Everyone is waiting for rappers to say something now. Not just anything, though. Say something human, something acknowledging the present we are living in today. Nobody wants rappers to talk about superficial, hyper-capitalist ideas anymore. You gained some money and got yourself a nice little so-and-so near the house? Good for you. If only any of that can pertain to the rest of us trying to escape a cruel reality. So, now we return to a budding, and necessary renaissance in hip-hop: hip-hop that actually gives a fuck. It is no longer for genre’s sake anymore; it isn’t just a lock or a party trick. It’s hip-hop made by those interested in addressing the world around us.
In a world where madness rules the insane asylum, it may benefit some to hear what it is like to untangle their thoughts about everything inside and out. The reasoning doesn’t matter; whether it is the mere love of the English language (MF DOOM), unpacking mental distress and any outside causes (Aesop Rock), or using a discography as a protest statement of sorts (Rhys Langston), abstract rap demands the listener put in the work to meet the artists in the middle. Be it through looking up references, upping vocabulary, or treating said bars like Rorschach tests, abstract rap is hip-hop’s free jazz, where the music makes sense to those willing to work for the meaning of everything provided. This is the way artists from the consistently inventive Kool Keith to even acid rapper Fatboi Sharif approach it. Now, the familiar and rising underground duo Snotnoze Saleem and SHARP. are throwing their hats in the ring with the dark, maddening world of Resident Strangers.
Under beats ranging from paranoid to acid-washed, Saleem paints a lyrical picture of an increasingly dystopian universe where, although survival may be key, it gets no easier to obtain. The murky, bass-buzzing “Asbestos Poisoning” boasts lines such as “triple threat with these verses / sickle cell anemic, make believe pretentious pretenses, pledge allegiance / indigenous, I put him on to Jesus” and “Reagan era rhetoric satiate separationist / race to the finish, embarrassing the English language,” both of whose shit-talk might leave minds turning eternally in an average Scribble Jam scrimmage. On the album, Saleem isn’t afraid to speak about our times either, often with the frantic energy of someone warning you about the end of the world. “Nova Express,” a track that sounds like the dissonant middle ground between nervy and emotionally content, is a prime example of Saleem’s stream-of-consciousness lyricism serving as both a frantic warning and an attempt to make sense of all surroundings. The absurdity of fascism—“abysmal projectile POTUS executive order / sewing discord, heat seeking pitiful exports / war criminals catch a shoe to the face / coup de grace, who can relate?”—lazy media literacy—“surface level superficial listeners call it ‘abstract’ when they find a concept hard to grasp”—and political locations being demoted into a war zone—“dejected surly illegal settlement expansion / false flag operations inside a desolated McMansion” all take center stage in a song where a horror show has to meet the will to survive it all.
Don’t think he doesn’t have bullets in the chamber for those who press on without care. “Basket of Deplorables” goes in on peace-focused centrists—“my fist destined to manifest in your nostrils / solidarity turned hostile” and “weaponized identity oppression Olympics / COINTELPRO working just as intended, sick of it / you’re not the people’s champ just a sycophant hypnotist”—but he also isn’t afraid to turn the gun upon himself. Saleem asks, “Does rapping count as actual praxis or am I merely emotionally dependent?” with the mindset that art has a function: a function to inform and influence those listening, to go beyond serving the self. No matter where he draws the target, Saleem’s recitation of the lyrics remains between panicked and urgent, as if something serious might jump if he does NOT speak his grievances.
Saleem is not alone in the paranoia. However, features Hester Valentine and TreDoes aim at more specific targets, such as the treacherous concept of Black capitalism: how it reinforces colonial ideals and other social effects. On “Counter-Hegemonic,” Valentine tackles the familiar trap of success from a capitalist point of view by lampooning Black male excuses for doing dirt—“kept it P like phosphorous / cheating on my bitch like, ‘the white man gave us monogamy,’ I’m reclaiming my roots”—and dismissing ideas of the never-ending marathon towards success—“truly, the idea was to grind to death.” TreDoes, on “Asbestos Poisoning,” is more direct with where he points his middle finger. “All our favorite algorithms stay circulating the niggas we love to hate,” TreDoes states, “bet these niggas is closer to pigs and dirtied with shit they done did / act like the shtick for the kids but ‘fuck em’ when the check’s getting big.” These features highlight the “every man for himself” mindset within Black excellence. So, do you fight against it all, or do you succumb to the dirty nature?
Resident Strangers is a snapshot of a reality where, although it may be imperative to stand up, you risk breaking your legs in the process. Snotnoze Saleem realizes you are looking to music for answers, for healing, for a sign things might be okay. However, what you got instead is an album saying, “This is the reason why things might not be. People don’t care about the common man being bound, about that canary choking in the coal mine. But you keep flying, and you keep singing until your lungs give out because if not you, then who?” Resident Strangers is a warning, an unraveling of the present and future ahead of us, and above all, an album willing to say something. Isn’t that what the people have been asking for?
