The RX

Vic Mensa Finally Finds Himself On The Autobiographical ‘Victor’

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vic mensa victor rx
Vic Mensa / Derrick Rossignol

The RX is Uproxx Music’s stamp of approval for the best albums, songs, and music stories throughout the year. Inclusion in this category is the highest distinction we can bestow and signals the most important music being released throughout the year. The RX is the music you need, right now.

Lately, I’ve been utterly fascinated by a current trend within music where artists with perfectly good stage names — Fly Anakin, Post Malone, Killer Mike, Vic Mensa, etc. — have been dropping albums titled with their real names (just their first name, though). For instance, Fly Anakin released Frank last year; Post Malone and Killer Mike dropped Austin and Michael earlier this summer, respectively; and last Friday, Vic Mensa shared Victor. I’m not entirely sure what sparked this trend — although I’ve got a sneaking suspicion that it was, as with many things, Doja Cat’s fault (she debuted in 2018 with Amala — but it has been interesting to watch so many artists enter their “vulnerable, stripped-down” eras at the same time.

However, only one of the above artists has really capitalized on the trend. After all, the use of your government name as an album title suggests that the album is going to be an introduction of sorts, peeling back the layers to reveal the person at the core of the persona. And with props all around to the other names mentioned above, most of these artists’ latest projects have been really good but not really revelatory or unique amid their respective discographies — except for Vic Mensa. With Victor, Vic has seemingly finally rediscovered his voice, over a decade after his entrance to the rap world at large. The struggles he went through to get here make it all the more impactful and welcome.

In a lot of ways, Vic’s career so far has been a victim of his associations. When I first discovered him back in 2011, he was the rapper and co-frontman of a band called Kids These Days at just 19 years old. Their blend of rock, blues, and rap was delightful and unlike anything else at the time, even with all the genre experimentation and fusion that marked the so-called Blog Era. Kids These Days put out an EP in 2011 and followed up with a mixtape in 2012, but split soon after, cleaving Vic from one of the more interesting aspects of his music, his band. This left him as just another in a plethora of new, young rappers scrambling for attention during one of hip-hop’s biggest talent booms since the Golden Era. It wouldn’t be the first identity crisis he’d go through.

In 2013, it felt like Vic had regained his footing with Innanetape, his solo debut mixtape, which garnered strong reviews and proved that Vic could stand on his own without the bluesy backdrops provided by his band. Unfortunately, the tape dropped six months after his friend Chance The Rapper’s game-changing Acid Rap, which seemingly ate up all the little oxygen available for breathless praise of rising rappers from the Windy City from blogs and critics. In comparison to the sonically adventurous Acid Rap, the more traditionalist approach of Innanetape got lost in the wash; it doesn’t help that Vic’s impressive technical delivery was overshadowed by Chance’s vocally dynamic bombast. This is all old news, but look no further than the fact that Vic’s opening for Chance on their shared 10th-anniversary tour for proof of the lopsided reception among fans, which caused a rift between them they only recently managed to mend.

It feels a little reductive to attribute Vic’s later unmoored wanderings to his and Chance’s later association with fellow Chicago star Kanye West, but it was right around the time both began collaborating with West that Vic’s musical compass seemed to start spinning out (incidentally, that was around the time Kanye’s did the same). Vic struggled with substance abuse around this time, and his musical releases — including his 2017 debut album The Autobiography and rock side project 93Punx — similarly felt unfocused and inconsistent. Mensa’s debut received generally favorable reviews, but most noted its scattershot approach (in my own review, I wrote that it felt unfinished, with the sense “Vic is still searching for a sound.”

With Victor, it feels like he’s finally found it. Playing armchair psychologist is a sucker’s game, but on past projects, it’s felt like Vic kept trying on different rap and production styles, looking for a persona or a gimmick that would redeem that early attention he got with Kids These Days and make him sound “unique.” Here, he sounds comfortable with himself, like maybe being conventional isn’t all that bad, as long as you truly great at it. From the confessional “Sunday Morning Intro” to the party-ready “Swish” with G-Eazy and Chance The Rapper, Vic embraces both his personal failings and the inspirational messaging which have always been the best parts of his prior work, employing straightforward, bass-heavy production that keeps things moving along with a gritty, propulsive intensity.

When it comes time to slow things down, Vic adeptly does so with introspective tracks like “Sunset On The Low End” and “Strawberry Louis Vuitton.” He tackles systemic racism on “Blue Eyes,” gives thanks for seeing 30 years on “Blessings” with Ant Clemons and D Smoke, and channels the spiritual best of Kanye on “14 Days” to close things out. His sole concession to trend chasing (outside of the title, of course), is the House-influenced bonus track “Eastside Girl” — which is wisely left for the end of the project, keeping fingers away from the “skip” button. Victor gives listeners exactly what it says on the tin: A holistic look at an artist who’s come into his own at last. Vic had to go through everything he did to mature enough as an artist to synthesize those experiences into an honest, unfiltered summation of himself. This is his real autobiography — it was worth the wait.

Teezo Touchdown’s Debut ‘How Do You Sleep At Night?’ Flashes His Future Potential

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Teezo Touchdown Review
Not Fit For Society/RCA Records/Derrick Rossignol

The RX is Uproxx Music’s stamp of approval for the best albums, songs, and music stories throughout the year. Inclusion in this category is the highest distinction we can bestow and signals the most important music being released throughout the year. The RX is the music you need, right now.

All the kids love Teezo Touchdown. Over the past couple of years, the Texas native has built a loyal and vocal following consisting of many of his artistic contemporaries. At festivals like Rolling Loud and on tour with Tyler The Creator, his stage show’s exuberant, contagious joy has converted thousands of skeptics of eye-popping sartorial choices. Although that infectious energy doesn’t fully translate on his long-awaited major-label debut, How Do You Sleep At Night?, the album does contain a number of interesting ideas and an unconventional approach worthy of its creator’s bombastic individuality. There’s not much like it in hip-hop these days but more of the genre should be adopting its best adventurous impulses.

The modern generation of hip-hop has had plenty of artists who are leaning into rock-inspired sounds and aesthetics; this year alone, we’ve had projects from Lil Yachty, Lil Uzi Vert, and Travis Scott that borrowed pretty heavily from acts as disparate as Tame Impala, System Of A Down, and Nine Inch Nails. Teezo’s goes even broader, from the indie alt vibes of “Impossible” to the dance-funk of “Neighborhood” to the mellow folk-blues of “I Don’t Think You C Me” and even some surprisingly soulful R&B with “You Thought” featuring Janelle Monáe. There’s a little Radiohead, a little Beck, a little Maroon 5, some Nirvana, all laden with the cheek of turn-of-the-millennium pop-punk and anchored by some actually impressive vocal work from Teezo himself. He lilts and croons and sing-raps with a verve that I’d love to see from some other rap-rockers who’ve gotten a little too comfortable with a very specific sort of nasal whine that suggests emotional wailing but feels like more of a shortcut disguising tropey writing.

Teezo indulges in some of that tropey writing himself — something he can work on and improve on future output — but he also drops enough specificity into his lyrics on songs like “Daddy Mama Drama” that he ends up feeling a little more authentic and relatable than some of his peers. While there are those who might see this as a drawback, I tend to view things from the lens of “who is this for?” There are sad suburban Black teens out there for whom Teezo’s recollections of being awkward and not fitting into stereotypes are going to be foundational for finding self-confidence and identity. That’s not nothing. Even though the boundaries between “Black” and “white” music have blurred a bunch in the algorithm-driven streaming era, questions of self-worth and insecurities about not belonging aren’t going anywhere — and I know some kids who could have used a Teezo Touchdown growing up.

What sets Teezo apart from some of his peers in the rock-rap scene is an arm’s-length distance from the “rage” most purport — that infectious joy I mentioned earlier. He sounds like he’s having a lot of fun and that’s what translates, even if the boisterous call-and-response crowd work can’t really be translated to the album format. What these songs might miss in originality, they make up in gutsiness and gusto. Teezo is pushing his own vision, not a watered-down version of something that already works; he wears his influences on his sleeve, but so do most of the members of his generation. I’ve come to the conclusion that that’s a feature, not a bug, and everything doesn’t have to be transformational or totally innovative to be interesting, fun, and worthwhile.

How Do You Sleep At Night? is all three, and the best part about it is knowing that the artist himself has the live performance chops to do all the transforming when he plays them live. Maybe I just want the kid to win because of how genuinely engaging he’s been at the shows I’ve seen or for the commitment it takes to make and wear a shirt and wig made entirely of nails. Sure, there’s some shock value at play there, a bit of “look at me” showmanship that can come across gimmicky for weathered old cynics who’ve been doing this critic job for way too long. But anyone whose worldview allows them to think of doing off-kilter stuff like that is worth championing. How Do You Sleep is a decent kickoff, suggesting just how close Teezo is to figuring out the perfect play to live up to his name.

How Do You Sleep At Night? is out now via Not Fit For Society/RCA Records.

Teezo Touchdown’s Debut ‘How Do You Sleep At Night?’ Flashes His Future Potential

by
Teezo Touchdown Review
Not Fit For Society/RCA Records/Derrick Rossignol

The RX is Uproxx Music’s stamp of approval for the best albums, songs, and music stories throughout the year. Inclusion in this category is the highest distinction we can bestow and signals the most important music being released throughout the year. The RX is the music you need, right now.

All the kids love Teezo Touchdown. Over the past couple of years, the Texas native has built a loyal and vocal following consisting of many of his artistic contemporaries. At festivals like Rolling Loud and on tour with Tyler The Creator, his stage show’s exuberant, contagious joy has converted thousands of skeptics of eye-popping sartorial choices. Although that infectious energy doesn’t fully translate on his long-awaited major-label debut, How Do You Sleep At Night?, the album does contain a number of interesting ideas and an unconventional approach worthy of its creator’s bombastic individuality. There’s not much like it in hip-hop these days but more of the genre should be adopting its best adventurous impulses.

The modern generation of hip-hop has had plenty of artists who are leaning into rock-inspired sounds and aesthetics; this year alone, we’ve had projects from Lil Yachty, Lil Uzi Vert, and Travis Scott that borrowed pretty heavily from acts as disparate as Tame Impala, System Of A Down, and Nine Inch Nails. Teezo’s goes even broader, from the indie alt vibes of “Impossible” to the dance-funk of “Neighborhood” to the mellow folk-blues of “I Don’t Think You C Me” and even some surprisingly soulful R&B with “You Thought” featuring Janelle Monáe. There’s a little Radiohead, a little Beck, a little Maroon 5, some Nirvana, all laden with the cheek of turn-of-the-millennium pop-punk and anchored by some actually impressive vocal work from Teezo himself. He lilts and croons and sing-raps with a verve that I’d love to see from some other rap-rockers who’ve gotten a little too comfortable with a very specific sort of nasal whine that suggests emotional wailing but feels like more of a shortcut disguising tropey writing.

Teezo indulges in some of that tropey writing himself — something he can work on and improve on future output — but he also drops enough specificity into his lyrics on songs like “Daddy Mama Drama” that he ends up feeling a little more authentic and relatable than some of his peers. While there are those who might see this as a drawback, I tend to view things from the lens of “who is this for?” There are sad suburban Black teens out there for whom Teezo’s recollections of being awkward and not fitting into stereotypes are going to be foundational for finding self-confidence and identity. That’s not nothing. Even though the boundaries between “Black” and “white” music have blurred a bunch in the algorithm-driven streaming era, questions of self-worth and insecurities about not belonging aren’t going anywhere — and I know some kids who could have used a Teezo Touchdown growing up.

What sets Teezo apart from some of his peers in the rock-rap scene is an arm’s-length distance from the “rage” most purport — that infectious joy I mentioned earlier. He sounds like he’s having a lot of fun and that’s what translates, even if the boisterous call-and-response crowd work can’t really be translated to the album format. What these songs might miss in originality, they make up in gutsiness and gusto. Teezo is pushing his own vision, not a watered-down version of something that already works; he wears his influences on his sleeve, but so do most of the members of his generation. I’ve come to the conclusion that that’s a feature, not a bug, and everything doesn’t have to be transformational or totally innovative to be interesting, fun, and worthwhile.

How Do You Sleep At Night? is all three, and the best part about it is knowing that the artist himself has the live performance chops to do all the transforming when he plays them live. Maybe I just want the kid to win because of how genuinely engaging he’s been at the shows I’ve seen or for the commitment it takes to make and wear a shirt and wig made entirely of nails. Sure, there’s some shock value at play there, a bit of “look at me” showmanship that can come across gimmicky for weathered old cynics who’ve been doing this critic job for way too long. But anyone whose worldview allows them to think of doing off-kilter stuff like that is worth championing. How Do You Sleep is a decent kickoff, suggesting just how close Teezo is to figuring out the perfect play to live up to his name.

How Do You Sleep At Night? is out now via Not Fit For Society/RCA Records.

Victoria Monét’s ‘Jaguar II’ Is A Dazzling Triumph

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Victoria Monet 'Jaguar II' Review
Merle Cooper/RCA Records/Lovett Music

The RX is Uproxx Music’s stamp of approval for the best albums, songs, and music stories throughout the year. Inclusion in this category is the highest distinction we can bestow, and signals the most important music being released throughout the year. The RX is the music you need, right now.

Humility is often painted as a superpower that has its strength in being a cornerstone for one’s success. For it to work best, it’s sad that other dominant qualities must be submissive in its presence. Confidence works hand-in-hand with it while pride takes a back seat. The alleged beauty behind humility has been professed in numerous ways by many for centuries upon centuries. Confucius called humility the “solid foundation of all virtues” while Rick Pitino said it’s the “true key to success.” Though these examples are not wrong per se, a more accurate one, arguably, can be credited to William Law who said humility is “nothing else but a right judgment of ourselves.”

The “right judgment” portion of that quote is as subjective as ever and on her new album Jaguar II, Victoria Monét declares her own judgment of self and the world around her. The irony here is that through the project’s 11 songs, Monét’s right judgment of self actually sheds the humility that has lived beside her in a career that’s lasted over a decade. For years, Monét was known for her songwriting as she penned records for Diddy, Ariana Grande, Chris Brown, Fifth Harmony, Chloe X Halle, Blackpink, and more – all while working on her own music. It wasn’t until recently that the scales of both seemed to even out, something she wished for back in 2020. “[My] songwriting took off before my [own music] so it wasn’t like I made a decision, I was trying to do both,” she explained in Wonderland Magazine interview. “Now I’m just trying to even the playing field.”

Successful songwriters are often left to live in the shadows of the background making for a disconnect between that and their own releases. That hasn’t been the case as of late for Monét. If her 2020 EP Jaguar was the connection and spark, her debut album Jaguar II is the electric field and bright lights that rightfully resulted. Monét shines with blinding radiance on songs that find her as confident as ever from start to finish on her latest release. Whether it be through the shimmering dance number that is the Kaytranada-produced “Alright,” or the sexy and uplifting “Party Girls,” Monét finds a way to be simultaneously jaguar-like in her fearless approach and as sleek and classy as the luxury vehicle that shares her album’s namesake

At the very center of this album, comes multiple swipes at humility. Monét specifically calls out the extinction of humility in her world moments into “On My Mama.” She pierces through each line with unfiltered cockiness while allowing not an inch of doubt to creep into her statements so as to not invalidate them. More indirectly, we see Monét pop the collar of her fur coat on “Cadillac (A Pimp’s Anthem) while mocking the idea that women can’t be pimps. The tone of disgust is prominent on “Stop (Asking Me 4Shyt)” as she’s in disbelief at the requests a man makes to her for money and other items. Lastly, in what is one of the best moments on the album, Victoria Monét paints herself as a flawless gem on “I’m The One,” perfect in all ways and specifically crafted for a lover who fails to see her as this fairytale love story. Humility often calls for a level of timidness and reservation in how one presents themselves, but for Monét this moment had been over a decade in the making. There isn’t room for dimming the light that she wired tirelessly to make shine.

The Victoria Monét that lives throughout Jaguar II isn’t new by any means. Her bold approach was at the center of Jaguar where records like “Ass Like That” and “Moment” marvelously presented her worth as a diamond in the rough. Much of the same is present on Jaguar II, just refined and crafted to a level that makes the multitalented singer’s artistry more pristine than ever. With heavy production from D’Mile, who has laced irresistible and pleasing records for the likes of Ty Dolla Sign, Snoh Aalegra, Lucky Daye, HER, Mary J. Blige, Silk Sonice, and more Victoria Monét had the necessary tools, both internal and external, to achieve that excellence that is Jaguae II. As she boldly proclaimed on her latest project, Victoria Monét is the one. So yes, humility to the wind and everything else like it. Her blinding radiance looks better and makes for the ideal ingredient in her recipe for success.

Jaguar II is out now via RCA Records/Lovett Music, Inc. Find out more information here.

Quavo Dedicates His New Album ‘Rocket Power’ To The Late Takeoff And Shows Growth In The Process

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quavo rocket power review
Quavo / Derrick Rossignol

The RX is Uproxx Music’s stamp of approval for the best albums, songs, and music stories throughout the year. Inclusion in this category is the highest distinction we can bestow and signals the most important music being released throughout the year. The RX is the music you need, right now.

I guess this is the new normal. Migos, as a group, is definitely gone. The trio’s surviving members, Quavo and Offset, may have resolved whatever bad blood caused the split in the first place (or at least resolved to move forward in the wake of tragedy), but with Takeoff no longer available to offer the third dimension to their music, even a reunion between them just wouldn’t be the same. A few years ago, this might have spelled disaster for both Quavo and Offset as solo artists. This may be harsh, but Quavo’s 2018 solo debut Quavo Huncho just didn’t display the sort of depth to suggest that his artistic output would continue to match his personal charisma for very long.

But Quavo’s latest solo project, Rocket Power, showcases a tremendous amount of growth. Here, he sounds hungry and engaged again, and he has just enough to talk about outside his typical range of wealth and gang talk to carry the majority of the album’s 17 songs. Unfortunately, that “just enough” includes the recent violent death of his close friend, nephew, and bandmate, Takeoff. It feels vaguely icky to attribute his artistic evolution to personal trauma — something the journalism industry does way too much of to begin with, if you ask me — and yet, there are now undeniably added facets and shades to Quavo’s music that weren’t there before.

Of course, in the five years since Huncho, Quavo, like all of us, had a lot of time to sit around, and it could be that he just spent that time sharpening his craft. He also got into a high-profile relationship with a fellow rapper, Saweetie, as well as an equally public breakup. He has, in short, lived a bit, and I think that has always been the primary component of constructing a long-lasting and compelling catalog of albums. The other half of that is, of course, technique. Quavo always came in third among the Migos’ brotherhood in that respect, with Takeoff coming off more practiced, and Offset sounding more wise. The songs on Quavo’s debut just wound up sounding hollow by comparison, and it didn’t help that the album was weighed down by so many guest stars.

On Rocket Power, Quavo pares back the call list, restricting the invites to Atlanta natives. Future makes two appearances, as does the late Takeoff (on one song, together), while the incarcerated Young Thug reminds us why he has such a passionate following on “Focused.” Two younger artists, BabyDrill and the fortuitously named Hunxho, show up on “Stain,” reflecting Quavo’s willingness to pick up the torch once passed to him by Gucci Mane and mentor the next generation of his hometown’s rap talent. Otherwise, Quavo is the sole voice on Rocket Power, which puts greater pressure on him to actually hold the listener’s attention for almost the full 50 minutes. Miraculously, that’s what he does for much of the runtime, although the album is still somehow a hair too long, even clocking in at under an hour.

Quavo manages this feat by employing a new tool in his increasingly diverse kit: vulnerability. He’s always been a bit vague as a storyteller, more prone to setting up pristine tableaus from a rags-to-riches story, but on songs like “Mama Told Me,” he finally provides the connective tissue to fill in the blanks. On “Greatness,” he directly addresses the fate of his band and admits “I don’t got all the answers.” “Hold Me,” while unfolding an otherwise rote “gangsta’s pain” style meditation, lines like “lost my nephew to gunplay and smoke sh*t” lend the song an air of authenticity. It sucks that we can’t necessarily buy such expressions without seeing the physical and psychic damage for ourselves, but that’s what happens when they usually only warrant one or two songs and a couple of throwaway lines amid a non-stop ball-off.

The celebration songs, like “Turn Yo Clic Up” with Future and “Who Wit Me,” have the benefit of Quavo’s gift for writing quirky, inescapable hooks, but the songs worth returning to are the more reflective ones like “Rocket Power.” That certainly says something about when Quavo — or really, any rapper — is at his best. Flexing is fine, but the element that makes us fall in love with these artists, that makes them so intrinsic to the fabric of our everyday lives despite the differences in circumstances with the artists themselves, is their ability to tell us who they are. With Rocket Power, Quavo finally offers a glimpse of the man behind the ad-libs, and gives us more reason to follow along as he keeps Takeoff’s memory alive.

Rocket Power is out now via Quality Control Music / Motown Records.

Leon Thomas’ ‘Electric Dusk’ Rolls The Tapes On A Consuming Life In Hollywood With A Cinematic Touch

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Leon Thomas 'Electric Dusk' review
Merle Cooper/Motown Records

The RX is Uproxx Music’s stamp of approval for the best albums, songs, and music stories throughout the year. Inclusion in this category is the highest distinction we can bestow, and signals the most important music being released throughout the year. The RX is the music you need, right now.

On “Fade To Black” off Leon Thomas’ Electric Dusk debut, lives a quote that is ultimately the foundation of his debut album. “Absolute power corrupts absolutely.” Bones McCoy from Star Trek: The Original Series is the voice behind this clip, and the quote itself dates back to the 19th century via a letter from British politician Lord Acton to Bishop Mandell Creighton in 1887. In full, the quote reads, “Power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely. Great men are almost always bad men.” Here, “great” isn’t synonymous with behavior or quality, but rather, strength, power, and influence. Leon Thomas knows those three things all too well as a member of Hollywood, in both the metaphorical and literal sense.

Leon Thomas the solo artist may be new to some people, but Hollywood and the big life aren’t new to him. His time in the spotlight dates back to 2010, following a stint on Broadway, as he landed a role on Nickelodeon’s Victorious, a show that allowed him to put his acting and singing skills on display. By the time that series came to a close, Thomas was co-writing records with his then-Victorious co-star and now-pop superstar Ariana Grande for her debut album Yours Truly. That album, which will celebrate its tenth anniversary in the coming days, has six writing credits from Thomas and the credits would continue to pour in for him over the next decade. He worked as a solo writer and as one-half of The Rascals duo beside names like Drake (“Pipe Down”), Toni Braxton (“I’d Rather Be Broke”), Post Malone (“Yours Truly, Austin Post”), Giveon (“For Tonight”), SZA, (“Snooze”), and Rick Ross (“Gold Roses”).

A decade after that started, we’ve arrived at Electric Dusk, where Leon Thomas rolls the tape to explain how love in the hills has played out for him. With songwriting that proves why he’s one of the best in the industry, Thomas also crafted the album with the idea that it could be presented at the Electric Dusk theater he named it after. He isn’t just overwhelmed with life in the hills on “Crash & Burn,” he’s buried so deeply under it that a move to Mississippi, a state he seemingly has no connection to, and a fiery crash on the interstate sound like the escape he needs. There’s merely saying a relationship has reached its end and then there’s “slow dancing in a burning house,” as he sings on “Breaking Point.” Sharp imagery like this makes it so that Thomas is not only heard but seen and felt as well.

Though love is a dominant topic on Electric Dusk, the element of power stands right beside it. Aligned with Acton’s theory, Thomas seems to accept that power does corrupt, an experience he has as both a victim and a perpetrator. His sense of control vanishes on “My Will,” leaving him to write one final message to the world a request “no cat fights at my funeral” and not be “dressed up in no corny sh*t.” You’re initially led to believe that the song is about the loss of artistic freedom when it’s really Thomas holding a funeral for his playboy lifestyle. Money is his power on “Blue Hundreds” as he leads a rugged march towards a lavish night that could also be troublesome. Thomas reigns supreme in intimacy as he’s successfully corralled a taken woman on “Sneak” into consistently giving him her “sweet, sweet peach” for some “afternoon delight.” Though powerful men may be bad men as Acton posed, Thomas seemingly retorts that surrendering that power leaves one in turmoil. You’re left to think: to corrupt or to be corrupted?

On Electric Dusk, Leon Thomas speaks to those in and by the limelight – whether it be at its center, its edges, or just outside of it where many long to step into it for a moment of their own. Acknowledging that final piece is what makes Electric Dusk so captivating. It’s a message that’s about himself as it is one to others; a reminder that it’s never as good as it seems under the bright lights. Leon Thomas and Electric Dusk make an official entry to the R&B world that’s a bit reminiscent of Lucky Daye’s own in 2019 with Painted. Though both releases as more different than they are similar, in both cases, you’re left with the idea that a new mainstay in R&B has arrived. Leon Thomas’ fingerprints can be found in various corners of the music world over the past decade, but none were truly his own. Now, he has that with his stellar debut album, and ladies and gentlemen, there’s power in that.

Electric Dusk is out now via EZMNY Records and Motown Records. Stream it here.

Ty Dolla Sign is a Warner Music artist. Uproxx is an independent subsidiary of Warner Music Group.

Noname’s ‘Sundial’ Is 100 Percent Honest — Even When It Hurts

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Noname Sundial Review
Noname / Derrick Rossignol

The RX is Uproxx Music’s stamp of approval for the best albums, songs, and music stories throughout the year. Inclusion in this category is the highest distinction we can bestow and signals the most important music being released throughout the year. The RX is the music you need, right now.

“Escapism is better livin’ than this,” Noname chants on the second song from her new album, Sundial, adding, “Better be honest, baby / We better when we admit.” This juxtaposition is the crux of Noname’s political beliefs, for better or worse. Sure, it exemplifies the beating heart at the center of Sundial‘s intricate web of incisive social commentary and cutting self-recrimination, but it also captures who Noname is as an artist, and ultimately as a human being.

This is the Chicago rapper who first rose to prominence on a wave of support from fellow Chicago rising stars like Chance The Rapper and Saba, only to threaten multiple times to leave the music industry behind entirely. She changed her original name from Noname Gypsy upon learning one of the more negative interpretations of the second half of her nome de guerre. But she wasn’t above sparring with North Carolina fan favorite J. Cole when he seemingly called out her prickly online demeanor in his 2021 throwaway “Snow On Tha Bluff.”

She’s quick to call out Black celebrities like Jay-Z and Beyoncé for embracing the master’s tools in the pursuit of dismantling the master’s house — even here, where she critiques them in the song “Namesake” — but just as swift to refuse to apologize for including a potentially offensive guest MC in Jay Electronica on “Balloons.” She, like many, is a living contradiction, a person whose impulses clash with her beliefs, who falls short of her own standards, but pursues progress over perfection as often as she can.

Throughout Sundial‘s 11 tracks, she excavates and explicates this idea in ways that often seem just as paradoxical as her personality. The production, provided by a list of longtime collaborators and jazz revivalist like Daoud, Slimwav, and Yussef Dayes, offers lullaby-like coos and chords, with soothing strains more suggestive of a cozy night in with a mug of hot chocolate and romance fantasy than fiery anti-capitalist diatribes. Likewise, Noname’s singsong delivery and poetic pen maneuvers hide the points and edges of the acid-dipped darts and daggers deliberately placed across these delicate soundscapes like intellectual booby traps.

The softness of the sounds lulls listeners into sedate comfort before pricking and prodding them to wakefulness like the pea did to the princess. So, when Noname snips, “You could squabble in the comments, bitch, you are a comet,” on “Afro Futurism,” the dualism couldn’t be clearer. She has to jolt her listeners every so often so they might consider the words rather than let them wash over them. A quote that springs to mind comes from an equally enigmatic and controversial woman in rap, Lauryn Hill, via her verse from The Fugees’ “Zealots”: “And even after all my logic and my theory, I add a ‘motherfucker’ so you ignorant niggas hear me.”

That’s why it’s certainly worth considering that Jay Electronica is far from the first or worst rapper to embrace the teachings of the Nation of Islam or the Five-Percent Nation in his rhymes — or why Noname should receive a far greater backlash than any number of others who’ve featured such subject matter throughout rap’s 50 years of existence. Or that Noname, despite embodying so many of the attributes “real hip-hop heads” claim they prefer in women rappers over the more aggressively sexualized postures of MCs like Cardi B and Megan Thee Stallion, that she receives no more support from those hip-hop heads than the women they pit her against.

Noname considers it not just her job but her duty to point out these discrepancies — even when it makes her the villain in her own story. She’s quick to accept that label herself here from the outset; on album opener “Black Mirror,” she calls herself a contrarian. She’s an avowed socialist/anarchist who must embrace some of the principles of a capitalist system to survive as an artist and continue her liberation efforts such as Noname’s Book Club, which sends such texts to inmates (which they are often barred from receiving).

And while many of her choices can be off-putting, such as including the aforementioned Jay Elec or jotting off cynical-seeming dismissals of perhaps sincere inquiries on Twitter, or rhyming in that off-kilter spoken-word flow which isn’t likely to resonate with the folks who need to hear her message most, it’s all honest. Noname herself has already told us; more than anything else, it’s better to be true than to be loved. Ironically, that’s why she’s so beloved in the first place.

Sundial is out now via Noname, Inc. / AWAL Recordings. You can get it here.

Travis Scott’s Fascinating View Of ‘Utopia’ Might Just Be Too Ahead Of Its Time

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travis scott utopia review
Travis Scott / Derrick Rossignol for Uproxx Studios

The RX is Uproxx Music’s stamp of approval for the best albums, songs, and music stories throughout the year. Inclusion in this category is the highest distinction we can bestow and signals the most important music being released throughout the year. The RX is the music you need, right now.

For a little under a decade now, Texas rapper Travis Scott has had his fingers firmly on the pulse of the hip-hop zeitgeist. Starting with his second mixtape Days Before Rodeo in 2014, Travis has embodied the sort of chaotic, disaffected energy anyone born after Y2K finds intrinsic to their nature. It’s sort of a combination of the shoulder-shrugging nihilism of Generation X, multiplied by the molar-grinding anxiety of the millennial generation, cut with the hyperspeed stream of always-on, instantly gratifying internet culture. The dude always seemed great at aesthetics and giving the impression of perspective without really having much to say, and that seems to be catnip for the algorithmically programmed YouTube junkies we’re all turning into.

Travis’ ascension to hip-hop supremacy seemed certified with 2018’s Astroworld, which finally alchemized all the components and influences he’d always jammed together into more than the sum of its parts. Hip-hop, for the better part of the next couple of years, sounded like Astroworld. Travis became the influence instead of just the living mood board showcasing his inspirations. His dominance appeared inevitable. Then, a pandemic happened. Then, just when it seemed things might be getting back to normal, Travis’ 2021 Astroworld Festival ended in disaster, and he was semi-forced into a year of exile, just when he was prepared to present the next phase of his stylistic evolution and pay off his potential in full.

Now, five years after Astroworld, Travis finally presents his vision of Utopia — and it seems that his aim, once so very true, is off for the first time in his career. The thing is, I’m not sure in which direction. It’s obviously forward facing, positing a view of hip-hop very different from its current trajectory. On the other hand, it seems like Travis has once again presented a project that is the sum of its influences, without being sublime enough to portend the future of the culture and the genre. Maybe it’s a dud or maybe, as with so many works of true genius, it’s just too ahead of its time.

It’s said in the fashion world — another realm in which Travis has always appeared to be intensely interested — if something goes out of style, just wait. In a decade or so, it’ll be back in style with a vengeance. In the case of Utopia, the common consensus appears to be that Travis is once again being moved by the spirit of his greatest inspiration, Kanye West. Unfortunately, it’s at a time when Kanye is not the hero to the world at large that he once was. Even worse, the album Travis chose to channel was one of Ye’s most controversial: Yeezus, the mercurial Chicago producer’s 2013 attempt at being deconstructionist and avant garde.

Like Yeezus, Mike Dean’s fingerprints are all over Utopia; distorted drum breaks blast through “Hyaena,” ghostly, stripped-down synths under-gird “My Eyes,” even a broken Nina Simone sample appears on “I Know?” It’s like Travis and Dean took the maximalist-minimalist approach from Yeezus and wrought it on a more massive canvas. Rather than the zoned-out groove of Astroworld, we’ve got the twitchy, nervous energy of Kanye right before his first breakdown, when it seemed like he stopped trying to impress us and started trying to see just what we’d let him get away with.

The thing is, Yeezus, for better or worse, was never really in style. Some critics loved it, some listeners hated it, but the thing is, there has never really been anything else that sounded like it in hip-hop since — until now. The culture, whether you believe it’s a hivemind or an algorithm or just advertising dollars being spent, went in other directions. In fact, Travis Scott’s sound was the one that seemed most in-demand, spawning a horde of imitators and collaborators from Future and Nav to Quavo and Young Thug. Everyone incorporated a little of what Travis did from 2014 to 2020, while Kanye seemingly moved on from his own experimentation by his next album, 2016’s The Life Of Pablo.

That avant-garde style sounds just as out-of-step now as it did ten years ago. Where hip-hop has decided to reincorporate its ’80s club sister sounds like house and techno (perhaps in an escapist effort to shake off the world’s looming problems through cathartic dance), Utopia perhaps more closely reflects the anxious, apocalyptic times we’re currently living through. If music is supposed to be an escape, Utopia sounds less like its namesake than a sharp-angled, iron-walled maze, a gilded cage, or a chair made of swords. It’s jagged and concussive and claustrophobic, while Travis’ raps haven’t really improved enough to feel like he’s trying to make any kind of a coherent statement about all of this.

So, I don’t see this album having the impact of an Astroworld. It’ll likely go No. 1, because in the world where listeners are fans of the person (or the persona, rather — cults of personality abound on Elon Musk’s Twitter) more than the music, there will surely be those who “Emperor’s New Clothes” their way into convincing themselves they’re enjoying the listen. But I can’t help but wonder if, should we wait another decade, we’ll finally start to see the true influence of Utopia — even if the world itself seems further away from the concept than ever.

Utopia is out now via Cactus Jack Records / Epic Records.

J Hus’ Villainous Reign On ‘Beautiful And Brutal Yard’ Is A Telling Tale In His Fascinating Rise

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J Hus 'Beautiful And Brutal Yard' artwork
Epic Records

The RX is Uproxx Music’s stamp of approval for the best albums, songs, and music stories throughout the year. Inclusion in this category is the highest distinction we can bestow, and signals the most important music being released throughout the year. The RX is the music you need, right now.

The most fascinating thing about J Hus’ third album Beautiful And Brutal Yard is that the rapper rarely faces a loss. Sure, the British rapper has had to put his career on pause at times, most notably to serve a five-month sentence after the release of his 2018 debut album Common Sense for carrying a knife in public. For the most part, he’s a villain with no chinks in his armor, but one that has inflicted damage to varying levels against his enemies. He has neverending stories about finding himself in the middle of crossfire, self-induced or not, but through it all, he’s in control of the beautiful and brutal yard he lives in. The beauty is clear as J Hus charms as a slick-talking and charismatic man with all the talents and lines to whisk away the woman of his choice. On the flip side, the brutal moments come from the rapper’s villainous reign as an authority too fearless, too relentless, and too equipped to be removed from his throne.

The qualities mentioned above aren’t exclusive to the beauty or brute of J Hus and his world and that’s what adds to the fascination of Beautiful And Brutal Yard. They play equal roles to both sides of the coin. J Hus strives for a new level of fearlessness as he raps about his brute upbringing on “Come Look” over haunting production that sprays a dark overcast over him. In this same sense, the rapper’s daring approach to a woman he desires on “Safa Kara” is the epitome of fearless. Take your pick at lines like “Call me daddy, that’s an ego booster / Call me papa, come have me for supper,” as proof of it.

For the beauty of it all, he stares in deep admiration at an out-of-this-world woman on “Alien Girl” and aims to charm another one with risque solar system metaphors like “Take you somewhere no one can see / We go to Uranus” and “Put on a sex tune while I sex you in Neptune / This comes around only once in a blue moon.” The same charm is applied to “It’s Crazy” where he raps in sarcastic disbelief at his ability to effortlessly take down his perpetrators.

This duality is what makes Beautiful And Brutal Yard so enjoyable. With an album that fires off 19 songs across 63 minutes, enough has to be done to keep listeners interested and locked in, and J Hus accomplishes this pretty effortlessly. The early parts of the album supply infectious production and catchy hooks for records (“Who Told You” and “Militerian”) that will find as much trouble excelling in summer as day parties and tequila do. It’s within the same album that J Hus also taps in drill rap (“Cream”), introspective rap (“Playing Chess & “Come Look”), Rap&B (“My Baby”), and melodic rap (“Alien Girl”). In most cases, this would make for a disjointed album, but not for J Hus. He achieves cohesivity thanks to maintaining an authoritative tone that maintains his sinister even on its brightest days.

J Hus not only accepts the villain role on Beautiful And Brutal Yard, he fully embraces it in an attempt to take it to a newer and dark level. With that, the album leaves us with a clear image of the rapper: seated on his throne with a grimacing smile as he readjusts his crown and twirls his staff, daring anyone to take him down successfully. The album’s opening record “Intro (The Goat)” is a perfect example of this. Though it’s a short verse that launches the album, it’s one that succinctly captures J Hus’ villainous ways. “If I got my nose in your business, you know it’s a snub,” he fires off before concluding with, “My bredrin’s carryin’ ’cause I can’t afford to have it / But when it’s time for action, feel like I’m born to bang it.”

Stepping back from J Hus’ discography for a second, Beautiful And Brutal Yard is the latest offering from the British rap world that proves the genre is excelling across the pond without conforming to standards in the States. J Hus joins names like Dave, Stormzy, Central Cee, Headie One, and more who’ve made waves while staying true to themselves. It’s an observation worth noting as hip-hop, a genre that’s expanded in numerous ways since its start, crosses its 50th-anniversary mark this year. Even in this crowd, J Hus’ Beautiful And Brutal Yard stands out as a body of work that uses various sounds from the rapper’s cultural background, like afrobeats and afro-swing, as an ingredient to spice up and amplify his projects.

From a closer point of view, J Hus uses his third album to provide a vivid and detailed account of his roots and upbringing, giving equal attention to all that’s beautiful and brutal. This duality contributes to everything on the album: its sonic appeal, the thrill of J Hus’ narratives, and the rapper’s overall artistic vision. Furthermore, J Hus excels thanks to a bigger chip on his shoulder and the goal to go to all necessary lengths to prove himself, just as a villain would in their attempt to reign supreme in their beautiful and brutal yard.

Beautiful And Brutal Yard is out now via Black Butter Ltd. and Epic Records. Find out more information here.

Mahalia Is Putting Herself First In Music And ‘In Real Life’

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Mahalia 2023 press image
Atlantic Records

The RX is Uproxx Music’s stamp of approval for the best albums, songs, and music stories throughout the year. Inclusion in this category is the highest distinction we can bestow, and signals the most important music being released throughout the year. The RX is the music you need, right now.

For someone whose debut album is titled Love And Compromise, there isn’t much compromising on Mahalia’s second album IRL (In Real Life). The British singer laughs as I make note of this during our Zoom call as she heads to LAX for a flight back home after a month in the States.

It’s been four years since Mahalia released Love And Compromise, and since that album’s release, the singer and the rest of the world have gone through a lot. In credit to things like the obvious effects of the pandemic as well as more personal experiences, Mahalia, now 25 years old, is far removed from the 21-year-old woman who released that breakthrough collection.

Growing up is just one of the things that allowed her to make IRL. “Therapy got me here for sure,” she adds. “Therapy was probably the biggest catalyst for me. I think it was the one thing that really allowed me to understand myself. That’s why making this album was so interesting because I really felt like I was reflecting the whole time.”

Throughout the 13 songs that make up IRL, Mahalia couldn’t be more aware of herself and her surroundings and both the good and bad within them. She’s so deeply in love with Stormzy on “November” that she fears missing a moment of this romance by blinking or dozing off into sleep. “Isn’t It Strange” highlights the contradicting moments in her behavior but she blankets it with nonchalance as to do nothing more than acknowledge its existence. It’s a level of honesty and bluntness that emphasizes the “real” aspect of the album title. “I think that’s why this album maybe means so much to me because I think it actually does feel like diary entries,” she says.

Elsewhere, we meet the new Mahalia, the one who refuses to compromise for the things she wants. The one who lays down “Terms And Conditions” for love and warns that a potential lover will have to endure a vetting process conducted by her closest girls. The same who one found the courage to say “It’s Not Me, It’s You” to a man who made her wrongly believe that she was insufficient for a relationship. Despite this, Mahalia admits that often slips back to her old ways. “Even sometimes, now I find myself compromising on things and going, ‘what the f*ck am I doing?” Mahalia notes. “Like this is not what I’ve agreed with myself.”

Mahalia doesn’t attempt to hide the moments she goes against her own terms and conditions on IRL, and it’s that authenticity that adds to the album. After four years without an album, the British singer could have presented herself as a flawless woman who learned from her past to conquer anything her future threw her way. Instead, we get the very real back-and-forth moments of laying firm rules on “Terms And Conditions” all to hopefully bend them on “In My Head” with Joyce Wrice. “Wassup” with Kojey Radical celebrates freedom from an insufficient lover with a fun night on the town all for “Lose Lose” to follow and present Mahalia’s reluctance to put herself first and end a relationship that is riddled with too many problems. Through these instances, you may think that Mahalia is a bit fearful of change, but it was quite the opposite for her.

“My partner and I have now been together for coming up on three years,” she says. “Before that, I only made it to about 10 or 11 months, three times. When I got to that point with my partner, I remember having an internal freakout because I was like I don’t think I can go past that point or I’m feeling like I need to change and feeling like I need to alter something so that I can grow artistically.”

That feeling didn’t last too long as Mahalia admits that she’s “very scared of change now.” She is currently working towards splitting her time between homes in New York and London, a transition that she admits “freaked” her out at its start. “As you get older and figure out your comfort and the things that make you bounce, I think you don’t really want to change that because it’s taken you 25 years to find that sweet spot.”

This relationship has also allowed Mahalia, for the first time in her career, to create an album from the perspective of someone in a stable relationship. Staying on the topic of change, it’s been quite an adjustment for her to write from this new point of view. “I’m so used to just writing about the guys that do the sh*tty things and the guys that leave,” she says. “This was the time to be able to talk about all the intricacies of long-term relationships. They are just as crazy as being single and dating and being in the streets.” It’s a change that Mahalia not only fully embraced, but enjoyed as well. “The process itself was really, genuinely fun. Like, just really fun,” she admits. “I laughed [and] cried a lot while I was writing and creating, and I think that’s maybe why I’m so proud of it.”

During an interview with Evening Standard earlier this year, Mahalia admitted that she “probably wouldn’t have written this same album” if not for the pandemic. It’s an unsurprising note from the singer for a few reasons. First, the pandemic change a lot of things in a lot of areas for people all over the world, changes that were temporary and others that were permanent. Secondly, Mahalia’s almost three-year relationship means that it began in the heart of the pandemic, so who knows how it would’ve existed, if at all, if not for this time that forced the world to come to a standstill. These points aside, Mahalia also credits the “post”-pandemic moments for helping her find a direction for her sophomore album.

“Through the pandemic, we obviously couldn’t go into studios and stuff,” she recalls. “So when, when that time was over, I was working with loads of different people. I wasn’t really taking the time to sit and think, ‘This is my second album, what do I want to say?’ So after that immediate rush of being outside again, I decided that I kind of wanted that. I missed that feeling, I missed the four walls, I miss seeing the same people every single day.”

What came out of that was the decision to work with a small circle of three people to create IRL, and through that, comes an album that she feels is more cohesive than her debut. “[Without that], I would have just been going in the studio with everyone and just making a bunch of music which is kind of how Love & Compromise felt to me,” she admits. “I love that record and I always will because it was my first, but it definitely felt disjointed to me because I wasn’t learning with people and I wasn’t creating with people in that way. I was just creating to create.”

So what is it that Mahalia wants to say on IRL? Through all the changes she’s experienced in her life (multiple managers, boyfriends, and friends), Mahalia wanted to showcase her newfound independence and the benefits that come from it. “I really wanted people to get a sense of independence from this record,” she says. “Even though there are moments when I talk about relationships and people that I do depend on, I think you can really hear that I am depending on myself to get through this life and human experience.” She later adds, “I’m in that phase of my life where I’m like, I can do this sh*t on my own.”

Compromise is a thing of the past for Mahalia. Now, she’s putting herself first, both in her music and in real life.

IRL is out now via Atlantic Records. Find out more information about it here.