On an emerging Florida rap scene that includes controversial figures like Kodak Black and XXXTentacion, the least volatile newcomer is Wifisfuneral, a quick-spitter from Palm Beach making turn-up tunes about surviving depression and drug dependency. The Bronx-born son of a freestyle battle rapper longed for a connection to his absentee father and chose to follow in his footsteps. Wifi has worldwide aspirations, striving to be connected everywhere, and he met his DJ, Scheme, when Scheme’s best friend killed himself. They formed a duo and Wifi ramped up his commitment to recording. This convergence of ambitions and fatalities manifests in the name he bears, and the life he’s lived.
Wifi has had dangerous run-ins with cocaine, Adderall, and Xanax abuse, spending recent years in and out of emergency rooms. He had a near-death experience while making Black Heart Revenge, which is (perhaps coincidentally) his best work. He’s called a recent project, When Hell Falls, a suicide note turned mixtape. The songs are all about death and misanthropy, surviving a hell on earth and subduing the demon within. Now newly sober, attributing the change to “growing up,” Wifisfuneral seemed to be chasing clear-headedness, telling Mass Appeal, “I don’t want to drown.” But his newest mixtape, Boy Who Cried Wolf, is a relapse: present tense rapping about drug benders and small narcotic operations. If When Hell Falls is about caging demons, Boy Who Cried Wolf lets them loose. This is regression through xanax binges, losing oneself in the darkness. When he isn’t on a drug-induced rush, he’s completely empty.
The rapper has claimed a weird set of sonic reference points: MF DOOM, Gucci Mane, Eminem, and Three 6 Mafia, but rarely does the palette lead him to really try anything daring. His most compelling stuff toyed with opposing forces of hypeness and misery, but much of that is lost on Boy Who Cried Wolf. Wifi has dismissed the “SoundCloud rap” tag out of hand, but he isn’t unlike other locals like Lil Pump and Smokepurpp, or tourmate XXX. They are all internet amalgamations of regional signifiers diluted so vigorously that they don’t represent anything anymore. He sounds like Uzi on “Weigh !t Out!” He sounds like Carti on uppers throughout “Wrist Motion.” Sometimes he’s XXX. Any sense of personal identity has been washed away. Songs on Boy Who Cried Wolf don’t really have topics or ideas, which wouldn’t be an issue if there was anything notable happening. For much of the project, Wifisfuneral uses flows as distractions. The hope is that there are enough head rushes to sustain momentum and wind you into a dizzied state.
The pace can be blistering, and he’s a good enough rapper to keep songs going, but eventually lucidity sets in and it’s obvious Wifi doesn’t have much to say. That doesn’t mean there aren’t things he could be rapping about. His struggle to overcome personal demons has produced some thoughtful writing, but there’s little of that here. He doesn’t talk about his complicated relationship with XXXTentacion, one of rap’s most polarizing figures. He hardly mentions those closest to him—his mother, his longtime girlfriend—or the person furthest from him—his father. The biggest moment of his year gets glossed over: At a tour stop in Houston, he was jumped during X’s performance after he leapt into the crowd. Video of the attack and his unconscious body being dragged back to stage caused such a stir online that he responded the next day.
There isn’t any mention of the incident on Boy Who Cried Wolf, but he facetiously responds to the web gadflies pestering him about it. He has a song called “JoeBuddenProbablyThinksICantRap :(,” decidedly showcasing his technicality within. The follow-up, “lil jeff hardy >:-),” opens with a clip of DJ Akademiks, Budden’s sparring partner on the Complex debate series “Everyday Struggle,” ridiculing Wifi’s stage diving technique and comparing the flip to a wrestling move. These moves prove he can be funny, and that he doesn’t take himself too seriously, but they are hollow gestures. If his verses were half as snappy as his gags, his writing would be far less static. The juxtaposition of crazed cadences and stagnant wordplay can be headache-inducing.
There is a single sobering moment, on “DisDaHateSongBby(outro),” that finally addresses the contradictions of his world: “I hate everything that I’m living/I hate everything that I’m saying/I hate the motherfucking fact I never had patience,” before concluding, “I wish I never took these drugs, but it made me.” This is the only thing that feels real and not like wild boy posturing. But one string of contemplative lines can’t negate an entire mixtape of thrasher playacting.
Boy Who Cried Wolf does produce its share of witless bangers, which can be enjoyable when disengaged. His raps aren’t quotable, but it’s possible to become enthralled by the unrelenting motion. “Pop” turns Three 6 Mafia’s “Body Full of Bullet Holes” into a wind sprint. On “Eyez Low,” Wifi crams syllables between the strummed gaps from a pitched-down harp. The Pierre Bourne-produced “1st day out” brings a touch of “Magnolia” flair. The tape’s best song is “Jackie Chan,” where he karate chops xans like the film icon. But closer inspection exposes a rapper on autopilot. These are all short-lived payoffs—the mark of a rapper chasing fleeting highs.
