Lines that begin as toasts often spiral into laments then lurch into threats or prayers, a flux supercharged by Mavi’s shifting flows. His frequent allegro cadence accents how deftly he changes direction within verses. “Silent Film,” set to mellow chords and a shuffling breakbeat, is casually breathless: “I roll the dough and cook it/Was juggin’ cause in a world so cold, you just throw on a hoodie/I see the limit and push it, sneaking over the edge/Made a million off of my grief, none of my people rose from the dead,” Mavi raps, subtly pausing—and stretching and compressing words—to keep the meter. While the mood of the jet-setting tape is largely celebratory and easygoing, turbulence is constant. Mavi just makes it bounce.
The production is giddy. Flute trills (“Denise Murell”), soul samples (“Landgrab,” “Mender”), and horns (“Triple Nickel”) get looped into gnarled shapes then tousled with airy keys and drums that patter and snap. “G-ANNIS FREESTYLE,” produced by Reuben Vincent, is the most distinct, with thick bass kicks and lolled effects that sound like Peanuts adults speaking with mouthfuls of tahini. But the elegant multipart horn and string loop of “Typewriter” is the most thrilling. Producer lilchick makes use of every little instrument and texture in the sample, creating a bounty of pockets for MAVI and Kenny Mason to run through with their slick double-times. “I was bred in the violence of poverty/I would die ‘fore I feel it again,” Mason raps, distilling the tape’s hardscrabble ethos.
The strongest songs embrace a sense of ambivalence. “31 Days” is all forward motion, Mavi relaying thoughts as they come even when they clash. “Don’t ask me how I’m cleansin’ my conscience,” he says at one point, more keen to vent than to process. And then there’s the stunning “Landgrab,” Mavi’s latest team-up with Earl. In 90 seconds, the pair slyly plots a kooky vision of Black revolt, referencing John Henry, Michael Olowokandi, and Rick Owens in a hazy back and forth that’s silly, serious, and exquisitely precise. That’s Mavi’s mission throughout The Pilot: to be every version of himself all at once—the soothsayer, the spitter, the misanthrope, the YRN. None of these roles are new to his music, but here they’re co-conspirators rather than distant selves.
