By pushing past some of the assumed constraints of rap writing (rhymes at the end of each line, predictable verse structure), AKAI lets his creative instincts lead the way. It produces lucid performances, with each winding line organized to cut deep. The flexible approach connects him to dense writers like the Backwoodz crew and their Def Jux forebears, as well as other one-of-one stylists like Prodigy. AKAI’s command of the listener’s attention is most bracing when he raps in the second person to grapple with relationship dynamics. On “It’s Hard to Talk About,” produced by August Fanon, he bares his soul to a romantic partner as a melancholic jazz bass wanders underneath his voice. You feel like you’re in the room with him as his eyes linger on her, he reminisces about their early dates, and he sputters out insecurities (“you have a better relationship than me with my mother, go figure”). You almost forget that it’s a song at all—it feels like hearing a real, candid conversation, boiled down to its difficult essence by the work of songwriting. Love, frustration, nostalgia, need and despair all hang in the air, and none of these feelings are sidelined in favor of a neat resolution.
As AKAI thinks his way through these songs, shifts in his instrumentation and delivery track the mundane ups and downs of his life, and his emotions saturate the world around him in vivid shades. On songs like the Wavy Bagels-produced “Here’s to Hoping You Notice,” he trudges against the beat with the inertia of rumination, while charlieonthetrack’s “CALAMITYMAN” sees AKAI nearly giddy with triumph, raising his voice to a taunting bark: “Stick a needle in his fear, watch if his constitution pops!” Across the album, jazzy samples play off the improvised movement of AKAI’s thinking, like on the Lonesword-produced “Things that Stick With Me,” where an insistent, needling hi-hat keeps his flow brisk and vigilant as he sizes up the risks of violence and the pitfalls of trusting those in his midst. Most songs use familiar New York underground production to chart their emotional terrain, balanced out by fun sidequests like “Giggly,” in which AKAI smokes some weed and compares Detroit producer CoffeeBlack’s odd, spacey instrumental to Spy Kids. More muted or lackadaisical material still feels purposeful, like “HAKKYOU,” where Stability’s tinny beat and AKAI’s loose, teetering flow have the comforting feeling of a just-okay weekend after a tiring week.
