Fly Anakin is a marvel to behold, the kind of lightning-in-a-bottle technician who makes you drop what you’re doing to better absorb his enunciation, syllable placement, and superhuman breath control. Panama Plus, his 2017 outing with fellow Richmond, Virginia rapper Koncept Jack$on and producer Tuamie, was the best sort of scene record, a distinctive DIY showcase for a group of eager upstarts. His Mutant Academy crew has since unleashed a torrent of collaborative tapes, cultivating a spontaneous sound built on rough soul samples. FlySiifu’s, last year’s full-length collaboration between Fly Anakin and Pink Siifu, was one of the collective’s most deconstructed efforts to date, with 22 short, discursive tracks approximating a dorm-room haze.
For his part, Pink Siifu is a trenchant songwriter and a creator of ambitious, genre-fluid concept records. He’s also somewhat enigmatic; his rap delivery is laid-back nearly to the point of abstraction. The contrast between his muted presence and Fly Anakin’s breakneck bars could be a compelling Thunder-and-Lightning routine, but lack of structure made FlySiifu’s hard to pin down. It’s a problem that’s plagued Fly Anakin’s recent work—he’s an unforgettable performer, yet the songs themselves don’t leave much of an impression, with a combination of choppy loops and free-associative bars hanging in dull suspension. Even “Live at the Barbeque” had a hook.
The pair’s 10-track follow-up $mokebreak adds a number of guests to the equation, which helps break the monotony. But often, it’s a case of one step forward and two back. The songs are longer and more lethargic than virtually everything on FlySiifu’s. “3 Dope Boys” and “Remote Relocation” have bright chords and evocative samples, but the marathon verses feel interminable; the Chuck Strangers production “Oatmeal” has a chorus, but, alas, no drums. Fly Anakin in particular sounds compromised by the slackened pace—he’s starting to resemble Pro Zay and SeKwence, a pair of raspy oddballs who until recently were lesser disciples.
With features from Mavi, Yungmorpheus, and Richmond natives 3waySlim and Big Kahuna OG, $mokebreak assembles a pretty staggering amount of talent. These guys are collectively way too good at rapping for the record to be a total letdown, and from a technical perspective it’s bulletproof, the bars masterfully patterned and relayed with gusto. Still, these songs aren’t really about anything—not only are the verses incohesive, the bars themselves feel disjointed. “Tha Divide” is a five-and-a-half-minute mélange of sex raps and battle rhymes; you could transpose practically any of the couplets and it wouldn’t make any difference. One wonders if continuity was yet another casualty of coronavirus, if distance prevented the collaborators from effectively bouncing ideas off each other.
In the wake of Earl Sweatshirt’s Some Rap Songs, a flood of bookish rappers embraced the lo-fi aesthetic, finding the style apt for somber autobiography. Neoclassical acts like Roc Marciano and Griselda have long used one- and two-bar samples as stripped-down templates for colorful theatrics, ensuring their performances remained in the spotlight. But there’s a fine line between minimalism and disregard, and it’s a little perplexing that rappers as meticulous as Siifu and Anakin consistently opt for such anonymous production. At times it feels like a deliberate rejection of frilly gimmicks, their ability to redeem sludgy breakbeats further proof of their brilliance. Just hearing them rhyme is all the proof anyone should need.
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