Few figures in Detroit’s rap landscape have remained as consistent throughout the ebbs and flows of the genre’s evolution as Black Milk and Fat Ray, epitomizing the brand of resiliency endemic to that lower right quadrant of The Mitten. Their respective journeys are practices in patience, with their 2008 collaboration The Set Up as an inflection point: Milk made his bones crafting soulful, tender boom-bap beats for the likes of Slum Village and Elzhi in the early 2000s, before forging an adventurous path in the post-J Dilla world with his solo projects marked by a fusion of jazz and funk production. Fat Ray moved through the city’s proving-ground clubs with a booming register and shrewd wordplay, grinding in independent circles before finding a supportive environment in Danny Brown’s Bruiser Brigade. Their latest full-length link-up, Food From the Gods, conjures up images of two weary travelers trading secrets and stories in the corner of a dark tavern, insulated from the cold and bustle in their own sphere of comfort.
On Food From the Gods, Fat Ray and Milk don’t hide their urge to cement themselves as guiding lights from the city’s elder generation: “Real D-Boy, know we got to protect the game/Peep the game, broke it down for you, let you keep the change,” Fat Ray spits on “Talcum.” The record is a brisk exhibition that backs up that claim, the result of a partnership that’s only gotten stronger over time. The duo is in lockstep: romping through a dark, foreboding landscape of Milk’s creation, propelling each other forward with a reliable, genuine chemistry.
On the surface, Fat Ray’s voice and his writing feel incongruous. His baritone growls almost mask the nimble precision of his wordplay, making the minute feel massive with every syllable. The evocations of graveyards, frigid January nights, and being tied to the bed from Misery turn “ELDERBERRY” into a macabre block spin. He bounces from stunting his pink gator-skin shoes, melting Klondike bars with his breath, to breaking down wealth disparities on “EL HONGO (The Mushroom),” where it almost feels as though he’s rapping to inches away from your nose. It doesn’t hurt that Fat Ray can be deathly funny. At times, this manifests in goofy snafus that that trip up the momentum—the Ice Spice-inspired “you think you the shit” line on the laidback “STASH” is akin to the rapper stepping on a cartoon rake—but more often than not, his humor imbues Food From the Gods with personality and keeps the record from becoming self-serious.
Milk’s beat selection ensures that Fat Ray and their esteemed guests (Detroit’s Brown, Guilty Simpson, and a hilarious Bruiser Wolf) are comfortable at every turn. Gone are the sprawling live-band compositions and MIDI keyboards of his solo albums; instead, Black Milk largely invokes the gritty boom-bap tenets that feel as though they should only be played when the temperature drops below freezing. “EL HONGO” traps the listener in a seedy blues bar with a brilliant guitar loop, before knocking drum beats and a screeching vocal chorus finishes the job. Relentless synths stack upon each other in the background of “Talcum,” with little more than a brooding percussion set to support it, crafting an echoing hollow space for Fat Ray to stretch out. Milk adeptly matches the range of Fat Ray’s personalities, freely moving from understated, tittering piano melodies on the standout “Franky Lymon,” to “CANE,” which could soundtrack a Blaxploitation film chase scene, peaking with trumpet blares at random.
Milk and Fat Ray coax each other out of their shells on Food From the Gods—the smooth voiced producer even makes cameos as a tonal foil to Fat Ray’s tenor—to the point where the familiar touchstones from Dilla’s heyday feel exceptional. It’s the “fine wine” adage unfolding in real time. “Tell ’em look at who we became/Now put some respect on my name,” Fat Ray raps on “Gotta Know”: Detroit’s deities have ignited a path for the next generation to follow, with proof that the sonic world of their predecessors is alive and well.
