Super Empty's Best Of 2024, Pt. 1
Top albums from an emotive, soulful year of North Carolina hip-hop and R&B.
Let's not delude ourselves: even if Super Empty didn't exist to advocate for it, North Carolina hip-hop/R&B would find itself represented, to some degree, in the summary of 2024 Music anyway. In part, that's as simple as claiming a giant of popular music like J.Cole — the kind of figure who casts a long enough cultural shadow that he can be remembered for both dubious reasons (his brief, uninspiring appearance in the Drake-Kendrick beef) and good ones (Might Delete Later being nominated for Best Rap Album) in the same calendar year. But it wasn't just the usual suspect: new releases from MAVI and Rapsody each garnered major acclaim, the former being among Pitchfork's Best Releases So Far back in August, and the latter appearing on TIME's list of the top 10 albums of 2024. Also, DaBaby's episode of Sundae Conversations was pretty fun.
Still, were these your only hints that music of the rapping (and rap-adjacent) sort was being produced in NC this year, you'd be missing out on a ton of great material — works of art captivating not just for their sound, but for their honesty, poetry, self-reflection and imagination. That's why Super Empty is triumphantly back to the time-honored and SEO-juicing tradition of end-of-year lists, our first since 2017. (We will return again in 2031.)
As is our want, this list focuses primarily on hip-hop/R&B releases — the absence of MJ Lenderman's Manning Fireworks, or Helado Negro's PHASOR, or any number of other moving North Carolinian records (including the epic compilation album Cardinals at the Window), is purely taxonomic in nature. Part 1 today is dedicated fully to 15 albums that defined the year. Part 2, on EPs and Songs, arrives next week. Read for a bit, listen for a bit, bookmark it and come back to it later. And ultimately, appreciate the ever-expanding wealth of talent all around us.
Jump to: Sonny Miles | MAVI | Rapsody | Kooley High | Nia J | MESSIAH! | BigBabyGucci | FRGN-SPCMN
Gamma - Sonny Miles
Even in an article entirely based on the premise of celebrating artists who deserve greater recognition, the case of Sonny Miles seems to stand apart. When I first posted on social media this summer that Super Empty would be compiling a "Best Of," albums list for the year, and started to solicit submissions from the audience, I'm not exaggerating to say his name appeared in more than two-thirds of every response I received back. To the uninitiated, who might look to social media engagement or music video views or some other sterile, artless 21st-century unit of measure to understand this convergence, an obvious explanation will go wanting — Sonny's vanity metrics still lag far behind his immense talent. So how to explain the writers, critics, producers, fellow musicians and friends in the DMs, all submitting Gamma as a shining testament to what North Carolina has to offer? As is the case throughout this list, it's a combination of not just the sound and texture and message of an album itself, but sometimes even more so, what that album means as a defining moment in the context of a career.
Though a good number of its stirring, sultry songs had already been released at one point or another as Bandcamp singles and EPs (including standouts "Wenuneed," "Over & Over" and "Kwiet"), Gamma — the first full-length offering from Winston-Salem's Sonny Miles, first reviewed for us by Eric Tullis back in March — saw them finally combined, along with a host of new material, into a collection greater than the sum of its parts. This was proof of more than a knack for songwriting, but the ability to craft an episodic, multi-part story; the full body of work that celebrants and evangelists (like those in my messages) could take to others and say, "Check this out, this is the guy I've been telling you about," and offer them more to chew on than just another single.
Warm, inviting and inventive, Gamma mixes moments of familiarity (like hints of Leon Bridges on "Can't Swipe Away," or Daniel Caesar on "Powerdivine") with a sensibility that is uniquely Miles's own, frequently blurring the lines between rap, R&B and soul, and fixating less often on the passing interest of a fling than the promise of forever ("Over & Over," "Everything"). The pining romanticism on Gamma resists cliché, its fawning and foreplay cleverly interspersed with the unsexy logistical minutiae of life ("we movin' kinda fast so we don't stall out/ I got work in the morning, finna call out"), while also leaving room for the fickle uncertainty of fate, which hovers over the album like an ominous cloud ("What if I'm a phase, temporary dream?/ What if she's the same, caught up in the scheme?"). It's a demonstration of his wide range, and of his discipline; for all its emotional exploits and explorations, Gamma never feels distracted. In pursuit of a love that endures, Miles has created an album that does too.
Second Opinion:
Gamma features a great blend of classic, heartbroken R&B begging with a new-age twist. Sonny digs deeper into the feeling of intimacy and how intense it can become with someone you truly love, not just lust. The vocal features from female artists added a much-needed perspective and a point of view that can't be delivered through a man's eye. - LesTheGenius; Raleigh-based rapper, writer, founder of Raleighwood, collaborator with Sonny Miles on 2019's "Raleighwood Hills"
SEE ALSO: Our official album review of Gamma, by Eric Tullis:
Eric Tullis
shadowbox - MAVI
Even for a wise-beyond-his-years prodigy, there could've been understandable anxiety in crafting a followup to the 2020 and 2022 albums Let The Sun Talk and Laughing So Hard, It Hurts, the latter of which received Pitchfork's coveted "Best New Music" designation and vaulted MAVI into a new stratosphere of attention, complete with "best writer alive" debates and line-by-line dissections of his lyrics online. But if the 25-year-old Charlotte rapper felt burdened by those high expectations, his elegant, emotive new album — glimmering with small eruptions of hope amidst a backdrop of grief and anguish — hardly shows it.
Given the album's themes, one possible explanation is rather simple: he's had other things on his mind. Another: he's simply too self-assured to be deterred by something as trivial as what a bunch of critics and fans think. Case in point — while brief excerpts feel woefully incapable of fully capturing MAVI's brand of svelte but densely poetic writing, those same small tastes are more than enough to convey its undeniable grace and potency ("God is able, gracious to me, so I feign contentment/ Hangin' in the trap daily, takin' fake prescriptions/ The spin doctor, spend a property on glitter rocks and drip/ Just for jitter over caution for potential robbery;" and "I'm spinnin' with the wash load, a penance, then I'm knocked cold/ A glimpse of Granny grinnin' in my kitchen, then it's all gone/ Lifted, tryna enter in her digits, this the wrong phone").
A proud and self-proclaimed acolyte of MF DOOM, MAVI harbors a similar distaste for conjunctions, adverbs and any other linguistic obstacles that might hinder the speed at which ideas can be strung together; fittingly, his songs unfurl more like serpentine, stream-of-consciousness musings than the exactingly tuned missives they really are. It's hard to think, for example, of a more poignantly rendered reflection on the lingering echoes of childhood than "tether" ("I let my shadow lead the way and I got taken with him/ Tryna walk toward the light for separation"), or a love song that balances righteous indignance and wounded gentleness quite like "the giver." To hear some tell it, shadowbox has already earned a place among the canon of contemporary hip-hop's great coming-of-age albums, alongside Isaiah Rashad's Cilvia Demo, Chance The Rapper's Acid Rap, Saba's Take Care and more, and who's to disagree with them? If another body of work as complete and fully formed were to be released this year, I'm not sure what it would look (or sound) like. (Editor's Note: Since the writing of that sentence, we received our answer, in Doechii's Alligator Bites Never Heal.)
Second Opinion:
I had to take a few days between my first and second listen to Shadowbox. It’s tough to bear witness to someone experiencing profound pain, and I don’t think I was ready for such raw honesty from MAVI. He’s never been one to shy away from examining his existential turmoil, but the suffering he chronicles on the album — especially for someone so young — was a lot to take in. The beautiful production kept pulling me back, and eventually, I realized MAVI made this record from a place of gratitude. You learn a lot about yourself after emerging from the depths, and in some ways, you can be thankful for such a learning experience. MAVI is still alive, still curious, still good as hell at rapping. Now, when I press play, I’m grateful for his honesty, glad he was willing and able to show us the contours of the abyss that no longer holds his gaze. - Dash Lewis; contributing music writer/critic for Pitchfork, The Guardian, Super Empty, & more
Please Don't Cry - Rapsody
For all its emotional and sonic complexity, the elevator pitch for Rapsody's fourth studio album was relatively straightforward: after years of recognition as one of contemporary rap's greats — including a GRAMMY nomination for Best Rap Album, cosigns from almost every hip-hop luminary imaginable, and repeat appearances on all the usual stops of the major hip-hop media circuit — we still didn't know all that much about her. That's the gist of the official album description for Please Don't Cry on Apple Music, which cites a conversation with the iconic producer No I.D. ("I can't tell you five things I know about you") as having been instrumental to the album's creation. As that same narrative peppered her radio interviews and press appearances, the premise risked becoming almost garishly direct: THIS IS RAPSODY'S "VULNERABLE" ALBUM! Combine that with its sprawling, 22-entry tracklist, and you could already see the contours of disaster from the writing on the bright yellow wall.
What a treat, then, that PDC is the exact opposite — a victory snatched from the jaws of rote, expected, PR-induced defeat, and an offering entirely worthy of a second Best Rap Album nomination of her career (ultimately, it wasn't to be). With Rapsody herself as its willing subject, the album takes aim at a true 360-degree inspection of one's humanity: traversing the insecurities, triumphs, agonies and uncertainties that lie at the heart of who we are, over a backdrop that bounces from G-Funk to reggae to raw, trunk-rattling boom-bap along the way. From betrayals (in Rap's case, both of the romantic sort, and from the Black entertainment establishment writ large), to explorations of sexuality ("That One Time"), to the slow, cruel decline of family elders ("Loose Rocks"), almost no stone is left unturned in the search for meaning, all tucked into the tidy narrative framework of a trip to the hair salon. By the end, Rap is left in her chair sitting with the good and the bad, seeming to land on something like peace. And maybe, a feeling of satisfaction, knowing that on the most sweeping, panoramic (and yes, vulnerable) effort of her career, she didn't miss.
Second Opinion:
The vulnerability executed in Rapsody’s Please Don’t Cry makes you feel closer to her and yourself. It’s the vent session and love letter you didn’t know you needed. And from a technical rap perspective, it’s perfection — with the song structures, creative hooks, flows and features, she's soared to the next level of creative genius. - Kyesha Jennings; former music writer for INDY Week, contributor for Complex Music
SEE ALSO: Our official album review of PDC, by Dash Lewis:
Dash Lewis
All Infinite - Kooley High
On the one hand, it's hard for me to justify spilling any more digital ink about All Infinite, the fifth and most recent full-length entry in Raleigh/Brooklyn rap collective Kooley High's catalog, no matter how good it is. After waxing poetic about their first single of the year, then scrutinizing another one a few weeks later, then reviewing the album in full for INDY Week in May, the chances of repeating myself about the album's "cosmic," "otherworldly" and "expansive" themes are now nearly 100% (Note: if you are one of the five people who has read all of those things, and is now reading this, thanks for your support and also I'm sorry). On the other hand, it's through that writing I can offer maybe the highest praise there is for an album — that even after spinning it to death for the purpose of all those pieces, I never got tired of it, and am still enjoying it to this day.
Aside from its surprisingly fresh take on the vintage, crate-digging sound (courtesy of Atlanta-based producer Tuamie) and its characteristically earnest, winking approach to grown-up material like fatherhood and life purpose, the most compelling case for All Infinite among the Best of 2024 might be how neatly and authentically it symbolizes the group that made it. Fifteen-plus years since emerging from the late-2000s NC State student group H20 ("The Hip-Hop Organization"), the five-piece crew of emcees, producers and DJ is still easy, effortless, and plain fun to listen to, having struck the deceptively difficult balance of being both a reliable, known entity (in Kooley's case, high-quality, neo-golden age rap) and also remaining hungry, creative and open to change. In other words, they're the kind of act you can imagine growing old with — not just in this life, but maybe even into the next.
Second Opinion:
I was initially surprised by Kooley High’s approach to this album, but All Infinite proved that even as the guys changed things up, they still know who they are and how to keep that voice consistent. As Tab and Charlie delved into ideas of life, legacy, fatherhood, and mortality far more than ever before, I found myself pulled to do the same. A decade-plus into following the Kooley crew I’m not unfamiliar with their ability to get serious, but the overall balance here was still a departure — showcasing their continued growth and exploration of life more prominently than on releases past. It’s this willingness to be earnest with us as they have these conversations, with each other and with themselves, that keeps me coming back to Kooley High, and what makes All Infinite their strongest work to date. This deep into their catalog, the ability to mess with the equation and stay true to themselves is an impressive feat — one that rewards each listen, and builds the anticipation of where they’ll go next. - Alex Yllanes; Super Empty contributor and former co-host of The Super Empty Show podcast
Melomania - Nia J
From the early, crescendoing moments of its eponymous first track, Charlotte singer Nia J's Melomania radiates a confidence and self-assurance more befitting of a mid-career release than an indie debut. A 10-pack of fleeting love songs that never overstay their welcome (total runtime: 26 minutes), the followup to the 2021 EP Rabbit Hole plays like a genre-agnostic music sampler and a proving ground for the number of terrains upon which Nia can carve herself a comfort zone, which turns out to be... a lot. There's the crashing, slow-motion buildup of the intro, an arena-rock rogue wave that crests and collapses into the same subdued ukelele-strumming where it began. There's buoyant, airy bedroom pop and syrupy, psychedelic soul; some snippets that wouldn't sound out of place at a folk fest and others more suited for the sweaty chaos of a mosh pit. But more impressive may be the penchant for songwriting that works on more than one level — like the dark hint of obsession underneath the shimmering Daft Punk groove of "fangirl," or the existential longing at the heart of the otherwise breezy "Gwhf" ("girls just want to have fun") — where incognito winks of added meaning peek out from behind lyrics that, in passing at least, could seem like straightforward fare.
Second Opinion:
I fell in love with Melomania because of its dualities. It’s playfully cheeky and deeply intimate; airy and symphonic; playfully avant-garde and also radio-ready. Most of the people behind the album are friends. Their relationships, coming from a place of honest, collective creativity, have helped craft music that hits you from inside your own heart first. Nia is one of the most underrated artists in Charlotte from my perspective, and Melomania is a beautifully crafted testament to her pen, her expansive creative vision, but most importantly the tenderness of her spirit. - Tyler Bunzey; professor of Cultural Studies, Johnson C. Smith University; contributing writer for QC Nerve, CLTure, Super Empty
the villain wins - MESSIAH!
When I talked to MESSIAH! this summer about the impending release of the villain wins and its close proximity to the drop date for shadowbox — the latest from his KILLSWITCH compatriot MAVI — he called it more of a coincidence of timing than a coordinated one-two punch from the collaborators and childhood friends, who once upon a time recorded in the latter's bedroom closet. Whether or not the cadence was choreographed, the end result has to be satisfying for the Charlotte emcees, who this year saw both of their albums — dropped just a few weeks apart in July and August — be embraced nationally as some of the best underground/alternative hip-hop of the year.
While MESSIAH's taut, 25-minute meditation diverges plenty from the comparatively darker and sharper-edged shadowbox, a shared spirit and sensibility nevertheless shines through, of the type that helps explain how two young high-schoolers wind up becoming longtime friends. The convergence is most immediate from the album's dense, moody backdrops (mostly courtesy of Angelo Leroi and Kevin Long, who themselves produced nearly half of shadowbox), but it extends to the evocative writing and turns of phrase that pierce through the fog, as on "in the mourning," when an exhausted and disillusioned MESSIAH! concedes: "made my bed and woke up without my backbone/ can't be mad at the results, but that don't mean I'm happy though."
But for all that he shares with his KS brethren, most impressive may be MESSIAH!'s broad tonal range, from the ceramic-delicate vulnerability of "dancing in the dark," to the mean-mugging bravado of "wipe down music" and "dirt don't hurt," to the momentary, upbeat reprieve provided by "burden of truth," a duet with Detroit singer Malaya. Fittingly, for a ruminative, restless, diary-like album that's more concerned with asking good questions than having a good time, even the closest thing to a kick-back song is laden with the pursuit of greater meaning: "I can't count my rearview clouds/ I've been truth-bound for a year or two now."
Second Opinion:
Listening to the villain wins, I couldn’t help but reflect on my own personal journey over the past few years. In a pensive, poetic manner, MESSIAH! does an incredible job of articulating the many aspects of being a young black man adventuring towards prosperity. On “dancing in the dark,” he asks, “Why do I know how to die, but I don’t know how to sleep?/ Everything I need seems so out of reach.” In these odes to the struggles of depression and longings for what can't be attained, there’s a sensitivity and awareness I can't help but relate to. - Kobi Selby, contributor, Super Empty. Read Kobi's full review below:
Kobi Selby
Baby 5 - BigBabyGucci
In the 1998 NBA season, teams attempted, on average, 13 three-pointers per game. Just one generation later, that number has nearly tripled, ballooning to an eye-popping 35. Alongside that long-distance revolution on the hardwood, a parallel shift has come to certain corners of the music world, resting on more or less the same analytics-based logic (and made all the more salient by the punishing forces of the streaming and social media economy): more attempts mean more chances to score. As far as basketball is concerned, no figure defines the quick-release era more than Charlotte native Steph Curry. And for music? You don't even have to leave the city — you'd have a perfectly serviceable answer in 27-year-old serial experimentalist BigBabyGucci.
To briefly establish the point: BBG — who first rose to prominence in 2016 with a compilation of mixtape tracks called Art Hoe Collection — released four albums in 2023. He released three in 2022, three in 2021, and so on (a Queen City Nerve piece this July tallied 17 albums since 2016). Since the release just four months ago of the album this article is about, he released two more albums, of 16 songs apiece. It could all come off a bit rote, if not downright cynical (when you drop four albums in a year, how good can any one really be?), if it weren't for the genuine streak of industriousness and creative expression that obviously underpins the approach. Even lengthy by BBG standards, the 22-track Baby 5 is that greater catalog in microcosm, a digital archive for fans to scour for favorites like crate-diggers thumbing through a well-curated record store discount bin — the subgenre or specific musical sensibility may be ever-fluctuating, but examples of BBG's melodic versatility and clever writing are never far away.
When I saw BigBaby perform this summer in Raleigh, the relatively modest number of fans was less notable to me than their behavior: raucously belting the lyrics to every song, and shouting out specific track requests in between:"DROP TOP LEXUS!!" "BLOOD ON THE ASPHALT!!" (This is not normal at a small show.) It was a reminder of the niche community for whom BBG is seen as the rightful and mostly unsung progenitor — or at the least, an early adopter — of many stylings that have come to dominate mainstream hip-hop in the years since. On Baby 5, those instincts are on full display, from the concussive, Frais-assisted "I'm That Type," to the pop savvy of "Tequila," "Temporary," and "5 Star Dinner." Like any volume shooter, some attempts go wayward — including, on occasion, off the side of the metaphorical backboard and into the third row. But the power of BBG on Baby 5 isn't about perfection. It's about, given how many shots he's putting up, the sheer number that continue to go in.
Second Opinion:
On Baby 5, BigBabyGucci sometimes seems like he’s in a contest with his own beats to see who can sound more bonkers. In one corner, we’ve got Pierre Bourne maximalism, augmented by baby noises, bells, syncopated drum hits, tropicalia, squiggles and squonks, whatever you can throw at him. In the other, we have a man who compares his sexual prowess to Hulk Hogan and at various points declares himself to be getting money like Danny DeVito and Mark Zuckerberg, who he just refers to as “Zucker.” The record’s penultimate track is the majestic Young Thug homage “Slime Flow,” all melodrama and comedown after running it up past the cumuli. He’s fun, he’s funny, he’s poignant, he can rap, he can sing, and he’s got the neologisms that any great rapper needs. - Drew Millard; former editor for Noisey, creator of the newsletter Media Events, author of How Golf Can Save Your Life
RIDE AROUND THE SUN - FRGN-SPCMN
Sometimes, you’re so swept away by an album that you’re forced to consider whether the swept-away-ness is really, genuinely how you feel, or if you were hopelessly preconditioned to react that way because of the persuasive components of world-building that reached you before the music did. Say, for example: a multi-instrumentalist production team explains in interviews that they set out to make an album inspired by a road trip to Joshua Tree; on the album’s artwork, they walk through the desert in matching, bespoke pit crew uniforms; and in a miniature, stop-motion music video for the title track, figurines in those same uniforms, working at a middle-of-the-desert auto shop, fixate on chasing down the sun, and possibly later, the moon. Yes, these are all contextual and visual elements of production duo FRGN-SPCMN’s Ride Around The Sun, and yes, I’ve so thoroughly bought into them that it's possible they've swayed my impression of the album more than the merits of the music itself. But I don't think so.
Building on a catalog of work that includes Lance Skiiwalker, Coast Contra and Issa Rae’s Insecure soundtrack, Ride Around The Sun sees veteran NC producers Ronnie Belle and Andre Jones utilizing the narrative potential of the album format to its furthest extent — the pair drawing from a diversity of combined skills to pull off a vivid, kinetic sonic journey that goes beyond just the scene-setting titles ("DAWN," "DUSK," etc.) that adorn the track list. Take "SAULT," on which a bright, Samba drum pattern inconspicuously descends into an ominous, but also spellbinding, landscape with an undeniably cinematic texture. Or "GHOST OF STAN," which any fan of Kokoroko or BADBADNOTGOOD could appreciate for its pleasantly meandering, soulful execution of progressive jazz. Or, in what is maybe the truest measure of a producer, the way vocalists are time and again put in positions to succeed — the words of Bull City fire-breather Kourviosier packing extra punch over the smartly stripped-down "NO PHOTOS PLEASE;" the tongue-twisting musings of Deante' Hitchock given purchase by the propulsive but breezy "LOST MY MIND;" the album's undeniable glue guy, singer/songwriter/rapper Ace Henderson, woven seamlessly into duets throughout.
In the end, it all combines to satisfyingly deliver on the journey of mysticism and soul-searching that Ron and Dre clearly and painstakingly set out to convey — a fitting complement to the more surface-level accoutrements that initially caught my eye.
Seven More Albums Worth Your Time:
Jesus Piece - XOXOK (Apple | Spotify)
If all you had to go off of was Jesus Piece's confident, soaring ballads and lingering, lushly-layered harmonies, you might assume that its author had been a pure practitioner of soulful R&B for the past decade or more, not — as evidenced by 2019's Worthy EP — someone making alternative rock as recently as five years ago. You might also assume that the album's message was straightforwardly centered on the object of aspiration, comparison, and perverse fascination that inspired its title. As XO explained to INDY Week in October, and as the songwriting on Jesus Piece attests, there's a rewarding world of deeper meaning tucked behind the chain, for those willing to look past its blinding glare (and beneath the distracting beauty of its delivery).
Best songs: "Come Around," "Right On," "Jesus Piece"
Microwave Beats, Vol. 1 - Sarah The Illstrumentalist (Apple | Spotify)
By now, a more esteemed culture critic has surely written about the phenomenon by which the first generation to have grown up with hip-hop as the dominant music genre in the foreground of their lives (mine), when finding themselves in need of something in the background to work, or study, or read to, turned en masse to a subdued, smooth, but nonetheless beat-driven version of the form for comfort. In the "Lo-Fi Girl" landscape that has since proliferated, it can sometimes feel like dusty, lighthearted, loop-based instrumentals have been commodified past the point of artistic relevance; full-on albums of them, even more so. And yet, when you throw on a record like Microwave Beats, by Raleigh-raised, L.A.-based producer Sarah The Illstrumentalist, and you hear the same enduring elements of cohesiveness and intention that have always made the album a sacred and special format, the pervasive presence of no-vocal jazz loops all around us no longer sounds like a death knell — it sounds like an invitation. Or in this case, like the welcome ding of the microwave.
Best songs: "Add 30 Sec.," "For Us, By Us" "Yellow Mellow"
SPECTACLES - Shirlette Ammons (Apple | Spotify)
An eclectic, jack-of-all-genres production approach across SPECTACLES often leaves little time to master any one, but thanks to Ammons' incisive writing and characteristically punk, unapologetic delivery — and a powerful, autobiographically inspired message about identity and the external gaze — the end result is, like its source material, a sight to behold. A fully-remixed and re-imagined version of the album, featuring production from NC notables like Suzi Analogue, Nicolay, Trandle, Apple Juice Kid and more, arrived in October, expanding the backdrop for Ammons' singular storytelling.
Best songs: "All The Things," "Short," "Neighborhood Headlines"
Might Delete Later - J. Cole (Apple | Spotify)
Is MDL, which more or less continued the central conceit of 2021's The Off-Season (that J. Cole is a very good rapper) and did little else conceptually besides that, truly a "Best Rap Album"-caliber effort? Not by the estimation of this website (we'll see what the Recording Academy says in February). But if you happened to breeze past its release entirely, or maybe only interacted with it in the context of That One Song that conspicuously isn't on it anymore, you'd undoubtedly have an incomplete picture of the best hip-hop to come out of North Carolina this year. Captivating more because of its skilled protagonist than any particularly inspired premise, Might Delete Later is far from the most imaginative work of Cole's career. It's also a persuasive statement that with enough technical proficiency and force of personality, reinventing the wheel isn't always necessary.
Best songs: "Stealth Mode," "3001," "Trae The Truth In Ibiza"
Worst song: "H.Y.B."
Family Road Trip - FBE Big John (Apple | Spotify)
Serving as the in-house DJ for the ascendant, homegrown (and youthfully unrestrained) concert series InThaFest has made FBE Big John a ubiquitous presence among NC hip-hop's younger set, with the Rolodex of up-and-coming acts to match. On his first album, Family Road Trip — every bit the boisterous, sometimes uneven adventure that its name entails — those connections are put to good use, yielding not only a satisfying sampler of where the scene stands today, but likely, the characters who will shape it for years to come.
Best songs: "FAMILY DINNER," "BIG BIDNESS," "BACK TO THE BLUE ROOM"
