It’s easy to get lost in MIKE’s Tears of Joy: the baritone voice, the abstract bars, the unrecognizable sample chops that lift you into his painful world. The Bronx emcee has kept his personal life close to his chest, only revealing small bits here and there, mainly his deep emotional and spiritual connection to his mother. Tears of Joy is a magnetic and loving tribute to his mother, who passed away recently. After years of shadowy raps, MIKE is at his most vulnerable in the face of tragedy, able to turn grief and frustration into an album rich with both musical and individual growth.
Much of MIKE’s writing has come off as a stream of consciousness, but on Tears of Joy every bar has a purpose. “Sittin’ with my head in my hands, hold it in” and “Trippin’ why my eyes always damp, roll a spliff,” he says defeatedly on the album’s intro. On the following track, “Whole Wide World,” he sounds like he’s sleepwalking, stuck in a state of gloom. “Shit scary, but I stay spinnin’/Lookin’ through obituaries with your name in it,” says the 20-year-old in a heavy voice, over an Ohbliv beat that feels like you’re stuck eternally in the waiting room at the dentist.
MIKE’s music is a mood, always attempting to drag itself through the melancholy to seek a brighter outlook. On “Ain’t No Love,” he warmly reflects over a dreamy Ted Kamal production, perfect for a Sunday morning: “With my moms that type of stress is soothing/Really wrapped around your arm while the weather gruesome.” Then, long-time collaborator Adé Hakim laces MIKE with a head-knocker of a beat and he stumbles into that new outlook. “I remember I was blinded, I can see now,” he says heartily on “Planet.” His feelings are an endless back and forth: breakthrough followed by agony; agony followed by breakthrough. And he often just opts to numb that uncertainty by smoking his days away: “Why you always see me high, it’s hard to come down.”
But MIKE shines brightest when he takes over the production reigns under his beat-making alias DJ Blackpower. It’s like these songs specifically were recorded in a room, alone, with his eyes shut, picturing both the past he misses and the future he dreams of. There are times when he realizes that his youth has just been ripped from him and moments when he’s keeping his feelings stuffed in a box, but the way he weaves in his rich vocal samples and the steady bounce of the drums gives off a feeling of joy even at his most bleak.
The album’s finale—the horn-laden, Navy Blue-produced “Stargazer Pt. 3”—is both crushing and cheerful. MIKE raps in a voice that sounds like he’s trembling, seconds away from tears. He’s still grieving and maybe he always will be, but those better days are within reach. That hopefulness has been the core of MIKE’s music since he was just a promising Bronx teenager with an affinity for words, searching for the voice he’s finally found.
