Review by Gavin Breeden: Gil Scott-Heron’s powerful new record, I’m New Here, feels less like a comeback and more like a resurrection. Scott-Heron earned notoriety in the 1970s with his spoken-word-soul style—which many attribute to the progress of African-American music, and to the later emergence of hip-hop—but with only one studio album to his name, fans began to wonder if he’d ever record another. This fear intensified when he was imprisoned on drug charges and rumored to have contracted HIV during the early 2000s. So, the very fact that I’m New Here is even being released seems against all odds—and, to hear the artist himself tell it, that just about sums up his entire life.

Gil Scott-Heron once criticized 90s rappers for making records that didn’t allow listeners to see inside their art, but no one can accuse him of doing that here. He recites, croons, wails, and speaks from a place deep in his soul; he sings of great joy and terrible pain and he maintains a dark sense of humor throughout. The beats curated for this set are often cold and industrial, but his rugged voice, bearing the effects of years of hard living, puts fire in his music. The record is a patchwork of spoken word pieces, traditional songs, and snippets from studio conversations, and though it’s over in a quick 28 minutes, it has more punch than most of the music released so far this year.

Nearly all of the material is original, with the notable exception of the Bill Callahan-penned title track and a cover of Robert Johnson's “Me and the Devil.” The latter, re-imagined brilliantly as a bluesy hip-hop number, is perhaps the key to understanding I'm New Here: at its core, this record is a twisted, broken blues album made by a man reflecting on his life and considering his death. Scott-Heron is first and foremost a poet, and his words really are the heart of his craft.

The album is book-ended by a two-part spoken word piece, “On Coming from a Broken Home,” and during both tracks Scott-Heron reminiscences about being raised by his grandmother in West Tennessee. Both are built around the same sample from Kanye West’s “Flashing Lights,” and they function as a moving tribute to Scott-Heron's grandmother, as well as a telling introduction to the genesis of his art. It’s in these personal moments that he displays his singular artistry of word and voice. Consider the description of his grandmother’s death, which is a complex web of sadness, love, fear, hope, and doubt. “I was hurt and scared and shocked when Lily Scott left suddenly one night. And they sent a limousine from heaven to take her to God, if there is one”—it’s haunting lines like this which might make “On Coming from a Broken Home (Part 1)” the best track on I'm New Here.

As a poet, Scott-Heron not only cares about the meaning of words, but also about their sequence and sound. So, it should come as no surprise that I’m New Here is so expertly assembled. Consider that there were apparently a few other songs cut during these sessions (which can be found on a “bonus tracks” edition of the record), and the obvious question becomes, why weren’t at least one or two added to put this record into the 30-plus minutes territory? The reason is that, as the record stands now, it’s nearly perfect. Each song, each story, and each note appears in just the right place, making the record follow, if not an obvious course, an emotionally and spiritually intuitive one.

Above all, I'm New Here is an intensely personal work, revealing the heart and soul of its creator. On “New York is Killing Me,” Scott-Heron reveals himself to be a man caught between three places: Chicago (his birthplace), New York (the city that’s killing him), and Jackson, Tennessee (the place of his childhood and the place he’ll be buried). I’m New Here offers a tapestry representative of these cities, their music, and the autobiographical events he associates with them. Gil Scott-Heron, following in the tradition of great blues artists, sends us reflections on life, childhood, love, death, and burial from the earned perspective of middle age. It’s a compelling and honest work about living and surviving, against the odds.

Last Word: Gil Scott-Heron’s new record contains powerful, poetic reflections on life and death, and not an ounce of fat to be found during its concise, 28-minute runtime.

Review By:
Gavin Breeden

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