OutKast entered an industry that didn’t consider them as equals. Andre “3000” Benjamin and Antwan “Big Boi” Pattan looked upon a hip-hop scene so concerned in the East Coast/West Coast of it all, that at the 1995 Source Awards, when beating New York natives Smiff-N-Wessun for Best New Artists on their home turf, Andre 3000 proclaimed, “The South got something to say.“
This battle cry carved out a space that dominated much of hip-hop and later the pop music scene. The boos from the native New York crowd became nothing but an origin story for OutKast, as they released several albums that have undeniable spots on the mantlepiece of hip-hop and music at large. Missy Elliott, Lil Wayne, Young Thug, Megan Thee Stallion, Ludacris, and more exist in a space carefully carved out almost prophetically; their success and creativity amplified by the MTV generation, the blog era, and the current moment in hip-hop. The South, specifically Atlanta, became a creative hub in great part due to Outkast’s creativity and ambition.
With consistent diversifying and amplification of their sound, by the time 2000’s Stankonia’s singles started to roll out, it wasn’t a question of whether they would do it again, but how and to what extent. An album named after the studio they purchased from Bobbi Brown, combining the words “stank” and “Plutonia”, the name represents a place of ultimate freedom and creativity, where one can open their soul and let ingenuity beam out onto whoever is willing to receive.
As far as this album is concerned, the listening world may not have been ready, but they were certainly willing to receive it. Trading the mellow energy of 1998’s Aquemini for faster, chaotic, and high-energy tempos, Stankonia was the first album where Outkast didn’t have to prove and outdo themselves. Here, they created for creation’s sake and in so doing, their music accidentally catered to the anxious election year in the United States. The album was released shortly before the November 2000 elections, which resulted in George W. Bush losing the popular vote to Al Gore but winning the Electoral College, signifying a divided nation and a narrow win for Bush.
Pungent authenticity shines through the hit Grammy Award-winning single “Ms. Jackson”. With a wonderous pop-chorus sung by a mournful Andre 3000: “I apologize a trillion times,” he woefully sings, wistfully vulnerable and pained by the failure of the family he was trying to build. There are many details that make the song a singular creation, such as the puppy-dog whimpering in the background and an interpolation of the classic wedding march Bridal Chorus.
However, the song’s magic lies in the difference in perspective: whilst Andre’s verse reflects the same pain the hook does, he wishes things could have worked out and that a family unit he was creating with Erykah Badu could have withstood the turbulence that relationships often face. “Forever never seems that long until you’re grown/ And notice that the day-by-day ruler can’t be too wrong”. Instead, he’s left reflecting on the broken pieces and apologising endlessly.
In direct opposition, we have Big Boi, who is completely uninterested in mourning or being considerate, with two fury-filled verses that feel like a car crash of a person who is at their wits’ end and feels borderline vengeful. “That’s my house, I’ll disconnect the cable and turn the lights out”. Without Big Boi’s defiance to apologise for any misunderstanding, the song would be nothing more than begging; it’s the marriage of the two perspectives that makes the song such a magical hit and brilliant reflection on interpersonal complexities. Through collapse: anger and woe can walk hand-in-hand.
The other singles, “B.O.B (Bombs Over Baghdad)” and “So Fresh, So Clean”, are equally astonishing. The abrasive first single “B.O.B (Bombs Over Baghdad)” begins with a jingling music box intro and then a whispered count off before you’re propelled into sonic brilliance and insanity. Andre 3000 glides speedily over the first verse in a stream-of-consciousness fashion, reflecting on the daunting socioeconomic issues back home in Atlanta. “Get back home, things are wrong/ Well, not really, it was bad all along.”
The luxury of ease is not provided in this listening experience; in lieu of that, the listener receives an adrenaline surge. The gospel choir in the chorus is in direct contrast with Andre’s jittery proclamation, bringing in the gospel influence that the song later transcends with their chanting, “Power music, electric revival.”
After Andre’s reflection, Big Boi brings style to “B.O.B.” The direct dichotomy and brilliance of their musical colours shine through as Big Boi reflects on his and Andre’s differences. “Did you ever think a pimp rock a microphone?/ Like that there, boy, and will still stay street.” Funk, hip-hop, rock, and gospel find themselves becoming an unlikely Frankenstein of a song together.
Stankonia wasn’t interested in being removed from Aquemini; it was a natural, more pop-friendly continuation of a sublime canon and the roles each half of the OutKast duo holds, which was later canonised further in 2003’s Speakerboxxx/The Love Below. The weakness of that album, however, is that it lacks the interplay between the two rappers; the genius of Stankonia is in its fluidity and willingness to throw the dichotomy of Andre 3000 and Big Boi in your face.
The opening track, following the intro, is “Gasoline Dreams” with Khujo Goodie, an explosive song built on stirring electric guitar riffs that sets the album off with a shot of energy and emotional reflection. Andre 3000 and Big Boi, only 25 years old at this stage of their careers, evoke reflections on young adulthood, fame, and the pain that comes with it. “All of my heroes did dope/ Every n—a ’round me playing married or paying child support.”
The duo was interested not only in corruption but also in reflecting on the community surrounding them and how different issues take shape. With Big Boi’s off-kilter and volatile flow, an image of injustice is painted cogently. “Officer, get off me, sir/ Don’t make me call L.A.(Reid)—he’ll have you walking, sir.”
With B-sides like “Humble Mumble” with Erykah Badu, which includes Big Boi lecturing youngsters to be active in pursuing their dreams, instead of just dreaming – “Fuck wishing, you missing the ambition on your mission” – and then has Andre 3000 speaking on music criticism of hip-hop: “I met a critic, I made her shit her draws/ She said she thought Hip-Hop was only guns and alcohol/ I said “Oh hell naw! But yet, it’s that too.”
What remained enchanting about Outkast during the Stankonia era was not only their capacity to create another phenomenal album, but their honesty. Less honest artists that embodied the bohemian aesthetic of Andre 3000 would have been all fight in their statement, instead of accepting and embracing the nuances of the culture built around the genre.
OutKast is subversive and colourful like A Tribe Called Quest and De La Soul, and funky, spiritual, and transcendent like Prince. Like the best artists, their influences mix naturally to create a remarkable and volatile invention that splatters onto their sonic canvas. Southern and unapologetic, they kicked the door in and built something singular, proving themselves constantly until all that was left for them was pure enjoyment. Stankonia showcases the duo at their best, a diptych that simultaneously opposes and mirrors each other, holding a stylistic reverence for an inimitable vision.