And if you’ve seen him once, you’ve seen him a dozen times. You keep refreshing your feed and his face is still there, waiting. Of course he reminds you of Young Thug; it’s the dreads, the identical nose ring, and the gold fronts, but it’s also the squawking vocals and flamboyant mannerisms. This is how Nine Vicious has introduced himself to the masses: The next slime-spitting, gender-bending crooner to spring from King Spider’s web. Since he’s infiltrated the algorithm, everyone in the underground has had something to say: the streamers, the rappers, the tastemakers and shitposters. Rap pages are jostling to prove they posted him first. Even more so than SahBabii or Lil Keed a decade ago, Nine Vicious absorbs Be El Be videos like a method actor. Barter 6 might as well be the Bible. On Studio Addict, his full-length debut, the Georgia rapper adorns Atlanta’s idiosyncratic template with modern-day luster. It’s an act of artful reverence at its best, a glitzy cosplay showing at its worst.
Between the Thugger idolatry, a manicured digital footprint, and MJ-inspired cover art, Nine Vicious’ story starts with measured presentation. But it was the lucid glimmer of “Tokyo”—a conduit into “F&N,” the tape’s most exhilarating track—that actually won me over. Floating atop a lush flute sample, strings, and glittery bell trees, Nine Vicious’ Auto-Tuned lilt slices through sensuous mist. The feeling is strangely blissful, like sulking in the gauzy brainfog from a midday nap. But as quickly as peace sets in, the woodwinds are pitched down and the hoarse, warbling refrain of “F&N” slides into the mix. “Prayin’ to God, but I don’t pray to Buddha,” Nine spits as brain-busting bass swallows vibraphone whole. The seamless transition is a nice touch, and it spotlights one of those repetitive hooks performed so effusively you can’t stop blurting it back out. But at its core, the sentiment feels pretty vapid. It’s not like a hook has to have some profound meaning, but “F&N” exemplifies how Nine’s chameleonic delivery masks his lack of wordplay. When the delivery isn’t as spirited, like on “Boom Bap,” lines like, “Came in that bitch with a dick/I got a strap for real” fall flat—especially when they follow a claim like “they ain’t even know I can rap/Yeah I can rap for real.”
The record’s sharpest production is often its most subdued. “Slide Aht” offsets a slinky, musing Bon Iver sample with booming 808s before sliding neatly into “Black Truck Talking,” a cloister of fractured vocals and somber saxophone chops. A lyrical throughline would help songs like this cut deeper, especially in tandem with Nine’s icy stretches of wordless melody. The record is full of production that could lend itself to explicit introspection, but instead of vulnerability, Nine clings to clichés about girls and drugs. It’s through mutantlike cadences and his freakish vocal range where his rapping shines. On “Los Angeles,” a Slime Season 2-indebted haven of brass and wispy drums, each flow and inflection is more animated than the last. It’s the purest depiction of Nine’s ability to build atmosphere; the crown jewel of the tracklist. When he claims “I do not brag and boast, I already know that I’m next,” I hear shades of Ken Carson’s Project X that are more refined than the original.
Confidence yields the record’s best moments, but Studio Addict occasionally feels too self-indulgent for its own good. Eager to align himself with the greats (first Thug and Michael, now Kanye), Nine uses one track to interpolate “Power,” and another to try his hand at a different classic single: On “One Beer,” he raps in a pocket that’s miles ahead of a slowed “No More Parties in LA” sample, leaving Ghostface Killah to choke on his dust. The tracks that harp on traditional hip-hop to show versatility (“One Beer,” “Boom Bap”) end up proving how much stronger Nine’s melodic sound is. Overall, though, Nine Vicious’ debut is a polished, gratifying exercise in absorbing source material to make something fresh. Nowadays, imitation is king in underground rap. Droves of new artists cling onto a sound they admire—something familiar and digestible—but the best ones mold it into their own innovation with time. For Nine Vicious to turn into a household name, he’ll have to perfect being Nine Vicious first.
