Until it’s not…
[Video]
[4.67]
Al Varela: I’ve been fascinated with this beat ever since I first heard it. The usual combination of rock and trap involves a guitar rhythm and trap percussion, but this one focuses solely on an elongated shred over a hazed out, bassy knock and flows so detached from the production that it almost feels alien. Like you’re walking into a UFO in real-time, unsure of what will greet you on the other side. The word that describes this song is “paralyzing”. Magnetized to the beat as Trippie Redd and Playboi Carti tower over you and bring you along for the journey. I can’t tell if I’m a hostage or a guest, but I’m having fun regardless.
[8]
Tim de Reuse: The digital strain of the beat is interesting for a couple bars before it’s out of detail, and the three-note melody of the verses supplies a little bit of pathos for a couple moments more, but before you’re a quarter of the way through this thing you start to realize just how much dead air there is between verses, between lines, between repetitions. The mind starts drifting to other topics, like: are the processed backing vocals on Playboi Carti’s voice supposed to be so jarringly arrhythmic? And furthermore: why is this four minutes long?
[2]
Thomas Inskeep: Redd and Carti sound alright, but I wish the beat did something, and I wish they had something better to say.
[4]
Ian Mathers: Look, make it properly deep fried, fuck with the whole track instead of just having the bass (kind of) boosted with the rest sounding clean. This could have really gone somewhere, but it just doesn’t commit.
[4]
Samson Savill de Jong: I don’t really know how to defend calling this good, even though clearly a lot of people other than me like it. I wasn’t sure at first, but after a fair few listens it all just started to work. The blown out drums, the random sound effects, the extended chorus: it all just fits into place. Trippie Redd fits in with the song without getting buried by it, and there are some dope lines there, too. I’m not a fan of Playboi Carti’s rhymes, though, and his flow is kind of off beat. Intentionally I’m sure, but the song’s already too askew for him to then add this arhythmic rapping on top. If this were just Trippie Redd I’d like this a lot more, but even as it is I can’t deny I grew to like this the more I heard it.
[7]
Alfred Soto: The line between effort and parody exists for the sake of erasure on trap songs; like Westerns, I can’t distinguish a good from a mediocre one. Carti’s usually fun but he exerts himself less than Trippie, who at least squeezes those punctuative monosyllables like stress grippers.
[6]
John S. Quinn-Puerta: There are the bones of a good song trying to fight their way out, propelled by an entertaining beat and an enjoyable verse and chorus from Redd. But Carti slams on the brakes im verse two, and sends it careening into a broken barrier on the downtown connector, indulging in the worst tendencies of lazy Atlanta trap. ATL already got let down by Julio Jones on Monday, Carti. Do better.
[3]
Andy Hutchins: The worst byproduct of “XO Tour Llif3” half-serendipitously becoming not just a monstrous hit but a touchstone and lodestar has been not the flood of less talented SoundCloud rappers trying to follow the footsteps of Lils Whoever to emo-rap stardom but the proliferation of instrumentals that swing for “experimental” in an effort to sound like something Uzi could jump on and instead turn out to be someone unsuccessfully trying to shift a digital car into gear. That’s not always a terrible production strategy, having arguably birthed tracks like “Magnolia” and “Futsal Shuffle 2020,” but the entirely grating “Miss the Rage” is evidence that it can produce actively deleterious music. And Trippie and Carti are saying even less nothing than usual. It’s possible that I don’t do enough of or the right drugs to enjoy this, sure; given my hunch that they might come with lasting damage, I’m good.
[2]
Nortey Dowuona: The overladen synths snuff out the song before the heavy drums weigh down on Trippie’s thin, keening voice that is so crushed and wilting it barely makes his spiralling spitting a refreshing change of pace; once he’s free of singing he’s a startling presence. Then Carti turns up the pitch on his verse and bounces around, with a charming laugh, and the song finally comes to life… too little, too late.
[6]