The cover of Lil Tjay’s latest album features a portrait of the rapper wandering an empty New York street, mask fitted to his face, crows eerily circling overhead, everything tinted into an unnatural shade of blue. But instead of a treatise for “these times,” State of Emergency remains focused on more historic issues. On opener “Ice Cold,” the South Bronx rapper mentions the global pandemic only to alley-oop a criticism of the education system—“JT my aroma, city got Corona/Sad to say I know like just two niggas with diplomas.” As it turns out, Tjay is more interested in addressing the NYC murder rate than the rate of infection. By the time guest rapper Sleepy Hallow shows up on “Wet Em Up Pt.2” to drop a bar like, “No Corona, boy, I’m too sick,” it’s outlandishly clear that this isn’t going to be a probing examination of this terrifying new horror.
Instead, State of Emergency is an act of defiance as the 19-year-old Tjay and a supporting cast of local rappers pledge love and loyalty to their home soil. On “My City,” Tjay gives thanks for his recent success while remembering the hardships and incarceration that color his origin story. On “City on My Back,” he teams up Jay Critch—a rapper who always seems to be on the cusp of a breakthrough—to make specious assertions like, “We put the city on the map.” Sure, but the underlying message of State of Emergency is clear: New York rap is going nowhere.
Some traditionalists will simply never take to Tjay’s voice. Chirping, tuneful, unorthodox, it can resemble an off-key American Idol contestant or his most apparent forefather, Young Thug. There are times when his vocals fly too close to the sun: The repetitive, high-pitched hook of “Shoot For The Stars” borders on abrasive. But when he hits the sweet spot, Tjay’s vocals offer a smooth counterpoint to some of the huskier Brooklyn drill rappers in his orbit.
Perhaps of most consequence here is “Zoo York,” featuring Pop Smoke, tragically shot dead earlier this year. The pair went together like steak and shakes—Smoke’s fire iron vocals contrasting Tjay’s pleasing pop-rap. “Zoo York” is diluted by Fivio Foreign, an associate who struggles to keep up, but over a beat that carries all the familiar Brooklyn drill hallmarks—engulfing womp-womp bassline, foggy keys, general sense of peril—it reasserts the lost potential of a Pop-Tjay team-up full-length record to be a catastrophe for the culture.
Lil Tjay will probably better albums than this. State of Emergency is too thin at just 22-minutes, too hastily assembled, too stuffed with guests that take attention away from the star. But with a healthy number of his peers committed to pulling New York rap into strange new terrain, Tjay refreshes his commitment to represent his city—and reminds us that the wounded neighborhoods aren’t going to disappear and, eventually, everything will be OK.
