Image via Crudchapo/Instagram
Steven Louis has been Anaconda Livin’.
“Anaconda Livin” is an anthem for the ectotherms. The human body has the ability to regulate its own internal temperature. Appreciate that shit, because it does not show up on the scouting report for every species. Snakes, for example, are cold-blooded. Not like “The Story of Adidon” or a 30-foot jumper at the buzzer — though vipers are kinda sick. Rather, they need external heat to survive, and take on the temperatures of their surroundings. SahBabii raps by those same rules — his flow is unbridled and elastic on warm uptempo, but he gets sparse and precise on chillier production. The once and future squid king’s latest full-length, Saaheem, is dominated by that latter sound, and it’s all the better for it. “Anaconda Livin” is sibilant by design, with hissing adlibs and a chac-chac rattle. But it’s also cavernous and numbing. The beat, credited to three different producers, sounds like a wailing lost soul just beyond our mortal reach. It’s catchy. It’s haunting. It’s one of my top songs of the year.
So, what does “Anaconda Livin” entail? Our ATLien correspondent lays it out in concepts we can understand, if not relate to — seven-figure balances on the ATM receipts, supercharged whips that menace down the interstate, gossamer diamonds, every meal looking like Thanksgiving. But it feels like he’s also channeling some indescribable phenomena through this music. The twinge in his delivery is both swaggy and painful. It’s surprisingly devoid of horniness, the usual trademark of a SahBabii bopper. “Been through this time after time, I got that venom in my veins,” he snarls, sounding assured but also exhausted. The whole Saaheem album is a compelling listen — “On Film” is the other track I’ve had locked on loop — but nothing tops the python lifestyle jam. I think it does more in 150 seconds than most film does in two hours.
Shordie Shordie’s latest album is also fantastic, in a far more recognizable and familiar way. I think he is a bona-fide pop-rap star, and “Holster” should immediately slot into the 92.3 FM rotation. The song revives one of my favorite tropes of the club-friendly player’s anthem — remember when guys would sketch characters out of their carousel of baddies, just for those characters to serve a rhyme scheme? Hov did it. Rakim too. Here, Shordie welds two identities that wholly rhyme with each other — Lisa and Keisha, one hailing from Philadelphia (“nice to meet her”) and one aesthetically stuck in the 80s (“likes the beeper”).
Yung Lan’s sunny production has beach vibes and does a lot of the natural hitmaking work, but Shordie attacks each stanza with the full vigor of late 90s Usher. How many of his peers would just coast on this beat and let the lean talk? The California-via-Baltimore ascendant really works for his charisma. Breath of Fresh Air also features 03 Greedo, Lefty Gunplay and That Mexican OT. But Shordie is dynamic enough to hold down the proceedings solo. If you dig this, “On My Own” offers a similar vibrancy.
On “Takeover,” South Central’s Ralfy the Plug sounds like he’s perched atop a frozen castle, summoning beams of ice down onto the invading army of jabronis and backward hustlers. If he sounds completely and utterly alone, it’s because he is. The latest project, Grandmaster Ralfy, has 21 featureless joints. For my money, none are better than this one, produced by newcomers Viper Beats and YJMuzik. Ralfy wakes up angry — wouldn’t you be, too, if you expected a bankroll and instead got hit with a “how’s your day going?” His dulcet, syncopated shit talk goes perfectly with the pounding bass.
Your life savings is but a small end piece of his bread, and your mangos thoroughly disinterest him. The snowiness here is truly earned — an additional cold front comes on when he murmurs, “lost Ketchy, lost Drakeo, how I’m supposed to feel normal again?” And let’s officially raise Ralfy’s stock in the Rapper Adlib Power Rankings — his crackling, smirking call of “The Pluuuug” ends every verse with a ratings boost.
Speaking of those Rapper Adlib Power Rankings (they’re real, I swear), few things conjure the Blog Era in our shared consciousness than that sliding “Cardo Got Wiiiiiiiiiiiiings” tag. But I’m here to remind our readership that the Texas-by-Minnesota beatmaker is just now putting out the sharpest product of his career. He’s become the skeleton key for Payroll Giovanni’s evolution during the past few years, and his collaborative album with Larry June (The Night Shift) was a sneaky great drop at the end of 2023. His debut solo album, MADeMEN, hits the expected notes and adds a few smooth flourishes — like “Woke Up Ballin’,” which I’m still waiting for the 808 drop on. Airy guitar plucks and a rolling bass line give Cardo room to garden, and he unfurls flower bouquets and lush hues of green. “I’m in the scraper and I’m scrapin’” is a very fun thing to say out loud. Music to charge the money phone to.
Is it cheating to lightly flip Cameo’s “Candy” and rerock the eightiesest of 80s jams? Maybe. But here’s the thing — cheating can be awesome, sometimes, like when Sammy Sosa hit all those home runs, or when Tupac and Co. used this same sample for “All Bout U.” Michigan’s latest pick-and-roll duo absolutely floats on this. Crudchapo cooks the work with Sprite, liquor and vanilla extract. AllStar Jr is on his Smoothie King shit, putting grams in the blender. “How the fuck is you a boss if you ain’t bought shit” is epistemological. Quagen would’ve went triple-platinum in the Reagan Era.
An affirming triptych of Southern rap royalty. Key Glock’s dedication to regionalism is both charming and historically valuable. Killer Mike actually looks like he’s having fun rapping again, and “Dr. Chairman” is a title we should all aspire to. The bar about the Democratic apparatus hits because it’s true, and rhyming “Grammy winner” with “Granny’s dinner” is delightful. Project Pat brings the black leather gloves back, and reminds the viewing public that he originated a flow that reaches from North Memphis to Bangladesh. The South still got so much to say.
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