“YakBoyz,” the recent musical collaboration by Bay State rapper Arichussettes and Jim OG, with whom I’m unfamiliar, is an interesting, sometimes extraordinary, sometimes deeply frustrating piece of work, a deep, trap groove that’s viscerally raw, but occasionally strays into deeply uncomfortable territory. It’s an album that holds no punches, and if there are a couple of spaces where the listener is forced to wonder if they should have weaved instead of blocked, it’s impossible to deny that the album is fearlessly true to itself.
The album kicks off with “Damage,” a dense and heavy piece that finds the rappers trading off verses, landing a punch on each downbeat, a one-two combination that is captivating. The escalating lyrical battle between the two is punctuated by cuts from DJ Slipwax, whose work is remarkably distinctive. The rappers create an atmosphere of danger on the streets and beating charges in court, an underlying narrative of survival that permeates the whole album. When the song gives way to “No Chance,” the mood is both gloomier and more punch-drunk.
Arichussettes — who will be performing at 10 p.m. Oct. 14 at the Raven Music Hall in Worcester in a release party for Elijah Divine’s new album, “Duality,” along with Mad Maxx and DJ Slipwax — is an interesting rapper. He eschews speed for power, so when punches land, they land hard. “Hit you with that straight edge,” he raps in “No Chance,” “that blade rust-serrated/fed up with no patience/with banger in the cut I’m waiting/assault is looking blatant/fake gangstas/I got ‘em shaken play it cool/the way I’m caking/never bottle barrel-craping.”
The tight pairs of stressed syllables in each line have an explosive feel, a steady bombardment. Jim OG, by comparison, opts more for a haymaker. His lines swing in an arc before connecting: “I run wit run card scammers,” he raps, “panhandlers with bad manners/Real killers with bandannas that blam cannons.” The pairing works well, adding different textures of aggression to each verse.
Indeed, one of the albums great strengths is its ability to create textures both within and between songs. The jazzlike beat that leads into the next song, “Gangsta (Expletive),” gives way to an infectious groove, and despite the overuse of the misogynistic word in the title, this an extremely catchy song, one that hooks your attention almost instantly. The tempo steps down a bit for the next song, “French Connection,” which features DJ King Flow, but the groove arcs from song to song, creating a sort of vibrancy amid the muck and the mire that the album portrays. Likewise, “Creepin” revels deep in a culture of violence, its slow, steady beat escalating the sense of discomfort. It’s one of those songs that draws you in and prevents the listener from looking away, ending with a sample of a newsclip that puts the horror of violence in stark relief.
It’s not until “Death Waltz” where we get a straight-up miss, one that is so soaked in misogynistic language that I actually discontinued reviewing that album on first listen. It was too much, and at one point Jim OG raps a tale of being falsely accused of domestic abuse. I can’t speak to the veracity of the events depicted, save that the song’s lack of nuance fails it here: The stark, horrific reality of domestic violence is too real and too widespread to be handled this cavalierly. Thankfully, the album recovers with the gripping, “In My Hood.”
“In my hood they got them forties out,” raps Arichussettes, “That’s Glocks and rocks/drinking forties at their shorty’s house/friends on the porch looking zombie/cause they snorted out things out of reach/before is well-afforded now.” Jim OG picks up the picture, rapping, “In my hood they answer questions with silence/We mean mugging cuz it’s an aggressive environment/Stand strong don’t bend when the pressures applying/Little shorties tote weapons and there seconds from firing.”
The pair paint an evocative portrait of street life: The violence and substance abuse are portrayed as both simple realities and toxic intrusions on people’s lives, wherein the people themselves are portrayed with affection. Again, the layers and levels elevate the song, even as it revels in the grime. By the same token, “Diamonds” takes a multilayered approach with its metaphor: The emptiness of materialism and the hold it has over people, how the love of diamonds has made exploitive colonizers inordinately wealthy, how advertising makes jewelry seem like a necessity. All of it’s implicit in the song, handled with a surprisingly light hand.
As the album winds down, “Diamonds” gives way to the extremely catchy, straightforward “What We Do” and “Holly,” a vignette about a young woman whose life is destroyed by drug addiction. It’s a tad cliché at times, but there’s enough empathy in the song to balance out some of the rougher parts that come late in the song.
The album’s penultimate song, “Wicked City,” takes a lot of what’s come before on the album, even the harder bits, and puts them in something of a context, creating a portrait of how poverty, violence and drugs have a corrupting influence. The song comes with a noirish sort of cynicism, but it’s brandished here with purpose: “The cycle is the situation,” raps Arichussettes, “and it ain’t gonna ever stop.” Still, despite the cynicism, it’s strangely the most hopeful seeming moment on the album, even as it simmers to its close with the song, “Full Metal Jacket,” a cascade of portraits of how violence seeps into life from all directions, and the toll it takes. It’s a strong ending to a slightly flawed album about a greatly flawed world, one that haunts well after the music’s stopped.
