Art via Evan Solano
Steven Louis regrets making those reference tracks for Olivia Nuzzi.
As a rapper, tg.blk is a warm tide pull from the Indian Ocean to the Chesapeake Bay. As a director, she’s “TG.TARANTINO,” stitching between marshy greens and creams and carousel cowboy shots. As a lover, she’s just fed up. “Complicated” is an egg-shell stroll through seesawing affections. She’s loved, then neglected; impatient, then uninspired. Born in Mombasa, Kenya, tg went to school in Maryland, where she filled up a hard drive with Garage Band and Logic demos. Now back in coastal Kenya, her output sounds sharper and more purposeful. The flow is butterscotch here. Lu glides across chemical imbalance with his verse. “Toxic” and “exhausted” come together as downbeat rhymes like tangled reconcilers. Fraught connection shouldn’t sound this lush.
Oceanside’s most certified revs the Impala lowrider to clear a barricaded road — by capital and capitol, badged kidnappers and state-sanctioned turf wars. The familiar G-funk is tailored to goldenrod afternoon barbecue, but the earnest coalition building cannot get overlooked right now. Dezzy, Lil Rob and Jayo Felony link behind a “NO ICE” banner. They crush cans of Olde English, then wave Mexican flags atop hot pavement. The OGs groove in approval, while the children shake their curls and bounce out of their Nike Cortezes.
This is but a small corrective to the unshakable cruelties broadcast across our screens this year, but it lifts its viewer nonetheless. Dezzy throws up the O and summons the visages on rest in peace hoodies. Jayo hits the bounce, rock, skate, then delivers a plainspoken gem — “Black and Brown, we appreciate y’all holding us down / if these mothafuckers come hating, we don’t let ‘em come around.” Lil Rob is young, brown and gifted, evoking mariachi and Soul Train in the same breath. Bass thickens. Vocoder expands. Everything is in unison, temporary but unbreakable.
MC Tree is rap’s Randy Newman. His charcoal growl is magnetic, and his arrangements are symphonic. Few Chicago artists from the Jugrnaut era can hit such transportive highs. His signature “soul trap” continues to get slept on. Here’s a quick, accessible refresher. On “Hang Out, Tree’s love interest is in need of several stewardships. For one, she can’t drive, and Uber surge pricing takes its toll. Her man is controlling and the onlookers are dedicated haters. Our protagonist swoops in for a Vegas sojourn, inspired by Jägermeister and paid for by beat placements. Parallel Thought traces the encounter with a flute suite and tip-tap percussion. Dread and wonder both lurk from the edges. Do Tree and Lady Tree want to get caught by the jealous parties? Can a mink coat become a tuxedos with the right dedication? There’s perfume in the cigar smoke and a line of caviar by the Venetian room key.
What an ideal pairing. Chuck Strangers sounds perpetually unenthused, his husking delivery sourced from Grenada and compressed in Flatbush. Evidence makes beats from a dungeon enclave, the kind that finds a metronome from slow, ominous condensation drips. Tethered together, these two glide atop rust water and then descend into greyness. Chuck is “up late with the working girls,” which is why he’s late on getting us that feature we paid for. Right when we’re adjusting to the oyster’s interior, the production shift cracks the shell open. “I was only 13 when I enlisted,” he says to 4 a.m. nothingness. The Holland Tunnel ends in Venice now. Evidence is a blind cartographer, carving the path through inherited memories. “Black Mother of Pearl” dims, then lowers, then disappears.
YouTube says that “DUN DI DUN” is 162 seconds. It should just have the upside-down smile emoji on each side. Mysie’s latest is a most energetic trance, brisk but unending. The skittering drums belong to some Aronofsky amphetamine time lapse. The vocals belong to the ethereal realm. Mysie outruns the analog boundary, then regenerates back to its center. The English shapeshifter leaves no trace but covers all planes.
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