Undeveloped Pre Exposure Practice by Esperanza Spalding: A Jazz Ride That Punches You in the Gut
Alright, let’s cut to the chase. Undeveloped Pre Exposure Practice isn’t your grandma's jazz album—this is raw, unfiltered creativity straight outta 2017 from one of the baddest bassists on the scene, Esperanza Spalding. Released under Concord Records (because who else could handle this beast?), it’s a project that doesn’t care if you “get it” or not. And honestly? That’s what makes it so damn good.
First off, the tracklist slaps hard. Tracks like "Helluva" and "Word Jungle" stick with you—not because they’re easy listens but because they feel like getting hit by a truck full of ideas. Take “Helluva,” for instance. It kicks off with this weird-ass groove that grabs you by the collar and shakes you awake. The bassline? Insane. Like, I had to rewind it three times just to make sure my ears weren’t lying to me. By the time the horns kick in, you’re either vibing hardcore or scratching your head wondering what planet this chick lives on. Either way, it works.
Then there’s “Word Jungle.” This one feels like walking into a room where everyone’s speaking a different language at once, and somehow, it all clicks together. Spalding’s voice dances around the chaos like she owns the place, weaving through layers of sound that shouldn’t fit but do. There’s no chill moment here—it’s relentless, kinda messy, and absolutely electrifying. If you can listen to this without feeling something stir inside you, check your pulse, dude.
The rest of the album? Just as wild. Songs like “Tangerine” and “Trouble” throw curveballs left and right, while tracks like “Work Of Art” remind you why Spalding’s got skills sharper than a sushi knife. But don’t expect anything predictable. This album refuses to sit still, which might piss some people off—but hey, art’s supposed to challenge you, right?
So yeah, Undeveloped Pre Exposure Practice ain’t for everyone. If you want smooth jazz to sip wine to, keep scrolling. But if you wanna hear an artist pushing boundaries until they snap, this is your jam. Honestly, listening to this feels less like enjoying music and more like watching someone tear apart their own brain and put it back together live on stage.
And maybe that’s the point. Maybe Esperanza Spalding wanted us to feel uncomfortable, to question what we think we know about jazz—or hell, about music itself. Or maybe she was just bored and decided to mess with our heads. Either way, it sticks with you.
Final thought? Jazz purists will hate this record. Everyone else? They’ll probably hate it too—but deep down, they’ll respect the hell out of it. Funny how that works, huh?
