The Rap-Up: Liminal Space

We break down new tracks from Tooly?, Fakemink, Veeze, and more.

Tooly?, “No Drank No Coke”

Maybe it’s because the shoulda-been stars of PluggnB were too obsessed with scamming pints from the federal government or fighting a bevy of abuse allegations to ever be public-facing figures, but none of the internet’s crystalline melody makers ever producing a global summer smash feels like proof we all died in 2020 and this life is just a forgotten simulation. Though as we hurdle into the endgame, there’s still time for Tooly to catch one.

If Kane Parsons is a real one he’ll find a way to shoehorn “No Drank No Coke” into Backrooms, making it the hit we’ve been waiting for. It could slide right into the Creepypasta-turned-blockbuster not because Tooly’s music is inherently creepy (if anything it’s just as gorgeously composed as any of the other PluggnB classics) but all the saccharine melodies in the world can’t distract from the surrealist, nightmare fuel music videos.

Most are done by 1noahcore, known best for recording dream collapse promo videos for Che and vlogs around the Rest In Bass era. He keeps the discomfort going for Tooly as he flips the druggy lullabies into VR games, found footage horror films, and now a liminal purgatory where the creepy kid from The Ring follows your every movement. Except it’s only the beings head, floating around like a sentient balloon. And right when things seem to calm down, the beat drops to half speed and Tooly reveals himself to be a serpentine hellspawn that’ll haunt every slumber until my last breath.

Fakemink, “Like A Virgin”

Fakemink raps like a mosquito who made a pact with the Devil to become a real boy, using his newly semi-humanoid shrill and youthful eyes to play as a witch house-obsessed Holden Caulfield. In exchange he must wear awful haircuts and postures as the most pretentious twat to come from the UK since Draco Malfoy, but somehow none of that dampens the art. Partaking in designer drugs walking the Gucci paved walk with models of all European origins has sent him to Hell’s 7th ring and back, opening him to the ills of Western society’s elite. “Like A Virgin” and the rest of his self-produced debut album, Terrified, is his tell-all memoir and self-help guide for all those who think the lust and gluttony that comes with fame is the pinnacle of life. But while his goal is to be a pastor steering us from sin, “Like A Virgin” plays as a crunchy celebration of it. The walls are closing in, he sees the light coming, but the adrenaline that comes before the squeeze feels too euphoric to run from.

Veeze, “Wrong Place, Wrong Time”

In reality, is there a right place and right time to meet Veeze? At the studio he’s nodding off between takes or busy stashing the slimiest, shit talking records in all of Michigan, so that might not be a good place. Plus Lil Yachty is always around and there’s no way I can deal with that. Maybe you can catch him in the second half of a Pistons game once the pre-game cup of mystery drink starts to wear off a little, but that’s all very dependent on how Jalen Duren is doing and Lord knows that’s a toss up. Under the sparklers and falling Washington’s within the VIP of a strip club built on BBLs and overpriced bottles of Svedka perhaps? Hard no on that. Too easy to get distracted and lose conversation. All signs point to just playing the records and listening to the lifestyle, rather than trying to keep up. Trying to keep up with Veeze looks like playing out a death wish.

Lisha G, “Block Em”

The South Carolina rapper’s new album, Now Or Never, is all about that constant between smacking someone or rolling up while the universe works its magic, but “Block Em” is all about not taking the high road. At this point, can you blame her? All the cash stacking has her time limited and temper short, plus the block button is too easy to access. It’s time to leave the nerds in the past and get on path with her purpose before someone gets a one way ticket to the hospital.

Sauce Walka, “Ghetto Gospel 4”

“This what it feel like fighting demons” are the first words to be said but you already knew that was coming. Creak open the doors of Sauce Walka’s sanctuary and you’ll hear organ strokes and funked blues guitars wailing in pain. The eviction notices, stress from keeping the kids of so many fallen friends on the right path, and watching your elders age by the day all find a home to scream through these instruments. In slo-mo you see slabs gleam under street lights and the fireworks dot the night sky, but the darkness surrounding them is the real star. It’s unavoidable, smothering at times, but so much still shines within it.

Extras