Image via Dezzy Hollow/Instagram
Steven Louis appears courtesy of Clutch Sports.
“You hate when I tell you I’m chillin’, but I swear to you I’m just a chill guy” is my first nominee for hook of the year. We’re only at like eight percent reporting, I’ll keep you updated as the results come in. This piano roll sounds like Final Fantasy midlands music, or the lonely hallways of Twin Peaks High School. Brooklyn bullies 41 serve the juice with a patina of melancholy here. Jenn Carter is the rap game Bill Nye. Tata is equal parts zooted and booted. Kyle Ricch would do numbers on Love Island.
“Chill Guy” will make you want to hit the Don Julio limited-edition galaxy gas, or yearn for the Sacklers’ eternal demise.
This Alchemist beat makes me want to order the most expensive wine on the menu, and not even do that thing where you sniff it and swirl a sample around. It makes me want to get the sixty-seven turbo jet and throw those fuzzy dice on the rear-view mirror. It makes me want to write this part of the column in cursive and leave a chocolate mint at the end. Can I do that? 2 Chainz and Larry June are such an obvious but fantastic pairing. Together, they fill the Hermes tote bag with ceremonial-grade matcha drinks and pour lean over açaí.
Gratuitous Luka in Los Angeles cutaway: Luka Dončić posted up on Melrose, wearing an Awful Lot hoodie. His contract legally prohibits him from trying to ollie again.
Greedo has a Nate Dogg-esque consistency with his feature hooks. Every stray appearance tints the canvass purple and black, bending the energies toward his artful paranoia. The Watts star pours coolant all over “Authentic.” South Central’s Ralfy the Plug takes the handoff and hits the Marshawn Lynch pose. Dody6 levitates from the Avenues and into the kaleidoscope. “Shit ain’t what it seem, we make it look good.” Ain’t that The Truth.
Remember when $ilkMoney put his dick in the dope? Gross, but also really cool to say. For those wondering, yes, that was indeed my hook of the year in 2016. The Virginian has markedly evolved from his days quarterbacking Divine Council; his latest output is surreal and dense and more Kafka than cloud rap. The pockets he dips into on this first verse are particularly wild. Based on the advanced “calculations and amalgamations,” the “Black John Taffer” has concluded that he’s going to rob you. Elsewhere, the crew stacks cheese – literal slices of cheddar – and pour up to run lines from Kahuna’s unauthorized Belly 3 script. Anakin’s delivery is prime A.Z. and his flow is slippery as ever. Quelle’s got the heebie-jeebies. Shungu’s beatwork is shroomy and golden brown.
Similar to $ilkmoney, Michael Christmas has continued to challenge himself since his mid-2010s mixtape bump. 2024’s Unsexy was one of my favorite albums of the year, searing and hilarious with the metallic visage. The Boston emcee’s recent loosie is warmer and instantly familiar.
Gratuitous Luka in Los Angeles cutaway: Luka Dončić pouring warm michelada over a Larry Bird jersey. The crowd goes wild.
If Gelo made it 2005 again by magic or sheer will or those premium Big Baller Brand supplements, at least he invited other folks to join in. “Outta My Mind” feels like a 106 & Park jam, the type Lil Flip or Chingy or Carter II Wayne would’ve floated across two decades ago. Memphis’ Finesse needs a cadette that’s down to ride, his raps gruff and demanding, while Detroit’s Skilla is giving out Chanel bags, flights to Houston and a Benz. Let’s expedite that So So So Def production deal for Scalez after this one.
Dezzy Hollow reps his city with an unshakable pride that I find extremely endearing. Few artists can smash such classic G-Funk revival without any contrivance. Dezzy’s music is one of the most earnest and least cynical things in my life right now, and I implore you all to get in on his latest album, the appropriately-titled OCEANSIDE. Fair warning: this just will not hit the same east of the Mojave. “Community” is a C-walk over the intersection concrete, pawn-shop jewelry gleaming under the crinkling sun. It’s salty air and sweet barbecue, stoners and pugilists, lowriders and high bass. One time for Junior Seau. One time for multiculturalism. One time for the gray pitbull that totally steals the video.
Few are moving in syncopated Dillatime (Jay Dee Standard Time) like Elaquent, one of our most underappreciated musicians. His keys on “Glimpses of God” are crystalline and hypnotic, giving cosmic griot Chester Watson a screen to project his many visions of divinity. The ostriches rhyme with the moccasins. The once and former philosopher is hanging upside-down from the grow house. These rhyme schemes are definitely God-tier. But the song buries the lede: for all Chester’s metaphysics, holiness lies in such unassuming places. God is in your mom’s stare, your homie’s laugh, your stargazing partner and your starstruck fans, whoever they may be. Watson traffics in darkness, but this one is soft daylight through the dusty curtains.
Gratuitous Luka in Los Angeles cutaway: Luka absolutely refusing to go to Erewhon, which he calls “the healthy store.”
We rely on your support to keep POW alive. Please take a second to donate on Patreon!
