Popstar Benny’s approach to production took root in grade school, when a CD copy of Gorillaz’s Demon Days revealed the power of cross-genre collaboration. “They got every single style,” the Atlanta beatmaker told an interviewer in 2023. “It was crazy to me that it was one guy doing everything.” Benny’s own hyper-stimulating instrumentals—reflecting his love for Pokémon OSTs, late-aughts indie rock, and first-wave trap music—have made him a key figure in Atlanta’s post-plugg underground. But it’s on his full-length producer albums that he goes full Damon Albarn. More than just various-artists compilations, 2023’s University! and its predecessor, Album*, felt like running a Madden franchise on fantasy draft mode, arranging strange lineups of features just for the thrill of hearing MIKE bob and weave through a classic Playboi Carti type beat or getting Duwap Kaine and Bear1boss to go freestyle for freestyle.
Benny’s latest collection, Oasis, is uncharacteristically focused, featuring an all-women roster of rappers and vocalists from the Atlanta scene. At just under 20 minutes, it’s one of the leaner entries in his discography, chaining together fragments of psychedelic pop ephemera in close succession. The cover art, a brooding, alien landscape vandalized by a Lisa Frank sticker set, accurately reflects the performances Benny coaxes from his guests, juxtaposing their bratty taunts with nuclear bass thumps and spooky melodies. In Sanrio terms, it’s more Kuromi than My Melody: sinister, but endearingly so. On “Hate Me,” Coco & Clair Clair effortlessly embody this attitude, indexing all the reasons haters might envy them, like sparking a label bidding war or appearing in their boyfriends’ Spotify history. Their deadpan jabs make an appealing contrast with the lush digital strings and zig-zagging sine waves of Benny’s pluggnb orchestration.
These strange, occasionally dissonant amalgamations of emotion are a particular strength of Popstar Benny and co. “Charlie’s Angels” is a boilerplate party rocker on the surface, built around Avi Kaior’s nonchalant flexes and Casamigos-fueled invitations to the dancefloor. Benny’s New Jazz-inspired synth leads, though, are primed to induce delirium; the song is equal parts ecstasy and panic, like watching the ceiling spin. “Grow Up,” on the other hand, plays things a bit too safe, weaving airy jazz chords into a skeletal Jersey club beat. It’s pleasant but feels slight compared to the distinct punch of similarly structured songs by Kyle Ricch or Ice Spice. Opener “2020” matches a whispy vocal chop with a similarly ethereal Vayda verse, creating a washed-out effect that’s smothered by a booming 808 kick. Quotables like “They mad that I’m smiling… Don’t wanna see Vay on an ad for Crest” deserve more room to breathe.
The best offering on Oasis, however, is its most aggressive outlier. On “Pajamas,” Mercury struts into a downright evil rage beat, kicks up her feet, and rattles off 16 bars with enough confidence to make you believe no other rapper could do the instrumental justice. Her play on traditionally gendered hip-hop tropes (“If I had a dick, it’d be big like a Tonka”) is particularly effective; it’s a dynamic that I wish the full tape had explored further. As a showcase of regional talent, Oasis is a fun hang, but within Benny’s own goofy, surreal world, it’s more like an appetizer.
