The rapper/singer LYAM, born Liam Harris-Williams, got his start through the ad hoc East London crew TTY, an elusive collective of artists who gained a profile for their nebulous rap-R&B music and notorious rooftop parties. Young Turks eventually signed the group, and they holed up in one of the label’s studios to write and record an EP. While they worked on this record, they simultaneously asked for Miharashi jackets and a monogrammed Prada bag in their contract (as one does) and threw parties in the studio with guest DJs Sampha and RZA (also as one does). The resulting Cry, But Go, released last year, came laced with LYAM’s glowering rhymes over sparse, freeform beats drawing on grime and electronic music. The EP acts as a prelude to the styles LYAM adopts across his solo debut, N_O CALLER ID, on which he crafts a patchwork of grime, Motown soul, and other sounds that he grew up around to match his free-wheeling rhymes on ambitions and anxieties.
The album is suffused with an after-hours vibe—drinks, raves, and speeding cars populate his sleek vision of London. Different voices flit in and out: clips of conversation shuffle between backbeats and guest verses heighten the momentum. Some tracks from the Cry, But Go sessions were used for the album, like on the laid-back “Frith’s Place,” where seesawing synths, a jittery beat, and vocals from R&B singer Lauren Aude form an introspective backdrop for LYAM to reflect on a night out marked by jealousy. Clutching a bottle of Hennessy “like a hand grenade,” his mind wanders to his own dark headspace: “I’m blind with open eyes nowadays,” he raps venomously. “Every time I close ’em see my own demise.”
Trying to keep up with LYAM as he unspools his overactive mind over hazy beats offers its own potent buzz. On moody standout “Misery,” New York producer Sporting Life loops Rose Royce’s “Love Don’t Live Here Anymore” into a ghostly, menacing setting for LYAM’s rapid-fire delivery: “Lemme go, lemme be, lemme breathe,” he gasps, words collapsing together, “Look in the mirror and I can’t see me.” When he dials into party-minded decadence, he maintains the madcap energy: The boastful “Apollo” rides a glitchy backbeat cut with sharp vocal samples as LYAM convincingly describes how he’ll steal your girl, while “Origami” has brash London rapper Shygirl delivering one of her best coolly shrugged-off verses to match LYAM’s more languorous flow.
The airier R&B songs on N_O CALLER ID don’t land with the same impact. He leans into meandering melodies on “Willing 2,” which floats on distorted, glassy synths and echoing background vocals. LYAM pinpoints evocative details—losing his license to thrill a paramour, again questioning how much he lives in his own head—but the song barely shifts from its narcotized backdrop and cyclical chorus, leading to stasis instead of intrigue. “AWAI,” the clearest pop song on the album, relies on a similar crutch as LYAM treads water while trying on an Auto-Tuned, Drake-ian voice. Yet the rapper seems comfortable in his own lane, and largely pulls it off across N_O CALLER ID. He soundtracks the late-night mental state after a night out when all the highs and lows blur together into one irresistible image.
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