Something that a lot of people don’t often think about is how much music has changed within the last sixty years that popular music as we know it has been a mainstay in society. Popular music has always been around, but in varying degrees. It wasn’t until the British Invasion of the early 1960s, specifically Beatlemania, that music changed to the popular lexicon that we know today. Artists, bands, and albums can change society. Kendrick Lamar brought everyone together this past summer in a campaign against hating Drake, and it was the cultural event of the whole year (especially when one of those songs swept the Grammy’s in a surprising move). What is popular, however, has changed over time; rock, traditional pop, R&B, soul, and folk gave way to heavy metal, grunge, alternative, pop-punk, hip-hop, new wave, and indie rock, among other things. The way people digest music has changed, too, going from records to cassettes to CDs to digital files. Things come full circle, though, as vinyl has made a comeback, but so has “real music.” A lot of artists back in the 1960s and 1970s were authentic artists, and not just corporate shells that wanted to promote products, or sing about extremely vapid and unimportant topics, but they wanted to talk about something real and human. That’s how real change was made. These days, the idea of a “real musician” is hard to come by, because labels corrupt musicians and ultimately want them to be something in their vision, not always what the artist wants.
That’s why an artist like Kyle M comes once in a generation. That’s short for Kyle Mooney, but he doesn’t want you to know that. He wants you to look at his music as something new. Mooney is a comedian, actor, writer, producer, and all-around modern-day Renaissance Man, but you can add musician to his list of pedigrees and talents. Make no mistake, there is nothing comedic about this album, entitled The Real Me. With such an invocative title, you can’t help but immediately be drawn to it. The best part is that Kyle M just surprised released this album, along with a short documentary accompanying the record that talks about his upbringing and takes listeners to his childhood home where he reminisces about falling in love with music as a kid. It’s insightful yet playful, clever yet straightforward, and profound yet accessible. You learn so much about Kyle M in just a few short minutes, but you learn a lot more while listening to this record. The album starts off with an introduction that states that we’ll be taking a journey inside “you.” Does that mean myself, or “you” in a proverbial sense? That’s a profound philosophical question from Kyle M, but that’s something I love about this record. It asks questions that it wants you, the listener, to answer, because life can’t answer everything for you.
The album only gets deeper from there. “Kid On The Range” is a country song that looks at Kyle M not wanting to grow up. He wants to be a cowboy, and not a cow man, as he says plainly and interestingly. The song examines what it’s like to grow old, but still have a childlike spark within you. “Digital Society” is a clever takedown of social media that begs listeners to “put down their phones” and “read a book.” We don’t do enough of that, and I’m sure you’re reading this online right now. Kyle M does get a bit more playful with “Blue Car,” which is an ode to the namesake, but the song is a love letter to 1960s car culture, but he makes it all his own. “Gwendolyn Bartley” is a harrowing tale of mistreating the elderly, and it ends on a rather sad note that we can learn from, but the good vibes pick right back up with “California Summer.” This is surely to be a song I listen to a lot during this summer, because of how it perfectly encapsulates the summer atmosphere.
The second half of this album is where things get a bit more introspective, autobiographical, and frankly interesting. The first half was warming us up to Kyle’s genius, but this second half is a look into his soul. “Disease” is a song about his middle school years, where we learn that Kyle was bullied by the popular kids, although he says his name is Matt in the song, so I don’t know if that’s meant to be a clever twist of expectations, or what, but it’s an interesting song that looks at bullying and how kids are awfully cruel. “I Gotta Dance Tonight” is about how companies have people working 24/7, even when they’re off the clock; Kyle just wants to have a good time while going dancing, but he keeps thinking about work, and this song is a great allegory about how companies value profits over people. “House That’s Haunted” is an introspective look at how the ghosts of Kyle’s past haunt him wherever he goes, but it’s told through him moving into a new house and realizing that the ghosts he’s being haunted by are himself. “ILY” is a sweet little track about how he loves someone, and it’s one of the more earnest songs on the album, but it’s a sweet one, nonetheless. The album closes with the title track, but it’s the thesis of this whole record, where we got to look at the real him. He stresses that he isn’t a clown, and that we shouldn’t be laughing at this record, because there’s nothing funny or comedic about it.
Despite only being a 20-minute album, The Real Me runs the gambit of emotion and songwriting. I haven’t heard an album this good in such a long time. It’s refreshing to hear an album as authentic, interesting, unique, and wonderful as The Real Me. Kyle M is a breath of fresh air in the music world. He’s the songbird of our generation. I can’t recommend this album enough, folks. If you want to hear the most transformative, innovative, and unique album you’ll hear probably all year, give this one a listen. I promise that you won’t regret it. I haven’t heard an album that changed my life this much in a long time. I’ve been thinking about this album constantly ever since I first listened to it, and I keep listening to it over and over again, because I find something new to enjoy about it during each listen.
Okay, now that I’m done with this bit, let’s actually talk about this record, shall we? Kyle Mooney of Saturday Night Live surprise-dropped his debut album a couple of weeks ago, called The Real Me, along with a three-minute YouTube video that serves as a “documentary” about the album to go along with it. The video was basically Mooney talking about the album, as well as revisiting what he says is his “childhood home,” ultimately spouting off a bunch of singer-songwriter cliches. He emphasized that there’s nothing comedic about this record, because Mooney is known for his work in comedy, whether it’s on SNL, a couple of movies he’s made, or a pretty funny Netflix show that satirizes Saturday morning cartoons and how ridiculous they were. This record is played completely straight, but it’s also not meant to be good. This is one of those albums that’s from an artist who’s overconfident about how good they are, and how they’re so authentic, but they also make some of the worst music you’ll ever hear. This album is oddly charming, but it stems from how serious Mooney plays it, and how amateurish this record sounds. The production is incredibly lo-fi, you can hear Mooney breathing on every song, and his cadence and melodies are off-kilter.
The thing is, I don’t hate it. This record is very charming in an odd and off-putting way. I can see why people would hate it, because it’s meant to be bad, but there is a deep and subtle joke to this record that makes it enjoyable for me. One is Mooney’s whole demeanor throughout the record, as well as the documentary video, where he’s so confident that this is such profound and important music when it’s not. Each song is basically a rip-off of something else, whether it’s a genre or a band, like “Blue Car” is definitely a Beach Boys song, or “Gwendolyn Bartley” is very much “Eleanor Rigby” by The Beatles, but the awkward lyrics, pauses, breathing, and everything else that he does is just so funny to me. The joke may run stale by the end for some people, because every song does follow a similar idea, or a variation thereof, where the song rips off another band or genre, and the lyrics are awkward, dumb, or pretentious in some way, as well as Mooney having a very monotone and amateurish sound to both the production and performances. At only 20 minutes, this record flies by, but I think you need to be a fan of this style of humor to really enjoy it. If you’re not into this more subtle and drier style of comedy music (because there really isn’t anything outwardly funny about it), you won’t like this, but if you like that dry sense of humor that Mooney is known for (a lot of my favorite bits from SNL came during his tenure there), you’ll have a lot of fun with this.