To hear him tell it, Jay Worthy’s origin story would render him a digital-era 2Pac. At 17, the Vancouver native relocated to Compton, where he ingratiated himself with gang members and music industry figures alike. A chance run-in with A$AP Yams opened doors for Worthy’s fledgling rap duo LNDN DRGS; persistence and networking led to EPs with Curren$y, G Perico, and the Alchemist. His devotion to the West Coast canon—twinned with a knack for surrounding himself with the right collaborators—has resulted in one of the more overachieving rap catalogs of the last half-decade.
Starting with their 2015 debut, the LNDN DRGS tapes have occupied a space similar to Le$ and Larry June’s work: evocative soul samples and lifestyle raps so unembellished as to sound improvised. More recently, as on 2021’s G-funk homage The Ballad of a Dopehead, Worthy’s devoted himself to genre fare. His rigid flow and colloquial bars recall Mack 10, a modest Inglewood rhymer whose connections ensured access to Los Angeles’ most in-demand producers. Beat selection remains Worthy’s calling card, and on his latest album, You Take the Credit, We’ll Take the Check, New York producer Harry Fraud supplies a slate of elaborate compositions for Worthy and his guests.
One of the most distinguished—and distinctive—rap producers of the last decade, Fraud is still able to meet rappers on their own turf. The most cohesive tracks on We’ll Take the Check play like tributes to the LNDN DRGS sound forged by Vancouver producer Sean House. On “Tonight,” a Moog synth and smoky horn sample frame a summer night’s itinerary; the funk licks on “Winnipeg Winters” are crisp, but the capacious snare sounds like it’s playing through a wall. With his attention to technical detail, Fraud replicates the sunset-on-Sunset glow of 2015’s Aktive and 2019’s Affiliated, their whiffs of danger and anticipation. Kamaiyah’s animated melodies steal the show on “Good Lookin’,” but Worthy slides over the upbeat drum pattern, sketching a vibrant California cityscape in a succinct 12-bar verse.
Fraud’s more avant-garde arrangements yield mixed results. The Larry June feature “Pacific Coast Highway” flashes an intricate vocal loop, but the lethargic tempo and barely-there percussion leave the rappers sounding overmatched. “Almighty” abandons drums entirely, and despite Worthy’s energetic delivery, his first-person rhymes (“I’m from the hardest block, out in Compton where they shootin’ docs/Gangbangin’ so real, swear to God this shit will never stop”) aren’t as kinetic. Worthy’s unpretentious writing can make for a refreshing neighborhood-guy pragmatism, but his vocals lack depth in the absence of a bassline. The more understated beats on We’ll Take the Check would have been better suited for a more idiosyncratic rapper.
Which isn’t to say Worthy’s music is wholly uncomplicated. His painstaking mythology—a Compton transplant who’s paid his dues at every turn, a non-native evangelist of West Coast funk—has cultivated respect in his adopted hometown and recording studios on both coasts. He’s such a natural mover that his prodigious use of the n-word (Worthy identifies as South Asian) goes largely unremarked. His reputation as an artist and a hustler has granted him entree into some of rap’s most rarefied chambers; no one’s making him use that word.
Fraud is just the latest A-lister to endorse Worthy, and the give-and-take between headliners is the main attraction on We’ll Take the Check. On “Helicopter Homicide,” Fraud’s dusky minimalism foregrounds Worthy and Conway’s tales of woe; when Big Body Bes clocks in with a spoken-word rant, the song transforms into a work of abstract art. The syrupy guitar sample on “Believe” is a standalone triumph, and Worthy’s imagery (“It’s the dream, little homie, hotels and snow bunnies/Big rims on Lex bodies, we thuggin’ like John Gotti”) meets it with eager flamboyance. On We’ll Take the Check, a great producer approaches the top of his game with a rapper who mostly knows to pick his spots.
