About halfway through The hard lemonade of Mach, Mach-Hommy thanks his fans, then tackles himself: He would rather refer to them as “investors”. This word is both a reference to the unusual passion that inspires the Newark rapper in his followers and to the incredible prices he charges for his music and merchandise (the deluxe vinyl version of Lemonade retails for $ 444.44, the standard version steals up to half the price). But as time goes on and Hommy’s catalog grows, the idea of fans as investors begins to evoke the image of a satisfied shareholder, and idly reaps the benefits of betting on this nomadic maybe-genius who seems to be dedicated to growth quarter -quarter.
Mach-Hommy’s publicity – the quasi-anonymity, the bizarre interviews, his refusal to sell sites like Genius ads against his transcribed lyrics – and his trying, compromised music can suggest a faster artist. But Hommy has become productive, even if you allow holes for the release schedule where albums that are unavailable or unavailable on streaming platforms might otherwise sit. Lemonade is the seamless continuation of a long string of reliable Hommy records; it is also one of its strongest to date, appealing despite its brevity.
Looks like there’s a chance for Hommy to fix some crossover girl: LemonadeThe digital edition was exclusive to Tidal; he was photographed last fall at a meeting with JAY-Z, who of course drew inspiration from Hommy’s cadence for his verses on Jay Electronica’s A written testimony. But the closest Hommy comes to recording Jay in his latest work is a line on album opener “SBTM” (“I’ve seen the same shit happen to Shan”) that refers to a quip on Vol. 3 about rappers biting another Juice Crew member. And so, when he raps, on that same song, “I Was Hidden / Now I’m Excited,” you understand that Hommy – and not well-meaning advisers assembled around a conference table – is the one who stakes and scope setting of his myth.
Lemonade is more sharply mixed than some of Hommy’s other albums, but the sound design –– pleasantly jagged, sometimes muddy – is still the unifying force in his music. Hommy is a collagist, one who can connect lines from a posthumous Biggie song and the reign of Baby Doc Duvalier in Haiti to MC Shan and the Atlanta rap group D4L (Fabo and the late Shawty Lo are both exclaimed in the opening verse of “Smoked Maldon” –– Previously, Hommy compares him to Steve Prefontaine). These plots of material that are being taken over from seemingly different worlds suggest an observer so fondly that he sees the source code of life hidden from the rest of us; he realized the value in masking in public long before the plague.
At rap, Hommy exercises remarkable control: at times, his verses seem to take over the spout, becoming more and more wordy, all the while slowly revealing an underlying, rhythmic logic. (This makes it even more violent – and rewarding – – when Hommy opens his chest and blows a verse, as he does on the superb closer, ‘NJ Ultra.’) But it’s Hommy’s intermittent singing that makes his albums so makes dynamic: Watch his chorus about “Marshmallow Test,” where the way he “One for you … one, two for me” gets an experiment famously performed on children in a cool, capitalist taunt.
LemonadeThe highlight is “Squeaky Hinge”, a moment of complete synthesis for Hommy’s technical virtuosity and musical instincts, his sly humor and his sense of the fierce undercurrents in American cities. ‘The smell of death’ waffles from apartments on gentrifying blocks near where the ‘hot mama’ is ‘in the brothel at Jonathan’s.’ There’s even a devilish bounce to the way he opens the door: “What’s pocket change? / What’s house money? / What’s scholarships? / All I know is clout, stupid.” Mach-Hommy is interested in calling, not explaining, and has neither the patience nor the desire to keep you informed.
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