Opening simply with “Space Bar Intro,” the string sections and rugged vocals are a beautiful coinciding factor to the mix. Most of Space Bar can be contained into being a walk through otherworldly areas that vaguely represent Manhattan. The space taxis and buses carry people from place to place and ultimately resemble something from Futurama.
Your Old Droog’s vocals are fantastic in the way that they flow over the orchestral strings without a single fray in the notes. He takes “Space Bar Intro” as a diving board into “Cosmonaut” which spends less time in limbo as it does getting right into an audience’s palate.
The boom-bap instrumental dives through the asteroid belt and has Your Old Droog as a faithful leader through the impossible to avoid danger. He describes, “My next shit is off the meat rack, fuck ___, I need that Chloe Bailey beat pack” as laser guns fill the void for vocals. The way that the audience can listen in and illustrate in their own finishing describes one of the strongest relations to MF DOOM.
Even as the rhymes that reference to “Beef Rap” that describes, “Ain’t got to go to music class, still could be flat. Spitting beef rap like you ain’t been wack beat cat.” One of the most important things about Your Old Droog is the fact that each bar can be a teaching tool for the listener to be not only punchlines but also have some moments of pure vitality to the bars.
He takes pieces like “Yuri” which might be one of the best instrumentals that Your Old Droog ever touched and configures it to fit his own style. The ripping guitar is a fantastic sample to live over as Your Old Droog explains, “Dude’s be having mad fans and no supporters, and anyone in close courters can feel my aura, accountants, lawyers, hoes that work at Sephora. Don’t get me started on Europe, been a legend there. Got my own statues like Lenin square.”
Other pieces like “Babushka IV (Zinfandel)” continues the saga of “Babushka” and takes a track with absolutely no percussion where Your Old Droog can primarily continue to focus entirely on the narration. Quickly the verses overlap and as he illustrates, “Bout to hit ya grandma’s crib and get cozy, only mess with hoes that’s beautiful. All my exes are 10’s, like Roman numerals.
Space Bar quickly becomes a dissertation, much like every other Your Old Droog album. He’s able to tie together strands of obscure instrumentation and ride the USS Enterprise around the stratosphere.