By comparison, tracks like “God” and “Misery” are the best demonstrations of matt proxy’s individualism. The latter materializes fuzzy and squeaky, the beat and vocals compressed like a chintzy Limewire bootleg. “Darling, I’m not blaming you for all my misery,” the sample cries as proxy mulls over his personal failures and the trials of a youthful long-distance relationship. But just as quickly it all fades out, and a new, deeply exultant beat bursts like a supernova, full of fist-pumping drums and beautiful, harmonious Auto-Tune crunch. “God” is equally triumphant. Featuring never goodbye and bedroom-rock mainstay Current Joys, its climax is marked by floor-to-ceiling synths, crashing cymbals, and thunderous guitar dissonance. “I’ve been myself, delusional optimist,” proxy spits over pretty guitar plucks and cherubic backing vocals. “My mama working after hours just to put food on my lips.” It’s a cry-once-you-get-to-the-movie-credits ass song if I’ve ever heard one.
matt proxy clearly has a lot to say, and not just about his own life, but also the state of the world around him. With that comes a tendency to fill his verses and vocal samples with non-sequiturs and vague references: I love “5” for its woozy, drug-induced yearning, but when he hamfists four bars about prison and homelessness, it feels like the start of something new that should’ve been separate. His dedications to his family are consistently the most memorable parts of trojan horse, and he’s most evocative when he’s extremely direct. At one point during the melancholic “Blue,” as he hums to himself over some noodly guitar, a cheesy DJ voice says, “Rest in peace my sister,” stuttering like it was a tag on a dubstep drop. Maybe humor is how he processes loss. I’m genuinely not sure if I’m meant to chuckle or feel more sorrowful than I already do.
Without being tied to a major rap metropolis, proxy’s influences aren’t organized by region; trojan horse feels like the output of a teenager biologically linked to his DAW and search engine. But that doesn’t make his hometown any less consequential. Minneapolis is also where the murders of George Floyd, Philando Castile, Renée Good, and Alex Pretti have all occurred in the past decade, as proxy came of age. “It was literally made to radicalize people,” he said to Welcome Magazine of Minnesota. Last year, following proxy’s high school graduation, his father was detained by ICE while driving from Minneapolis to Atlanta and deported to Liberia after six months in detention. “Fuck the president and his sentiment, I’m hot/Let me tell you ’bout my pops,” proxy raps on “Atlanta,” where he speaks from his father’s perspective to counsel his younger self: “Matthew, if a nigga try you, you is fighting. You only have yo’self ’cause the world is enticing.”
For what trojan horse lacks in lucidity, it’s got this pervasive fighting spirit that makes the rough edges bearable. proxy’s willingness to depict his world in its rawest form and to embrace cruel authenticity is not common in underground rap of this ilk. Maybe what we need is less escapism. You can’t run from the grind and you damn sure can’t run from grief.
