A tradition forged over industry history, the major-label transition is often the make-or-break moment for a rising artist. With commercial pressure looming, many artists are coerced into downplaying what makes them unique, stripping singularity in favor of mass appeal. Of course this has mixed results: while many artists find their place in mainstream culture, just as many fall by the wayside, frustrating long-time listeners.
Fortunately for Houston-born rapper
Maxo Kream, his RCA deal has not soured his style. There are a couple of radio-ready features --
Travis Scott limply croons "The Relays," while
A$AP Ferg meanders on the thumping "Murda Blocc" -- but they're quickly forgotten amid the project's mix of no-nonsense storytelling and pounding trap, the sounds on which
Kream has built his name. Instead, a higher budget produces a greater range of instrumentation; from the warped orchestration of "Bissonet" to the
Rich Brian-esque "Brothers,"
Brandon Banks' beats are consistently fresh-sounding and apt in mood.
Of course,
Kream's staple storytelling is present. The rapper's best narratives have always addressed wider issues through a grounded, personal lens, and
Brandon Banks is no exception: "8 Figures" critiques obsession through anecdotes of personal struggle, while "Brenda" discusses single motherhood in the same manner as its
2Pac namesake. This even makes for one of the album's highlights on standout "Meet Again," where a poignant letter to incarcerated friends covers broad strokes of street violence, broken families, and kinship.
Building on the family-centric lyrics of 2018's Punken,
Brandon Banks also gives greater insight into
Kream's father, who used the eponymous alias throughout his life. Far from a saccharine homage, the album's paternal exploration is a series of ups and downs, with
Kream addressing his father's absence, gambling addiction, and infidelity as well as his dedication to his children. Each of these points is explored through the rapper's own experience: the character of
Brandon Banks becomes the album's lens, with
Kream's own experiences juxtaposed against a poignant context.
The result is a release that pushes toward something greater. While
Brandon Banks retains
Kream's choice narratives, rotating flows, and grounded persona, its paternal overtone is a consistent negotiation, holding the Houston rapper in his forbear's shadows at every turn. While some of the edges have been smoothed out, the result is a breath of fresh air; with clean, precise production and his father's influence looming large,
Brandon Banks proves one of Kream's most compelling releases. ~ David Crone