Image via Fly Anakin/Instagram
Steven Louis brought a catcher’s mit for his mezzanine Dodgers tickets.
In which Lil Hotsauce (second of his name) administers the ketamine hit and then jams us inside a pinball machine. “Lonely Boy” is a companion piece to “Ooh La La” – I’ll land this, don’t you worry – in its warm lament for trial and error. “So many things would’ve been different, but I wouldn’t change a thing.”
Bear1Boss feels alone at the mountaintop. He doesn’t want to do chores, he wants to buy expensive new things. Maybe youth isn’t wasted on the youth at all. Most of adult life is centered around task completion. There’s a lot of dopeness to indulge in and appreciate, I know that for damn sure, but there’s also a lot of rote performance, or, checking boxes to earn more boxes to check. The Atlanta left-fielder takes a lot of swings on his latest 19-track drop, but this closer is liquid alabaster. “Imagine bleeding your heart for the world, and every door you go to leads to another door. Until one day, you open that door, and you’re on the stage,” our narrator says. It’s the dream that keeps us younger. Here’s to an unchecked box.
Staying on the subject, here’s 16-year-old BabyChiefDoit critiquing the price of the p-word in Chicago’s streets. This kid seems super ambitious, if a bit overextended – he also hosts gaming streams, “reaction” video blogs and all the attendant nonsense. But he holds his own on a Michigan-style bopper with Babyfxce E, the first-team all-rookie Flint breakout. His mixtape cut “Right Now” is one of my favorite things in rotation (for real, how was this not the single?). Here, he puts on the white Buffs and indulges in what he calls a “pop out by myself day.” He plays five out with a lineup of all shooters, and laughs at the Steve Harvey-ass button-mashers in pursuit of Fast Money. Babyfxce E for midwest realm keeper.
A zombieland x swamp water crossover that we very much knew we needed. At his best, Florida’s Kent Loon serves up complete detachment, something like coolant or even sensory deprivation, the shoegaze Big Boi to Chester Watson’s murmuring Andre. Of course he’s a great fit with Skrilla, the Kensington croaker and captain of the “crash out crew.” His delivery is one of one, the way he lurks and lurches tumbles in a half-step behind the beat. There are drugs in the Smartwater, fiends Harlem Shaking and opps drowning in bathtubs. Director GG adds to the unsettledness with saturated color tints and skittery camerawork. The drums sound trapped and cornered, while bells toll and choirs drown away. I imagine this is what an alligator on Xylazine feels and sounds like.
Triple-tap the name of a certain bio-exorcist and terror ensues. But say “DJ Fresh” three times and we become airborne, overlooking a neon sunset over Alameda County. This is music to clink things to – champagne flutes, glistening necklaces, amethyst stones. Musalini (no relation, we think) sips Moët beneath the chandeliers. The Bronx baller has a Mase-like airiness and Fabolous’ sleight of hand. O Finess shows up in ostrich-skin boots with a cold-pressed juice, flowing like Styles P on anaesthesia. Skemes, the director, knows that he’s working with house money and gives us a compressed episode of Entourage. It’s impossible to not be cool bumping “Live & Let Fly.” I feel like a dork even breaking this down, so, here’s a list of the coolest stuff: having a personal chef on a bus, five-course meals, money, an endless parade suited to your sexual preference, chunky-ass basslines, confidence, private airplanes and summertime.
A different take on “elevator music.” Our protagonist Anakin (no relation, we think) rocks a jet-black leather coat, tie and briefcase and everything, as he’s lifted up the floors. What would we do if the elevator jammed up on us? Would we spark a joint, or recite incantations on the ground, or say something awesome like “finding my pacemaker, another run to B-More / Dior belt mama got that boy pregnant like a seahorse.” Would we instantly suspect that The Alchemist was behind all this? The ever-prolific rap uncle makes an S-tier beat here, the soundtrack to ordering wholesale and paying off hapless politicians. Quelle Chris shows up amid the psychic break to big up himself – “shouts out to me, shouts out to me, called the radio and sent my shout outs to me” is gonna be a bar of the year. Bbymutha insists that she’s a sister, not a savior. Her Gangsta Boo flow gives the dusty playback a bit of kick. Mutant Academy enrollment opens this summer.
I’ve used this column to call LaRussell the game’s leader in earnestness. We need weight classes, though. The pride of Vallejo is undefeated as a block party revivalist, but I’m taking BigXthaPlug as the most encouraging thing happening on the main stage. The Dallas artist has truly become a colossus – a Billboard-charting, both-Americas, Kimmel-starring presence with deep pockets for soul and disco samples. He seems like a sincere and decent person with a UGK-styled hustle. His performance here is rock-solid, from the popping brass band to X’s languid vocal control. Guillermo is officially 600 Taliban Gang.
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