Followers of Ken Carson have a tendency to explain his enchantment amorphously. Vibe and mysteriousness get introduced up, earlier than the thought of rapping comes into play. Like an Instagram account that positions itself as an ambiguous model, dabbling in every little thing from playlisting to one-off streetwear drops, Carson is a grasp of cultivating intrigue via associations and signifiers.
The strongest of those associations is his place because the darkish prince of Opium, Playboi Carti’s file label. In his makes an attempt to foster an enigmatic persona, Carson will do issues like delete (or archive) all of his posts on Instagram, seemingly at random. He doesn’t take heed to rap music, as a substitute selecting “loopy shit” just like the All-American Rejects. There are a number of posts within the Ken Carson subreddit that try to determine why he hasn’t been smiling as a lot.
To take care of an charisma, although, the artistic output needs to be good. For essentially the most half, Carson’s music has been middling. At its finest, a decent imitation of his mentor’s groundbreaking Entire Lotta Purple. At its worst, forgettable cliches of rage music which are muted and uninventive.
However Carson’s newest album, A Nice Chaos, manages to rewrite the script, becoming into one of many dominant, up to date rap paradigms.
Whereas Carson flaunts a discerning ear for manufacturing — “Yale,” his largest music to this point, encompasses a pulsating synthline paired with interspersions of xylophonic notes, serving as an early template for contemporary rage rap — he isn’t essentially the most inspiring rapper, even when he works throughout the model of a Pierre Bourne, more moderen entrants like Yeat and Lunchbox, or Carti himself.
“Received my pants falling, these racks in my britches,” Carson croaks on “It’s Over,” demonstrating a extra compelling use of language than the raps of his previous. He may’ve cited designer pants that match throughout the Opium aesthetic — tattered, all-black, and skintight — however opted to do his finest Charles Dickens impersonation. It’s one thing Slick Rick might need mentioned if he was born 40 years earlier, or Valee would have conceivably included in his elevator raps.
Lyrics apart, Carson’s pacing is what stands out on this venture, one thing that eluded him on earlier efforts the place he usually remained in a single gear. “Geeked Up,” a music from his 2020 EP, Boy Barbie, looks like an out of physique freestyle going down inside a center faculty locker room. Based mostly TJ, the thoughts behind the boards, laces Carson with bouncy keys that sound ripped from a tropical Mario Kart circuit, which orbit distorted bass hiccups.
It was an early flash of Carson’s knack for sniffing out the pocket of a beat, and merging his vocals accordingly. On this case what ought to be an uneventful, sophomoric plugg music is imbued with the urgency of a Vyvvanse come-up. Whereas pleasant, it seems like he’s attempting to get via a tongue tornado and options the next line: “And if her nipples pierced, I guess they style like fuckin’ quarters.”
On “Combating My Demons” Carson is ready to channel essentially the most thrilling cadences of his profession right into a maximalist, galactic swell. “The place the fuck my blunt, the place the fuck my cup, the place the fuck my reefer,” he opens, digging additional into his throat with every query. The remainder of his verse alternates between straight-line raps and pagan chants, generally stopping for a half-second earlier than transferring onto the following line. It’s a microcosm of the best way he builds out his flows on the entire file — delivered as if his nostril hasn’t been clear for months.
The glitchy undercurrent of “Pots” unfolds on a molecular stage, sending ripples down limbs. “Paranoid” is a kinetic, self-contained physique of water. There’s a steady ticker of hi-hat and snare rolls on “Time beyond regulation” that enable it to proceed at 60 FPS.
Finally, Carson appears to be targeted on placing on a maximalist spectacle. All of its elements are whirring, just like the venture is one massive combustion engine that after beginning, can not decelerate. The listening expertise can really feel like occupying an IMAX theater in isolation, or passing underground throughout a practice experience, ear popping and all.
If listened to over prolonged stretches, the album can turn into a struggle of attrition. This isn’t music to be nonetheless to. The manufacturing, whereas expertly constructed, is extra inflexible than versatile, making it troublesome to acknowledge the humanity behind what Carson is saying. After going via the venture a number of occasions consecutively, and at last eradicating headphones, there’s a sense that one has emerged from an industrial warehouse, watching a conveyor belt loop time and again, at various speeds.
Whereas Carson’s followers don’t flock to his music to parse extra summary notions of our shared existence, as a substitute seeking to flip off and turn into a part of a frenzied rhythm, two traces about MILFs stick out:
“I’m fucking on a MILF yeah, ayy, this bitch like thirty.”
“I used to be fuckin’ on a MILF, she was thirty-six.”
How do we all know after we’re washed? When Carson’s artistry turns into a puzzle to be solved somewhat than one thing to get pleasure from or ignore? Or when he can do no proper, regardless of an admirable, and even profitable effort to tame a cacophony of noises that threaten to engulf every little thing of their wake. Possibly it’s even worse if a 38-year-old had zero skepticism about what they have been listening to, becoming a member of the mosh pit with an IPA in hand.
It’s refreshing to know that A Nice Chaos manages to go the true litmus take a look at. Does this hit me in my bones? The reply is a powerful sure.
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