But tucked between the pomp and the self-importance is a real sense of conviction, that rap is a worthwhile investment of time and effort, for the culture, and for artists themselves. The rap world’s infatuation with high art, from JAY-Z, to Kilo Kish, to Kanye, has largely been corny and naive. The bright side to Rocky’s arthouse pretensions and free-wheeling songwriting is that he sounds free. In moments like these, Rocky’s intuition feels rooted in practice and experience rather than mere curiosity. “Purity” deftly collapses and isolates their three voices, turning Hill’s anxiety, Ocean’s reservation, and Rocky’s grief into a triptych of black anguish. “Lose someone every release/It feels like the curse is in me,” Rocky sighs following a sample of Lauryn Hill’s “I Gotta Find Peace of Mind,” a cut from the reclusive artist’s final record after a brief but potent overexposure to fame. “Got they hands out like acknowledging the Führer,” Ocean raps, evoking the creepiness of being publicly adored. Likewise, the sterling Frank Ocean cameo on closer “ Purity” feels born of real collaboration. chime in to praise Rocky’s progress, their admiration feels neither staged nor bought. A gratuitous sample of Moby’s “ Porcelain” lends the song a flickering warmth, but Rocky remains the centerpiece.
“I put New York on the map,” he raps, a claim so preposterous it’s infectious. Lead single “A$AP Forever” captures the charisma that often eludes Rocky’s music. It feels like a cypher hosted inside a lava lamp. On “Buck Shots,” alongside A$AP affiliates Playboi Carti and Smooky Margiela, Rocky moves nimbly, letting the beat breathe. Rocky’s instincts aren’t always unreliable. Both scenarios are damning Blonde’s fluidity and depth are the product of a specific and pained artistic vision its style and experimentation are means, not ends. Ocean’s actual appearances on “Purity” and “Brotha Man” ground his muse by showing a genuine aesthetic overlap-Rocky and Ocean are fond of murky, immersive soundscapes and sharp pivots between longing and lucidity-but Rocky’s Blonde retreads are a lack of direction at best and yet more taste-signalling at worst. From the seagulls and surf-rock flourishes of “Kids Turned Out Fine,” to the verbatim citation of Blonde on “A$AP Forever,” to the constant pitch-shifts and nonlinear storytelling, Blonde serves as a direct and indirect template for Rocky’s sprawling interests. Testing is in many ways Rocky’s attempt to remake Frank Ocean’s insular 2016 album Blonde. When Rocky’s intuitions aren’t painfully straightforward, they’re outsourced. “My whole life I just wanted to be a rapper/Then I grew’d up and the boy became a rapper,” he summarizes as if nothing happened in between. “OG Beeper” tells the story of a young Rocky wishing to be a rapper by offering the beginning and the end. For the opener “Distorted Records” Rocky chants the song title over.distorted bass. Rocky constantly conflates method with insight, process with vision.Īnd his vision is often literal. Rocky’s Kodak support comes off as an empty flex his long-running infatuation with Memphis rap feels like muscle memory. All this density makes these songs dynamic, but it doesn’t mask their aimlessness. Kodak’s bluesy vocals are garbled and gnashed, a sonic ugly cry. “CALLDROPS” works similarly, heaping a blissful sample of Dave Bixby’s “Morning Sun” onto muted, nonsensical croons from Rocky and Dean Blunt, who then cede space to an incarcerated Kodak Black. The sum of all this layering is a leaning Jenga tower of sounds that hisses and warbles like a shaky radio signal. Rocky’s flow slides in and out of sync with Pat’s signature staccato, generating a counter-rhythm that gets played up by choice record scratches. On “Gunz N Butter” Rocky’s distorted vocals are stacked atop a chunky, pitched-down sample of Project Pat’s “ Still Ridin Clean” that’s accented by ad-libs from Juicy J (who is also a guest on the Project Pat song). His approach to songcraft on Testing is to mash sounds together and capture the friction. Like the crash dummies from which Testing and LAB RAT crib their aesthetics, Rocky is enamored with collision. If curation is the union of taste and restraint, intuition is the union of taste and curiosity. Testing, Rocky’s third studio album and first outing without the direct oversight of his late friend and counsel A$AP Yams, uses intuition as its guiding force, broadening Rocky’s palette by simply trusting what he likes and what he doesn’t.
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