![]() ![]() The song titles provide a blank slate onto which MIKE projects his truest self: nods to smoking with friends, basketball, family, local amenities, varying mental mindstates. Playing through like a scratched CD in an early edition Walkman, Tears of Joy rewards repeat listens. Successive releases by the New York phenom, each better than the last, have only added to his allure, enigma, and local legend. And it’s soundtracked by tape-hissing production that is both pain-etched and willing to rejoice to the heavens: Full of vigor and life. Unlike most of the hip-hop learned - and molded - on the irony-and-nazi-poisoned internet, MIKE’s hookless music doesn’t style itself as anything but autobiography. ![]() By compressing ugly facts of life into his quasey, distorted jazz rap universe, MIKE unearths greyed wisdom that belie his tender age. ![]() He emerged from the Bronx in 2017, and his nonconformist mixtapes scanned as bold, solemn acts of reclamation, be that of depression, love, community, skin color, or grief. ![]() Years before Earl Sweatshirt shoutouts on Some Rap Songs had teens on r/earlsweatshirt tripping over themselves trying to find out who precisely MIKE was, the rapper was steadily developing his repertoire, exploring his bruised psyche in the form of formless lo-fi rap. ![]()
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