At the beginning of billy woods’ verse on Armand Hammer and the Alchemist’s new song “Dogeared,” a woman asks him a straightforward but weighty philosophical question: “What’s the role of a poet in times in like these?” If anyone would know, it’s woods. Meandering through dazed Middle Eastern synths and his own troubling thoughts, he turns forlorn subway rides, late night smoke sessions, and fried eggs into a mosaic of subtle, encroaching despair. It’s a prison of ironies hidden in plain sight: You tuck your kids into bed as the craft you use to pay for their sheets is under attack. Lovers search for love in dimly lit wine bars where they can’t see each other. Out of towners double park at the club before a night of thrills that are as temporary and conditional as safety. But the rain keeps pouring. At least today. And billy’s got nothing but time to search for a resolution, an expedition he continues on Armand Hammer’s latest album, Mercy.
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