The rapper MIKE, a self-described “bulky black body” from the Bronx, is a prodigious wordsmith with a booming voice and a silver tongue. In the span of a single track, he may contemplate life and death, responsibility and ambition, the state of the world and the state of his wallet. He pushes and pulls his words with a preternatural sense of rhythm. His new album, May God Bless Your Hustle, is a collection of observations, thoughts, and confessions about simply existing and trying to exist simply at the age of 18. With back-alley, soul-sampling beats and with lyrics so solid they could gather moss, MIKE arrives with a unique and fresh voice that provides a shock to the whole rap system. Rare is there someone so young who is as in control as he is vulnerable.
Hustle arrives after years of refinement. His earliest project, Belgium Butter, dates back to 2014, when he was still too wordy and out of synch. Importantly, the tape revealed his backward-leaning ear and a taste for jagged production in the vein of MF DOOM and J Dilla. Since then, the beats—provided largely by members of his sLUms crew—have gotten sparser and better, as have his bars. MIKE is a deliberate lyricist, using juxtaposition to render the ordinary remarkable. On “Pigeonfeet,” he raps, “Watch his jaw get broken like a vase when it’s dropped,” and on “Hunger,” he comes up with, “I’m off the wall like a wet sticker.” It’s as if MIKE exists in a world where the line, “Making sure my man wallet’s straight like a collar when you iron that,” from Earl Sweatshirt’s “Grief,” is canon. Like Earl, MIKE’s flow is gluey and extraordinary. But even when MIKE discards the rhyme or varies his speed, there’s a consistent rhythm that conveys the song forward, exemplified on “10k,” where he spends the bulk with the same rhyme before shifting into a new scheme and rare double-time bars. There is no languishing in the beat and every transition is without seams or effort.
Beyond his phrasing skills, MIKE makes his words stick. For every passage of double-time flow, there’s a moment of clarity. On “Hunger” alone, his lyrics pop with color, like the brilliant opener—“Hunger make you eat your words instead”—and a moment of repose after a scattered day: “I reach home and hit the mattress quick.” His technical proficiency both highlights and obscures his various pains and transgressions. In a recent interview, he talked about how he and his mother have been separated for years due to government paperwork. On the opening “Somebody Please,” he spends just one line acknowledging the situation, later scattering references throughout Hustle. His steady delivery masks the difficulty, suggesting that there’s a well of emotions that isn’t communicated or that he may not be ready to divulge everything on a record. That absence is strong, like a portrait where the subject is moved by something the viewer cannot see. Hustle’s instrumentals only heighten the melancholy, as the splintered samples evoke more nameless ghosts. Sixpress and MIKE, who handle the majority of the production, add minimal flourishes, allowing the lifted melodies and MIKE’s voice to carry the songs. The techniques recall the ancient cool of RZA in his prime.
Depression is a constant theme throughout Hustle that MIKE treats with maturity. He sees it as a lingering condition, not a singular obstacle. “Depression isn’t just a phase/It’s hard to dub the L when it’s all up in your face,” he states plainly on “Pigeonfeet.” He later admits, “I fucking hate my guts/Don’t got the guts to do shit,” but uses that as motivation to work harder at his craft—an ethos he sets from the start, opening the album with the declaration, “Bust my ass!”
Much is made of the new generation of rappers, who may or may not be ruining hip-hop, depending who you ask. Lil Yachty, a year MIKE’s senior, is as much a style icon and motivator as he is a rapper. Even newer entrants—namely those of the SoundCloud generation, led by the odious XXXTentacion—are reckless on the mic and in concert, better at stirring emotion than honing a craft. MIKE, who appears to be unconcerned with image or popularity, bucks the narrative. He paints in fine strokes, the quiet kid working it out on the page compared to extroverted melodrama of Lil Uzi Vert’s “XO TOUR Llif3.” His brilliance is in the details and the patience he displays as an MC who is as technical as he is stylish. In a world of noise, MIKE’s quietude is magnetic.
