Maxo Kream: O.Y.N Album Review

There are Maxo Kream songs that, at a certain point, make you realize you’ve been holding your breath. That’s partly due to the Houston rapper’s iron grip on syllables: Listening to his drumline-precise cadence on “Greener Knots,” from 2021’s Weight of the World, or the way he dodges between the drums and bass on “Bussdown,” from 2018’s Punken, feels like watching a tennis match at twice the speed. Once you’ve acclimated to his particular staccato, you’ll register the lidless stare with which he details lives lived in constant conflict, his characters either scraping by in the nick of time or meeting some unfortunately prescribed ending. At his most powerful, Maxo is one of those writers who knows full well how sound can sell a message. His least engaging work is beige and repetitive, all spark but no energy. Though 2024’s Personification had the air of a landmark mid-career take-stock record, it often felt as though Maxo hit the record button and stepped into the hallway, checking his phone while some deflated copy of himself went through the motions. For O.Y.N., Maxo links with JPEGMAFIA, a similarly intense figure whose latest work, the incongruously titled EXPERIMENTAL RAP, also suffers from a misunderstanding of his strengths. Both are talented artists, seemingly in search of something new, and their team-up offers each a chance to press a big reset button. No score yet, be the first to add. 0.0 For the first three songs, at least, they kinda nail it. Maxo sounds invigorated, finding the middle ground between Personification’s slack delivery and the tonal pliability that made Brandon Banks and Weight of the World so immediate. He’s full of venomous anger on intro “6 Months Clean,” detailing the dire life circumstances that torpedoed his longest bout of sobriety over JPEG’s earsplitting snares and caterwauling sirens. “O.Y.N.” is the strongest track on the record, pitting a heavenly opera sample against a metallic trap pattern. JPEG’s arrangement evolves tastefully, deploying acoustic drums, jittery keyboards, and a wailing guitar solo mixed low enough to become pure texture. Maxo weaves doleful verses about a grim sort of mentorship, helping his young disciples work through “the kind of shit that you can’t tell your mom about.” Finally, “30 N Dirty” rounds out the opening suite, with Maxo talking glorious shit from deep within a cloud of JPEG’s reverberant, shuddering synths and Memphis-indebted bassline. When it ends, you might be a touch winded, pushed sideways by the unavoidable mass. Then they bring the momentum to a crashing halt. “This Shit Going On,” which starts as a boilerplate flex jam and ends as an uncomfortable sex jam, is nowhere near as thought-through as the previous three. It’s JPEG’s most minimal beat, but the organ melody and all-consuming bass feel haphazardly pasted together, sounding neither restrained nor tense. The song’s 2:40 run time flies by if you’re distracted, but it drags tremendously if you’re even remotely paying attention. If Maxo listing the female rappers he wants to fuck doesn’t leave a bad taste in your mouth, just wait for the tacked-on chopped-and-screwed coda, which reiterates his point in an even sweatier way. They say you have to write the bad songs to get to the good ones, but it’s important to recognize when the cutting-room floor is looking a little too bare.