Image via ZAYALLCAPS/Instagram
Yousef Srour is forever indebted to those who let him cook.
ZAYALLCAPS keeps reimagining autotune for the next league of internet artists raised by vocoders and pitch-correct. In his adolescence, ZAY moved throughout Northern California but mainly came of age in suburban Sacramento without the bustle of city life. Removed from the accessibility of culture, the Internet became a hub of obsession.
He takes the vulnerability of a ONEPOINTFIVE-era AminĂ©, the unpredictability of SURF GANGâs drum patterns, and the Piâerre Bourneâs casually slurred auto tune to develop âautotune karaoke.â When ZAY rotates between singing and rapping, the slow-drawn cadence of his lyrics and his falsetto attempts make you want to join in. He makes purposely imperfect and weird pop. Carefree music with the goal of swiping his credit cards without regret and âto chill and chief kief.â
Injury Reserve released their final project as Injury Reserve nearly two years ago. (If you want to learn about the cathartic chaos of By The Time I Get To Phoenix, highly recommend reading Dash Lewisâs POW interview with the group).
Out of respect for the trio that Parker Corey and Ritchie With a T created with the late-Stepa J. Groggs, Parker and Richie have since decided to work as a duo under the new title: By Storm â named in honor of their last song as Injury Reserve, which remains just as potent as it was the day it was released.
Here, they pay homage to Groggs in the form of a video collage filled with never-before-seen pictures and friendsâ footage of the rapper setting up stage, performing, and goofing off with his best friends on tour.
The first By Storm release, âDouble Trio,â is haunted by the unseen image of Groggs. As Ritchie lies veiled on a wooden cot, heâs paralyzed with pain. Parkerâs instrumental is cacophonous, honing in on the grief with unsettling keys, pushing Ritchie harder and harder to navigate the loss. It builds up to their escape from self-inflicted exile, referencing the pain of growing that calls to Groggsâ final verse on âKnees:â âKnees, hands, neck and feet ache, but the pain brought me up. It got my ass wide awake.â In its catharsis, it provides By Storm a certain closure of being able to move on in a world without their fallen comrade.
Robb Bank$ couldnât care less about what youâre up to. He packed his bags, went to Thailand and dropped off the grid. Every song on I Dnt txt back, I Dnt Call features a different voicemail, each trying to decipher where Shaggyâs son ran off to. âWaitâ starts with the work that Bank$ is avoiding: deadlines and PR strategies and interviews and booking shows and emails and relocating. Robb Bank$ mutters to himself as the voicemail plays back, the sub-bass sinks into the pitched-up R&B loop, and with all the industry jargon being thrown around, he sees right through the façade of presumed responsibility.
The physical isolation of recording in Thailand pushed Robb Bank$ to dig deeper into himself; no distractions, no one to impress at the studio, no one to second guess the project. Bank$ allowed himself unadulterated frustration, beginning his verse two beats before Sangoâs scattered kicks, taking the first opportunity he can to admit: âItâs f*cked up, got 20 hoes I donât know in my section.â From othersâ feelings of neglect to his own haphazard attempts to set boundaries with others (i.e., âTrying to tell this white b*tch I donât do Vyvanseâ), Bank$ yearns for the human experience filled with honesty and communication â even though he canât deliver that himself.
Akeem Ali riffs on hip-hop in the same way that Black Dynamite does to Blaxploitation cinema. And Keemy Casanova might be the sole rapper able to match the irreverent, sexual bravado of Black Dynamite (founder of the Whorephanage himself).
He fully commits to the character. By the time that Keemy Casanova announces his recent certification as âgood dick giver,â even if you donât believe his credentials, youâll notice that every single line in âSit Down On Itâ is injected with libido (if the song title didnât suggest that already). Keemy Casanova revives the funk of Kool & The Gangâs âGet Down On It,â reimagining the slick suavity of Isaac Hayesâ and Curtis Mayfield for his own deviance. He reinterprets Adrian Youngeâs composition on Black Dynamiteâs score too â using heavy downbeats, brass chromatic explosions and funky guitar rhythms. He asks that you donât ask questions and indulge.
Hurricanes happen in the middle of August. Watered-down drinks cost $20 (plus tip), and the mere thought of Siri should send you spiraling with paranoia and a fear of artificial intelligence. Itâs only right that Armand Hammer would collaborate with their fellow esteemed apocalypse chronicler, JPEGMAFIA.
Peggy produces his first track for the duo since Romeâs penultimate song, âBarbarians,â a distorted haze of groans and grogginess as Rome becomes consumed by the smoke and ash. âWoke Up and Asked Siri How Iâm Gonna Dieâ calls back to JPEGMAFIAâs colder, more intimate style of production, using the hum of icy synthesizers and soundscapes that gave All My Heroes Are Cornballs its more delicate touch. ELUCID once again bellows an indiscernible, guttural hum, giving way to his own verse that cuts Siri off before the program can pass along a peek into a morbid future.
ELUCID repeats, âI ainât see the bottom yet,â capturing both fear and resolve, aware of his own mortality and premonition of his life shattering at some point in the unknown future. But itâs equally likely that ELUCID is hiding the full truth, later echoing: âI be lying like Iâm just a man.â
Billy woodsâ bandages âfresh woundsâ and grazes his âold scars,â thinking back to the moments in his life where he felt that he was truly alive. Woods reports: âYou havenât lived âtil youâre pulled over in your baby motherâs car with a grip.â Then he stamps the end of the stanza with a ghost adlib from JPEGMAFIA, weaving in an electronic voice introducing itself as none other than the harbinger of death, âSiri.â
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