Santigold has been far too quiet since her last album, 99¢, in February 2016. Just a little over two years later, that silence has been abruptly broken with a “mixtape-style” album called I Don’t Want: The Goldfire Sessions, recorded in just two weeks with the help of producer/DJ Dre Skull, founder of the Mixpak record label and best known for his work with the likes of Popcaan and How to Dress Well. With both parties’ distinct predilections for the reggae-tinged sound, I Don’t Want kicks off with “Coo Coo Coo,” a banger of an opener that offers island beats galore as Santi opens, “Listen to your heart, now you hear me sing/Come find my mind if you’re tryna be with me.” And if you are, you won’t regret it, as Santigold takes you on a musical journey designed to make you forget about the present state of things (so unpleasant that it makes you realize Woody Allen’s thesis in Midnight in Paris simply doesn’t work in the climate of 2018). As she commented to Beats 1’s Zane Lowe of the impromptu record, “Right now, it’s hard enough to get people to listen to anything that feels heavy and dark. That’s the environment every time you turn on the news.”
This doesn’t mean that, like Madonna before her, Santigold can’t be frothy with her beats and give us a political message, concluding to Lowe, “But at the same time, we can’t just turn off.” Which is precisely the case on “Coo Coo Coo,” a hyper-aware of sexual harassment opener that paints the picture of claustrophobia whenever a woman walks down what should feel like the wide space of the streets, commenting, “Starts to feel like stalking, I don’t feel you go away/Can’t share my space for walking, got some place to be/I don’t care about your money, clout, hair/You can keep your cat call and get out of my way.”
Despite giving birth to twins four months ago, Santigold is all too familiar with the common female plight of being catcalled, as men on the streets will literally do it to an actual cat for how evolved their brain and aesthetic discernment is. That she recorded the ten-track record while still pregnant adds to the sense of urgency of the lyrics, as is the case on “Run the Road,” as she makes the apropos observation that applies both to being enceinte and the Mexican border controversies of late, “From outside looks like a circle/From on this side it seems like a wall/Rough ride, get me through it some way.”
Calling bullshit on the so often false machismo of the man who promises to turn you out, “Wha’ You Feel Like” is Santigold at her cheekiest on the album as she commences with, “So you think you know what a girl like/Tell me gonna give it to me all night/Bend me all into it and we all right.” But, as is usually the case, these promises frequently turn out to be lackluster. Just like the ones given by politicians, a sect of creeps lightly broached in a roundabout way on “I Don’t Want,” in which Santigold sings, “I can’t hear when y’all chatter/Calm down thinkin’ y’all foolin’ somebody.” Of course, they never are, but that doesn’t mean Santigold is necessarily bothering with coming for them directly. As she specifically noted of the album, “It’s not political. It’s more social commentary. Politics are wack–it’s mostly about the characters instead of the issues, like how religion is about religion instead of spirituality. But I think a lot of the issues playing out in politics right now are super relevant, and I care a lot about them.” Her concern, to be sure, has only augmented with the birth of two new children into a world decidedly, well, fucked.
After all, we’re living in a “Valley of the Dolls,” the title of track five (try not to confuse it with Marina and the Diamonds’ version), in which it sounds like Santigold is talking less about sleeping pills and more about a culture of zombies. As she speaks on her superiority to those around her (isn’ t that always the way with famous people?), Santigold sings, “Open eyes, not like before/Watch them wind up more and more/Rip the tethers from their back/Simulates a heart attack/Jaws all dropped down to the floor.”
Repurposing some unfinished tracks Santigold had previously started to work on with Diplo, including “Valley of the Dolls,” the finished products fit in seamlessly with a mixtape vibe, and further encouraged Santigold to work in a less controlled, more fast-paced manner. Still, she asks, “Why Me,” an uptempo ditty that speaks to the notion of letting that which must come to pass, come to pass. For the more we fight against what we can’t change, the harder we make it on ourselves (it’s a cult mentality, but it’s accurate). To use Santigold’s example, “But when a circumstance comes to a head/I don’t do things that I regret/Like when I’m without a care/Obama dropped out of the air.” Essentially, when you stop seeking something–happiness, love, success–it is probably more likely to find you (though, on a personal note, I definitely have not found this to be true).
“Crashing Your Party” is another prime instance of Santigold’s forceful commitment to social awareness on this album as she aims to wake up those who are content to remain oblivious to the mounting problems of the world. Santi remarked of the song, “It’s about those who prefer to not think about the issues playing out and instead put on blinders just to get through.” They’d rather not have their blithe party crashed, but that’s what Santigold does with this song, albeit in a gentle and soothing way with those continued island beats.
Santigold says she doesn’t consider I Don’t Want: The Goldfire Sessions a true mixtape album because you’re supposed to have a barrage of collaboration on any bona fine mixtape. But, at the very least, she offers us a collab with dancehall reggae queen Shenseea, who also recently made a cameo on Christina Aguilera’s Liberation with “Right Moves.” Another loose commentary on sexual harassment/a braggart’s anthem about good looks, Santigold and Shenseea urge a jealous woman not to blame her for stopping traffic as they declare, “Wha ya know girl what you know bout me/One more time see me turn their heads/On guard now see your babe need more/Work it out now don’t make me your foe/When I walk through the town, me I stop them dead.” At least if they’re dead, they can’t catcall.
“A Perfect Life” persists with the combined motif of narcissism and political awareness, Santigold announcing, “A perfect Speci-Men, I reel them in at once/Every move I make I flaunt/Get pretty like I mean it, a real debutante/I know I’m surely hot.” Even so, that doesn’t stop Santigold from feeling insecure like the rest of us while she adds that despite her confidence she is shy, and really just looking for that one person who is her true love (ah women, still so naive about this concept), telling herself, “I’m nearer to the day my love needs no disguise/I’ll chase it ‘til the end of time.” At least it will keep her (and the rest of us seeking to do the same) perpetually fit.
Closing out the beautifully cohesive record is “Gold Fire,” highlighting the theme of solipsism with the remark, “Locked down in the cell of your head/Got me outta bounds I care too much.” Despite this unfortunate circumstance we all have of being forever trapped in our own head, it, alas, doesn’t make us blind to the cataclysms around us. It bears noting that while Santigold is the focal point of her album artwork, Washington D.C.’s Capitol Building, a figure in a hazmat suit and a gaggle of teargas-inspired policemen comprise some of the chaotic backdrop. A disjointed conglomerate of a visual, it perfectly sums up the auditory contents of the record, coming just in time to serve as among the best offerings of the summer thus far.
