Torii MacAdams does the Shmoney dance with dual iPads
Walt Whitman wrote “Do I contradict myself? Very well, then I contradict myself, (I am large, I contain multitudes.)” Kevin Gates, too, contains multitudes, though admittedly many of his internal legion just want to punch you in the nose. The world’s foremost jailhouse behavioral therapist is a vampire fiction aficionado is an alien sent from the star cluster Alpha Trapalot 8 is the South’s foremost rapper. Rustie is a nuclear reactor for unstable rappers, channeling unhinged energy into something powerful. Rustie’s excellent work with Danny Brown has given the multi-faceted Detroit fraggle a technicolor platform to stomp on; a collaboration with Gates is a logical extension of those tendencies.
“Wait in Line” is Gates near his most extraterrestrial, his half-singing pitch shifted and his whoops percussive. Gates’ grind is infinite; “Wait in Line” is another tribute to his koan of “I don’t get tired,” but I’d listen to him rap about damn near anything on this beat. Despite the bombast of “Wait in Line,” this is light lifting for Gates and Rustie– bright synths and trap drum rolls from the Glaswegian, almost indecipherable couplets about countless doubters and thumbing through hundred dollar bills from the Louisianan. “Wait in Line” will make you want to burn down abandoned buildings and carjack mailmen. I’ve pimp slapped a meter maid, and it’s not even lunch time.
https://soundcloud.com/kevingateshiphop/kevin-gates-on-me
