It appears Child Keem is lastly able to be perceived. He’s been seen lots: as an nameless drone within the TDE employee hive; then because the cousin able to coaxing Kendrick Lamar into the loosest, freakiest states of his profession; then as an ascendant star with Shia LaBeouf-directed movies and a style for bridging the hole between AAA rap theatricality, the wobbly pre-rage SoundCloud underground, and delicate R&B grooves. Private particulars surfaced sometimes, however for essentially the most half, the hookups and household ties had been portrayed at arm’s size. “Sooner or later I’ll inform you how my life was unlucky/For now, I’ll inform you how briskly these Porsches get,” he hinted originally of The Melodic Blue’s “scapegoats.”
With Ca$ino, Keem reaches the purpose the place pgLang’s meticulous model administration technique requires the Large Reveal. His second album and first in almost 5 years obtained a grander introduction: an exhaustive three-part mini-doc that chronicled his origins in Lengthy Seaside and Las Vegas, intercutting interviews with aunties, cousins, and pals with footage of Keem and his producers retooling songs. At its finest, Ca$ino is essentially the most reflective Keem’s ever been. He parses by way of how the Bay Space and the Vegas Strip have poisoned him and his circle, however his warring pop star and rapper sensibilities depart his reckoning in a garbled tonal mess.
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The very first thing that feels off, inevitably, is the voice. Keem’s trademark yawp gave his early work a demented sense of propulsion. It was a goblin cry wailing in opposition to Enhance Cellular chirps and clacking percussion that made each summary flex and missed connection each sinister and snarky. By age or selection, that voice has deflated significantly, sounding extra like Caine from Menace II Society than Smokey from Friday. It serves the extra grounded storytelling of opener “No Safety” and nearer “No Blame,” however doesn’t translate as properly anyplace else.
The one factor stopping Keem from drowning on the title observe is his athletic flows, which preserve tempo with Cardo’s frenetic manufacturing with out ever making a case for themselves. His completely different vocal impacts—breathy bars operating over measures on “Circus Circus Free$tyle”; aping André 3000’s tone and Kendrick’s staccato supply, right down to his overenunciated T’s, on “I’m not a Lyricist”—ought to undertaking acuity however as a substitute miss their targets. And whereas he’s by no means been the perfect singer, he sounds fully misplaced crooning over the pastel pop of “Dramatic Lady” and warbling by way of the funky hyphy of the Too $hort-assisted “$ex Attraction.” Even his trademark chemistry along with his massive cousin falls by way of on “Good Flirts,” a sleepy inverse of their earlier collab “The Hillbillies” that goals for frolicsome romance however lands like an Activia advert in the midst of a Degrassi marathon. What was as soon as electrifying as a high-low distinction now typically feels flat and disengaged, sapped of the lustful character oozing from “Orange Soda” or “first order of enterprise.”
