Thirty seconds into “In the Wind,” the third song on Dear Psilocybin, Detroit rapper ZelooperZ experiences a harrowing moment of clarity. Real Bad Man’s unhurried beat wafts around him; an acoustic guitar figure laps against a sunny synth melody, and a filtered noise sweep swirls like a breeze through a leafy canopy. It’s peaceful and luxuriant, but once ZelooperZ raps, “Feel like I’m in a drain in the sink/It’s a downward spiral,” you notice the darkness playing at the song’s edges. Ze’s slurring voice lags behind the beat, stumbling over references to popping beans and nodding out, and suddenly, the music’s tranquility feels threatening, shrinking to a tunnel-vision point. When the Alchemist shows up for an admittedly great verse, it’s unsettling, as if ZelooperZ passed out early at the kickback, but no one really noticed.
In a comment on an Instagram post promoting “Sweet Celine,” Dear Psilocybin’s hair-raising first single, Ze explains to a fan that he made the album just before going sober, describing it as a “stream of psychosis.” For an artist as unpredictable as ZelooperZ to make such an admission is stark; his wild-eyed music often felt like it was coming apart at the seams, each beat barely able to contain his energy. It always took a moment to orient yourself in one of his albums, bracing for the inevitable sharp left turns and gasping for breath when he took them. That naked sense of danger isn’t as immediately apparent on Dear Psilocybin, thanks in part to the cohesive soundscape Real Bad Man provides, but it lurks beneath the surface, revealing itself a little more with each listen.
It’s easy to get lost in the duo’s technical prowess. ZelooperZ and Adam Jay Weissman (the man behind the music arm of L.A. design collective Real Bad Man) are also visual artists, and both pay close attention to textural detail. Ze warps his voice like a broken tape machine, speeding up and slowing down at strange intervals. He understands the impact of a slight change in inflection: On “World Blew,” he suddenly sings the last word of his first four bars, transitioning his voice from deep, torpid monotone to high-pitched anxiety. Despite its catchy melodies, Weissman’s loop-based production initially scans as droning and static, but closer inspection reveals complex chops and layering. He sneaks in small elements that guide big dynamic changes, like the shaker during Mavi’s verse on “Past Life” or the synth sequences at the end of “Sweet Celine,” giving songs a movement you didn’t know was missing. Sinking into the time-bending sounds of Dear Psilocybin is mesmerizing.
But once you get a grasp on the world the two have built, bits and pieces of ZelooperZ’s disquieting lyrics bubble to the fore. “Need a psychotic break, up before the dark/Up before the sun, narcolepsy heart,” he raps over the ghostly doo-wop of “Explains It Scientifically.” The drugs that permeated—and perhaps fueled—his past work are at top of mind, wreaking havoc on his system. They cause panic attacks and deplete his energy, and over the course of the record, you hear him slowly come to terms with his destructive desire for oblivion. It’s easy to miss the laundry list of substances Ze rattles off on the title track, his words buried beneath a narcotic mumble, but by the time he gets to the chorus of closer “Arrîba Arrîba,” clear-eyed reality has sunk in: “Fuckin’ my life up,” he breathlessly repeats, cramming the words into one desperate syllable.
That darkness never fully overtakes Dear Psilocybin—if anything, it makes the album even more engaging, offering a depth of contour and shading. Despite the heavy subject matter, Dear Psilocybin feels like it was probably a lot of fun for the duo to make. Weissman’s catalog keeps getting better, and with ZelooperZ, it seems as though he’s found a sparring partner that pushes his beats in a more intricately psychedelic direction. He more fully embraces his sense of melody, and several songs have an almost poppy earworm quality. It’s ZelooperZ’s most cohesive work to date and probably a good starting point for anyone unaware of his bonkers discography, an endlessly listenable descent into utter madness.
