migos_LEAD

Migos‘ debut album YRN (Yung Rich Nation) is what the title implies, a cornucopia of sloppy anthems that celebrate the entitled, young money state of mind. It is as predicable as it is mind-numbingly boring; sluggish rap that does little for the culture. The hooks are recycled as are the beats and the flow from one song to the next is about as smooth as a cobblestone road.

The intent is to corral fans with a series of hooks and have them remember and repeat it with as little brain activity as possible, lulling fans to sleep while simultaneously lowering the bar. If you’ve heard one Migos song you’ve heard them all, and it’s no different for Yung Rich Nation.

Memoirs

Rotting garbage set to a beat with a style that goes nowhere but in one giant mindless circle. The soggy rhymes are the token style set forth by the ATL trio, but no matter what they do it’ll never trump the obvious, which is that rap in their eyes is nothing more than a money making novelty:

Memoirs

Dab Daddy

Money is the almighty ruler and Migos is declaring their undying loyalty, even if it means selling your soul. And soul being figurative because there’s not an ounce of creativity in this musical abomination. The beat is thin and incomplete, and Migos struggles to control their juvenile impulses:

Dab Daddy

Migos Origin

It’s a wonder as to how they can make such erroneous claims to their greatness without having to pause and laugh. They’re selling themselves hard and doing little investing in actual lyricism or music. It’s the standard mainstream M.O. with no attention to detail or pride in craftsmanship:

Migos Origin

Spray the Champagne

More self-congratulatory mess from a trio of knuckleheads, like the Three Stooges of rap but only worse. At least the Stooges had skills. Migos is simply riding trends thinking that it’ll last forever. They’re lambasting their naysayers, but in time will soon find themselves back at the bottom:

Spray the Champagne

Street Nigga Sacrifice

The opening verse is enough to make any knowledgeable rap fan cringe in pain, a truly poor showing of lyrics. Even when analyzing it through the lens of mainstream rap it reads as elementary like listening to a bunch of third graders fumble over a homework assignment. No creative morsel to speak of:

Street Nigga Sacrifice

Highway 85

The opening verse is enough to make any knowledgeable rap cringe in pain, a truly poor showing of lyricism. Even when analyzing it through the lens of mainstream rap it reads as elementary like listening to a bunch of third graders fumble over a homework assignment. No creative morsel to speak of:

Highway 85

One Time

A Happy Meal of a song that is anemic in both entertainment and style. The processed beat is saturated in familiar presets, eliciting nothing more than a giant yawn. Lyrically it’s all the things pop rap is known for: mindless salutations and the excessive celebration of nothing in particular:

One Time

Just for Tonight

A sleazy smattering of shitty r&b and even shittier rap. The beat hits about as hard as a wheelchair bound senior citizen and the lyrics are about as stimulating as high school geography. It’s all as bad as it sounds and if a girl falls for the game being spit then bollocks to her and her nativity:

Just for Tonight

Pipe it Up

A not so creative spin on the overused catch phrase turnt up. The beat is recycled several times over and sounds as if it’s been the sonic backdrop for about half he album. They want to bring the energy up, but that’s like asking someone who just ate McDonalds to run a double marathon. Impossible:

Pipe it Up

Gangsta Rap

Migos is about as gangsta as Betty White is sexy. There’s no credibility to back their claims and even if there was they’re so far removed from that lifestyle it makes their rhymes seem like a comical gesture. It’s an anthem to a life they know little about, which shows in the generic title:

Gangsta Rap

Playa Playa

If the beats got any more simple we would be entering amateur status. The lyrics support that notion as well as it does little to incite anything other than a giant yawn. The theme is losing weight as the album goes on and the creative currency they’re brandishing is quickly losing its value:

Playa Playa

Cocaina

A collaboration between the worst rappers the culture has seen since its inception. There is little to be excited about; as close to the bottom as you’re going to get. Celebrating drug culture is one thing but to mindlessly repeat a mantra is proof that none of these artists are worth the time:

Cocaina

Trap Funk

Just when you think it can’t get any worse it does, which may be the only notable thing about the album; so bad that it makes history. The driving hook is a rehash of the others and the lyrical direction is moving in one giant circle, a distressing example of the type of rap flooding the airwaves:

Trap Funk

What a Feeling

An obtuse street anthem that struggles to resonate. There isn’t anything worth getting excited about, so the only thing to do is to close your eyes and imagine the lifestyle, which is exactly what they want. But even then it’s a fleeting burst of artificial flavor, the Fruit Stripe gum of rap:

What a Feeling

Recognition

As if there was any doubt as to what they were in it for, they now have to go out and state the obvious. It’s supposed to be sentimental but is mostly just annoying. The bass is too much, the lyrics are too little and together it’s a lot of nonsense, an appropriate way to close the album:

Recognition