Duwap Kaine is a true product of the internet: a drifter among the Soundcloud extended universe who’s had a marked influence on hip-hop but mostly stands on his own. His vocal runs are somewhere between the hazy confessions of Lucki and the spiraling conspiracies of Rxk Nephew, and with a propensity for lengthy projects with no features, his work can feel like a torrential flood whose individual songs often blur together. There’s something almost Zen about the swirling patterns of Duwap’s voice, marred by a distinctly digital sound, like the audio equivalent of a music visualizer. On his new album, Faith Like Esther, the 20-year-old Savannah, Georgia rapper assumes a more romantic and passionate tone—while he’s always had a sing-song delivery, he now drifts closer to R&B and pop.
An unapologetic rap nerd, Duwak often interprets himself through the personas of other artists. On “Oppa Gangnam Style” he says he feels like Migos, then just a few bars later changes his mind and switches trends: “This ain’t no Migos era no more/We ain’t rockin’ Versace.” As the title suggests, “Future & Designer” treats the resemblance between the two rappers as a metaphor for flow-jackers and clout vampires. Kaine’s flow is dependably unpredictable: a melodic falsetto or a verbose stream of imagery fighting the beat. As much as actual Auto-Tune, Kaine swaddles his voice in layers of reverb and overdubs, lending an almost shoegaze essence to his delivery. When he does land more purposefully trolling punchlines, they’re offset by the ethereal layers of his voice.
Faith Like Esther can almost sound like Drake fell down a rabbit hole into a trippy Dr. Seuss-like dimension, and the beat of “Outro (Seasonal)” resembles a sped-up Baltimore Club flip of “Passionfruit.” Beneath the powerful 808 bass, “Hard 2 Please” has an almost Sade-like instrumental backdrop, while “Revolve Around Me” is like an R&B ballad on fast forward, with a defined sense of melody that’s compacted and hyperactive. After exhibiting a sensitive and even sultry side, Duwap peaks into the red with the noisy crunch of “ProPella,” grounded in demented synths and overcompressed bass. There’s darkness behind the clouds, and the bleary eyes and blurry colors come as much from internal struggle as euphoria: “It’s really hard tryna quit the lean/Especially when you seein’ things.”
Duwap can slip into darker territory, but he remains sincere throughout the project, with an occasionally childlike sense of love seeping out of his bars. On emo banger “#Mood,” he croons about wiping away his tears with dollar bills, and he makes a hook out of his adoration for humankind: “If I could help everybody I would.” The title of the song “ASMR” offers a clear analogy for listening to Duwap at this stage in his career—the words and the content matter, but the experience is equally informed by the texture and our instinctive emotional response. While there’s still room to get hype, crack jokes, and express pain, Duwak Kaine seems increasingly concerned with soothing the listener.
