their artistic vision.
