The YBN collective’s origin story is part of internet rap lore: The group first met in the depths of Xbox Live in the early 2010s and would freestyle during Grand Theft Auto V sessions. It was the hi-octane trap of YBN Nahmir’s 2017 single “Rubbin Off the Paint” that initially put Nahmir on the map—the song grew so popular that the then-17-year-old had to be pulled out of school. He and fellow members Almighty Jay and Cordae gained steam the quickest and formed the triforce of power, pushing the group toward a record deal with Atlantic. As their respective profiles grew, the YBN unit splintered, and Nahmir officially declared its death on amicable terms with his brothers last August.
Though he was the collective’s first member to make a national impression, Nahmir never capitalized on it with a solo project. His long-awaited debut album VISIONLAND—named after an amusement park in his home state of Alabama—is an attempt to regain control of his narrative, to reorient himself with his first statement of intent. His drive to take care of his family is admirable, but VISIONLAND offers few other worthwhile insights into Nahmir as a person or as an artist. Four years removed from his breakout single, his music feels as anonymous and inert as a stock player character in a video game.
It’s a shame because the album’s opening song “Still (Family)” is one of Nahmir’s best. On it, he bares all about brushes with death, lost loved ones, and redistributing his gains as his career’s taken off: “New cars and they start up without keys/My cousin graduated, gave her fifty/That’s what real niggas do, so they envy/So I keep a fat forty and it’s crispy,” he says over a wailing vocal sample. The song is plainspoken, clever, and backed by the kind of easygoing beat Nahmir typically avoids. It’s a risk that starts the album on a high note before it plummets.
Bright spots like “Still” are the exception on VISIONLAND, which is generic to its core. Whether it’s shootouts, sex, or money, Nahmir sets up the most hi-octane events in the blandest ways possible, barely switching up his phrasings. Across 20 songs, he gets his dick sucked (“Get It Crackin,” “LAMB TRUCK”), gets high (“Fast Car Music [STAIN]”), and shuns haters (“Wake Up”), wasting several decent beats in the process. Even the mixing and his vocal punch-ins on tracks like “Homework” are uninspired; for a major label album, VISIONLAND often sounds incredibly cheap.
Nearly every guest steals their respective song from under Nahmir, who proves to be out of his depth. G Herbo and DaBoii bring a flavor and urgency otherwise missing from “Politics.” 21 Savage effortlessly drops one-liners (“Opps wants promotion; we put ’em on a poster”) with a bored sigh on the “Opp Stoppa” remix, while Nahmir rhymes “rocket” and “pocket” with ”pocket rocket.” When Nahmir does attempt to switch it up, it makes things worse. “Soul Train” is a slice of retro funk somewhere between Chic and The Free Nationals, complete with Auto-Tuned warbles about love that sound sourced from the gift card section of a pharmacy. Its inclusion here is embarrassing, to say the least.
In a recent GQ interview, Nahmir positioned himself as one of the highest-profile rappers to ever emerge from Alabama. That may be true in sheer numbers, but the majority of VISIONLAND is severely lacking in personality compared to his fellow Alabamians. He’s missing the punchy enthusiasm of Flo Milli, the melodic sharpness of NoCap, or the vivid stoicism of OMB Peezy and brings little else to the table. A few uplifting moments can’t prevent VISIONLAND from stalling on its own ambition.
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