You’re trampolined across the record, with a pacing speed equivalent to a getaway Porsche, through adrenaline-junky beats, acidic comedy, tasteful comedowns, and the type of political commentary that digs my Political Science degree out of its grave for the brief moment before the birds start pecking at it. Then, Guevara takes the finale to remind you there is a non-zero possibility you’re contributing to all the pain and suffering the world has constructed in this late, late stage. And then the party’s really over.
Guevara’s last stand on the sumptuous and startling closer is what gives me some writing apprehension; its takedown of white audiences being a large portion of his fanbase, one that contributes to artistic alienation and a slew of underground rappers performing for that audience in uncomfortable ways, has the Fight Club effect. I should keep my mouth shut, right? Am I the next link in the ‘perpetuation’ chain, just by covering this record? The answers can be yes, and I can still appreciate this record in written form; those can both exist, not because I have the answers, but because I would write it either way.
Goyard Ibn Said has its own artistic context, too, not just the sociopolitical one. It isn’t simply a radical clearing of his sample work into high-fidelity noise but an introduction of everything-and-the-kitchen-sink sounds. The realisation of acid synths and rumbling bass pair nicely with these crisp recordings. Gone are the lo-fi beats, in are Avatar: The Last Airbender hooks and world-shattering bangers.
The two acts the record works in can best be described as a launchpad being dropped into a church service and the white plastic chair on someone’s patio being used for a deep 3 AM conversation turned into sound. There’s a natural law somewhere that says whatever beat goes up, the party must come down. Guevara may have made his name with harrowing samples and communist commentary, but his truest talent may be deeply felt tenderness. The ballad-like tracks of Act 2 trace everyday suffering and triumphs around the drain, coalescing into what life’s like. Difficulties we shouldn’t have, and a constructed world that won’t do us any good, but, well, neither will complaining. May as well get mad, and take your talents upwards.
Guevara’s nature enunciates how we’ve all been failed by our capitalistic global regime. You can make out the music-appreciating, comedically gifted savant at the core of this record, but he’s forced to contend with white supremacy and make time for struggles that only exist because of a long history of greed and hate being bedfellows. None of us should be here, and I shouldn’t have to write this, but we keep on. Not a bad reality if we have writers like Guevara guiding our way.
