If a politician in Chicago, the UK, or New York is craving attention, an easy way to get it is to declare war on drill. Enter Eric Adams, New York’s new photo-op thirsty mayor, who earlier this year, claimed his son, who works at Roc Nation, showed him drill videos, and the “displaying of guns, violence” left him disturbed. In response, Mayor Adams said his new goal was to get the subgenre banned from social media platforms, blaming the style for deeply rooted issues he’d rather ignore and using recent deaths of drill rappers like Chii Wvttz and TDott Woo as mere props. Of course, after erasing all nuance, Adams moved on once he got the attention he really wanted when a picture of himself alongside New York rap staples and popular drill stars went viral.
In the photo, seated to the right of Adams is Fivio Foreign, the popular East Flatbush, Brooklyn rapper who’s become the unofficial spokesperson for New York’s take on the Chicago-born style. It’s not because his music is particularly that great, though he’s had some incredibly memorable moments: the 2019 ad-lib barrage “Big Drip” is one of the most fun hits of Brooklyn drill’s creative apex, and his Funk Flex freestyle and guest verse on Kanye West’s Donda showed off some lyrical chops. But mostly, he’s built himself up by smoothing out the rougher edges of drill and becoming the rapper who artists outside of the subgenre hit up to sprinkle their record with the distinct flavor. Drake did it. Mary J. Blige did it. Nas did it. Kanye did it a couple of times.
Similar to Pop Smoke’s overly polished posthumous albums, Fivio Foreign’s official debut B.I.B.L.E. is completely focused on creating drill with crossover appeal. The idea sounds fine, but too bad the execution is full of boring radio-friendly R&B hooks, samples coasting on nostalgia, and records that sound like drill on the surface but soften the subgenre’s personality. The Destiny’s Child-flipping “What’s My Name” is the most glaring example, clearly influenced by the Bronx’s wave of viral sample-driven drill singles like B Lovee’s “My Everything” and “IYKYK,” but unlike those tracks, Fivio and Queen Naija lean so heavily on the original that they’re damn-near doing karaoke. (Apparently, to clear the sample, Beyoncé left a note to make it less vulgar.) Also added to the list of things nobody ever asked for is Fivio’s romantic side. Pop Smoke pulled it off because he had this slightly melodic delivery that made everything he said sound smooth. I can’t say the same for Fivio. On “Love Songs,” he recruits Ne-Yo for a jarring revamped version of the singer’s 2005 hit “So Sick,” and on the Chlöe-assisted “Hello,” he has the charm of a catcaller as he flirts with a girlfriend by using his catchphrase (“Baby, you viral”).
When he wants to, Fivio can rap pretty well. “On God” may sound like Donda scraps, down to the gospel choir outro and the quiet, moody production, but the way Fivio’s flow tumbles as if he’s kicking a freestyle and can’t stop is hard. “Feel My Struggle” is the best pure drill cut on the album; he gets fairly introspective over AXL’s jumpy bassline. The generic Vory chorus on “Change On Me” could go, but the dramatic hi-hat-fueled buildup sets the stage for Fivio’s breathy delivery.
Besides a handful of catchy verses, though, there aren’t enough standout moments on B.I.B.L.E. The song I can’t get off my mind is the New York homage “City of Gods,” a more annoying variant of “Empire State of Mind,” which was already annoying in its own right. Just downgrade Jay-Z to Fivio; replace a tolerable Alicia Keys hook with a grating one; touch it up with drill’s signature elements like the sputtering drums and gliding 808s; cap it off with Kanye’s weirdly out of place headline-addressing verse. And you have the type of inoffensive watered-down drill that would make Eric Adams happy.
