It’s hard to reconcile our dependence on the sun with the fact that it will one day kill us. That day is not likely to be tomorrow, or the next day, or even a billion years from now. But even from a safe distance, knowing the sun, the fulcrum of life as we know it, will end life, is quite the headtrip. On Sun Go Nova, Detroit rapper Denmark Vessey is unfazed. Breezy, calm, and nonlinear, the brief collection skitters between the cosmic, the mundane, and the absurd with levity.
Recorded during the same sessions as last year’s Buy Muy Drugs, Vessey’s manic collaboration with Chicago producer Azarias, Sun Go Nova is just as scatterbrained and wide-swinging. On “Zzzzz” Vessey uses his “counterfeit money phone” to make prank calls, threatens politicians that misuse tax money, and confronts a lover for sending too many texts. On “SunGoNova” he thanks JAY-Z for explaining the risks of selling drugs and discloses his lady’s preferred pasta dish (pad thai). Buy Muy Drugs wove such oddball minutia into a prickly, acerbic satire; Sun Go Nova relishes their lack of connection.
Vessey’s always been at ease rattling off non-sequiturs, and on Sun Go Nova his rapping itself is free-wheeling. His verse on “SunGoNova” zigs from baby babble, to double-time raps, to sing-song chants. His opening verse on “Zzzzz” is interrupted by a fuzzy ad-lib that morphs into a hazy, shouted refrain. There’s a sense of freedom in all this spasming. In the past, Vessey’s anxiety raps filled his music with unresolvable tension. Even when joking or outright trolling, he could come across as grave. Here he achieves catharsis, his freeform flows easing him into bliss. “The sun went nova when we was sleep,” he deadpans on “Sellout.” He sounds relieved.
Part of this relief is cooked into the record. The project is divided into two volumes. The first volume, produced by Earl Sweatshirt and Knxwledge, is a swamp of diced soul loops, dulled drums, and foggy chords. The arrangements are dense and feverish. Sounds are packed tight, melted down, and soaked in filters. Instead of rapping inside the crags and pockets of this teeming morass, Vessey orbits around it, using its warmth to forge his own rhythms, like a planet fostering life from a star’s light. Midway through the record, Vessey floats off entirely. The second volume is a rap-less, self-produced beat tape. Relative to Earl and Knxwledge, Vessey’s compositions are airy and porous; the drums strike cleanly, the samples breathe. His beats can jitter just as much as his raps, but the effect is similarly cathartic. “Halal Avocado Toast” shifts from a breezy tropical swing to a snappy bounce without fuss. “Quiet Storm Jam” casually hops from bass-heavy thump to a caramelized sample of Wendy Rene’s “After Laughter.” No beat goes unheard.
The persistent aloofness of Sun Go Nova sometimes blurs into triviality. Even if it’s considered a looser, sunnier counterpoint to the acidic dread of Buy Muy Drugs, the lack of narrative and structure give the songs an unfinished feel. There’s no indication that his streams of conscious couldn’t have been whittled into coherence or that his beats couldn’t have been scaled up into something more robust. Freedom isn’t aimlessness. Still, there’s something relatable about Vessey’s restless self-indulgence. Why not live a little? The sun is going to kill us, after all.
