Rediscovered: OutKast's ‘Stankonia’

The story of OutKast is one of testing the fences.

When the duo emerged in 1994 with the thumping, soulful Southernplayalisticadillacmuzik, they forcefully drew the spotlights from the warring coasts to the humid depths of the South, reminding the country that other voices were dying to be heard. Their second album, ATLiens, was a dare to those who had just started paying attention, expanding their vision into spacious sci-fi funk that sounded singular in the fecund wilds of rap’s Golden Age. Its expanded scope was a challenge: Here’s a deeper version of our vision; are you still here with us? 1998’s Aquemini was arguably their starmaker, a rap album that took a bit of everything — gospel, blues, dub, blues — and threw it into a blender without a top. Audiences were primed and ready for its journey, and the locus of rap music began its decade-long shift to Atlanta.

Released on Oct. 31, 2000, OutKast’s fourth (and some might argue final) album, Stankonia, finally broke through whatever barriers were in their way. André 3000 and Big Boi were bona fide stars, the unofficial spokespeople of an entire geographic region, guiding lights of hip-hop experimentalism. Strictures of genre no longer applied to the group — they were hip-hop to the core, without a doubt. But time and time again, they’d pushed the boundaries of what it could encompass and were rewarded with breathless accolades and an exponentially growing fanbase. During the album cycle interviews, both André and Big Boi admitted to drawing inspiration from beyond rap. Big Boi frequently mentioned his admiration for Kate Bush, another impossible-to-pin-down artist, and 3 Stacks was enthralled with drum and bass acts like Roni Size and Photek. Determined to handle the lion’s share of the album’s production on their own, the duo combined with their touring DJ, Mr. DJ, to form Earthtone III, taking the Organized Noize idea into uncharted waters. Stankonia was OutKast with total creative freedom.

From the first few minutes, it’s clear that any idea was ripe for exploration. “Intro” is a guided meditation where synthesizers stretch into long, raga-like drones, dissolving into the acid-dipped guitar pyrotechnics of “Gasoline Dreams.” The unifying themes were disruption and discovery. Each track was stuffed to the gills with conflicting ideas, but the rappers never batted an eye, selling even their most outlandish juxtapositions. “Xxplosion” combined harpsichord, squiggling 303 acid bass, and the sample of what could be a shishi-odoshi fountain over a splashy breakbeat. On the hook, Witchdoctor’s sneers of “We just can’t be amazed” drive home the kitchen sink sonics, taunting anyone to dispute how well it all works together. Even the first single, the generational, pavement-cracking “B.O.B.,” was defiant in its innovation, an exuberant expression of Miami bass, UK electro, and fried psych-rock. It was a declaration that no one could put limits on OutKast’s imagination or, by extension, hip-hop itself.

The tension in the music spilled over into the lyrics. For all of its multicolored flourishes, there’s a palpable bitterness throughout Stankonia, and many of its verses feel like middle fingers. “Ms. Jackson,” the group’s biggest single, was acrid and pained, describing the complicated nuances of failed relationships and the impossibility of wriggling free from judgment. The capitalist critiques of “Red Velvet” were stark warnings: Money is inextricably linked to violence, and the pursuit of it will inevitably leave many crushed under the boot of the prosperous. Dre impeached the American Dream on “Gasoline Dreams;” Big Boi describes pervasive street-level paranoia on “Spaghetti Junction.” Everything feels coiled, waiting for a shoe to drop.

Despite its forward-thinking vision, Stankonia marked the beginning of OutKast’s slow dissolution. The two had begun to pull away from each other, working on songs in isolation and touring in separate buses. Their yin-and-yang energy is at its maximum here, and though it gives Stankonia the depth of conflicting perspectives, you can sense the two musicians beginning to diverge into their own musical visions. Consider the polarity in attitude between “I’ll Call B4 I Cum” and “We Luv Deez Hoes” and the personality that anchors them. Listen to the disparate approaches each takes in “So Fresh, So Clean.” Notice when one member shows up and the other doesn’t.

In retrospect, it makes sense — where else was OutKast to go? They’d explored so many different styles, put the most othered part of the country on their backs, achieved immense critical acclaim and Billboard chart success, all while ignoring everything outside of their own intuition. Stankonia is the moment where OutKast comes a bit unmoored from the tracks, their previously controlled chaos starting to giddily spin out and break containment. It’s a masterstroke in a discography full of them, a fiercely original vision of the possibilities of sound. It’s an incredibly compelling smorgasbord, splintering and spasming and threatening to break apart while holding direct eye contact. It’s an inarguable classic, a deafening high note from some of rap’s most steadfast innovators.