“I know I’m supposed to save hip-hop, but I ain't really got time”

Veeze, ‘You know I’

Now and then an artist appears where every lyric, 15 second snippet, and unreleased song gets traded in hushed voices through online communities like state secrets – poor quality rips from IG live get played thousands of times, and every comment section on their posts gets filled with angry hordes of fans demanding the release of their favourite unreleased track.

Veeze is celebrated and obsessed over in this fashion among niche circles in underground rap – especially by fans of the burgeoning Detroit scene – but over the last year he has seen a meteoric rise following the release of Ganger, his most fully-fledged body of work and the one that finally (somewhat) satiated his ravenous fanbase.

Before this project Veeze had less than a dozen fully-released songs to his name, even less making their way to DSPs or full-scale releases (my favourites from this era are ‘Law N Order’, and ‘Kurt Angle’, both early highlights that indicated he was on a different level to his contemporaries). There is even a song on this album called ‘Unreleased Leak’ as a nod to the obsession of his fans’ desires to collect his new songs like trading cards - his recent single ‘F.A.F’ has existed in-part online for over a year in various sub-minute forms.

Ganger, Veeze’s expansive debut full-length, takes a range of stylistic cues from Michigan's regional scenes, especially the booming drums and shit-talking synonymous with Flint's recent rise. Despite the regional references and inspiration from other contemporary styles, this album feels completely new; a body of work driven by the sole goal of displaying raw skill, pushing the boundaries of production, and ultimately, trying your best to enjoy yourself – all while (at times) sounding half asleep.

I'm convinced this is all a part of Veeze's master plan – many other writers and commentators present him as laconic and disengaged, interpreting his looser cadences and lack of rhythmic stricture as a commentary on his engagement with art at large. At times, he sounds so unbothered it feels as if he is being recorded without his knowledge, lyrics drawling and slipping in and out of time with the instrumentals. Yet Ganger's charm resides in the detail of its construction despite what first impressions may indicate. This man is the Drunken-Fist of hip-hop.

The beat selection alone sheds some light on the attention to detail – from early 2000's JT-esque ballads ('Safe 2'), to the sludge of 'Boat Interlude', to the more laid back trap-driven explorations like 'Tony Hawk' – Veeze moves through more tones, speeds, and styles than many rappers' whole careers. Many tracks boast a glossy shine set against murky and rumbling 808s that at times feel like the blueprint for more recent bass terrorists like Lazer Dim 700; others trade low-end sounds almost entirely, laying down skittering drums for Veeze to bob and weave around.

Yes, the flows are weird, yes, the delivery is slurred, but no one in Veeze's corner of hip-hop is as adept of a writer. Any lyric here could be printed out and given to a struggling comedian to turn their career around; at times, they read like tweets chronically-online friends would bombard you with screenshots of. His witty and scatterbrained writing often results in songs that don't really feel like they're about anything in particular (notable exceptions are ‘Safe 2’, and ‘Gangermatic’ with more of a linear development of ideas). Instead, Veeze flashes vignettes in intervals that usually last a line or two at a time – they point to industry skullduggery, his distaste for broke acquaintances, his various suitors, self-medication, the gnawing numbness of success.

Themes like these don't exactly reinvent the wheel of rap music, but Veeze’s phrasing and delivery is fundamentally new, exciting, and deeply funny – he isn't just flying across the world, he's the first person from his neighbourhood to experience jet lag (‘Tramp Stamp’). He'd be as rich as Kanye and Jay-Z combined if he had a dollar for every hater he has (‘GOMD’). He can make you disappear with a single hand gesture (‘Boat Interlude’). His lifestyle breaks the laws of physics (‘Unreleased Leak’). There are moments where he's the monster under your bed; there are others where it feels like he's ghost writing for Martin Lawrence's rap debut.

[Aside]

The various things Veeze asserts himself as during Ganger:

• Tony Hawk

• Michael Jackson

• Chris Rock's Father

• Jackie Chan in Rush Hour

• Batman

• next to Nemo (Of "Finding Nemo" fame)

• Boston George's twin

• Dirk Nowitzki

• A Proud Dad

• Rap Music's Saviour

• Winnie The Pooh

• Justin Timberlake (deepfake JT was not on my 2024 bingo card)

Ganger moves with an urgency that belies Veeze’s nonchalance. The hyperactivity of his words pierces through his smoky delivery to keep the pace strangely high. His phrasing continually lands before and after its expected point of impact, shifting listeners off balance and giving his punchlines the attention they deserve. For the most part, the album has a churning engine to it, and this is accentuated only further in the solemn and slow moments when things grind to a halt.

Late in the piece, 'Safe 2' and 'Gangermatic' form the emotional breakthroughs of the album, sidelining the punchlines to explore more vulnerable territory. 'Safe 2' is the closest thing to a 'ballad' on the album, a watery-eyed and yearning song that helps bring the album towards its conclusion. It's one of the most earnest songs to come out of the typically very machismo-driven Detroit scene as of late, a well-needed break from flexing and threats. This is my go-to song when it comes to trying to get someone into Veeze; the earnestness and creative flair he displays is far more present at face value. The lyrics are melancholic and his sing-song delivery constantly flirts with breaking fully into song; it is beautifully evocative yet uncomfortably restrained. It feels like he's testing the waters but not yet ready to fully delve in, a moment of shining vulnerability from someone who has been puffing out their chest almost constantly up until this point in the album.

‘Gangermatic’ is, to my ears, the song that would have been the hardest to make on this album. In a recent Montreality interview, Veeze talks through his ideas around writing about deeper subject matter, and it’s evident how discussing this song strikes an especially resonant chord with him. Watching the interview, you can tell he has left a lot unsaid through his music, and the downward spiral of shame and stress this song describes reflects a glimmer of remorse (or is it reminiscence?) in his eye and tone. This is the most claustrophobic song on the album, and you feel every ounce of stress and tension building against an instrumental that many others would turn into a party song. For someone who says so much yet so little about how he’s feeling, such a vivid and linear depiction of the anguish he dances around in other tracks is a sobering moment to close the album.

Veeze's skill resides in creating something new and exciting from the same components that others have repeated to death. Ganger will not be everyone's cup of tea, hell, in pockets it wasn't even mine when I first heard it, but I think this level of creative flair and subtlety in a lane of music so obsessed with maximalism is indicative of a bright future. Yes, listening to RMC Mike or Rio Da Yung OG yell in my ear about stories of stealing kids' games consoles and wielding artillery over 150 BPM beats is an amazing time, but I want some earnestness, some emotion, something weirder – Veeze knowingly gives you all that and more, and he tries to act like it's an accident.

87

Michael Vos

19 July 2024