Wednesday, May 9th, 2018

Lil Pump – Esskeetit

Plain ol jane, told a story about a xan…


Iain Mew: The same quick fire repetition as “Gucci Gang,” but trying to repeat that standard of catchiness is a futile task. The resultant misfire doesn’t leave much positive but there are at least some exceptional rubbery blunt synth sounds. 

Joshua Minsoo Kim: During my first listen, my immediate thought was of worry: surely Lil Pump can’t sustain an entire song for three minutes? “Gucci Gang” was good precisely because of how short it was, ensuring that its repetitious hook would be the only thing lodged into one’s memory; it didn’t matter that the rest of the song was mediocre. Interestingly, “Esskeetit” finds Lil Pump rapping better than before (compare it with last year’s similar “Crazy“) and making concerted efforts to work with its wobbling beat. The experience is thus more appreciated in the moment–particularly the titular adlib–than in one’s mind afterward. I’m not sure if that makes him more enjoyable.

Ryo Miyauchi: It would mean a whole lot if the Migos could sound this energized again, but if they had to give up all ambition to spin out creative ways to talk about their drugs and jewels… I’d rather keep Culture II and let them do their current thing.

Andy Hutchins: First: Ess not. Second: Lil Pump is the first musical artist who has ever made me feel genuinely old — and it’s not that I don’t understand the appeal. But I don’t understand wanting to be in the demographic, which seems to be 15-year-olds who can only be bothered to understand two or three bars per rap song, fantasize about drugs and sex partners constantly, and need their music as shrill as possible. “ESSKEETIT” is a human fire alarm, and it stands out even among the endlessly shouty South Florida Soundcloud Machine — when they use it, Gloria, sue them — as an attention-getter. But there’s nothing worth keeping here, just too-fast flows about ice and rides and X over a too-loud synth run that will embarrass those who were fond of it ages and ages hence.

Jonathan Bogart: In the 1940s and 50s, when teenaged hillbillies and prematurely middle-aged sharecroppers found themselves unexpectedly famous and at least temporarily wealthy thanks to postwar consumer booms that swept up electric blues, western boogie, and rock & roll, they would generally make records about the Cadillacs and other signifiers of nouveau riche gaucherie they were now able to flaunt, often suggesting with not imperceptive cynicism that it was now these trappings rather than their own inherent mojo which made them sexually appealing. Nothing changes but the flavor of elder-disturbing ruckus and the brand names invoked to ward off destruction and decay, here in the death spiral of exceptionalist capitalism.

Juana Giaimo: You know, I couldn’t care less about Lil Pump’s boring bragging. And those background shouts at the end of his lines, remind me of a high school bully whose stupid jokes only survive because there are other stupid people laughing at them. 

Julian Axelrod: It’s depressing, if unsurprising, how quickly the Soundcloud scene sold out. While I can’t begrudge a xan’d-out teen for taking an $8 million deal, it’s jarring to see a movement touted as punk rock eagerly careen into the world of endorsement deals and Noah Cyrus features. To this end, “Esskeetit” isn’t a song so much as a promise of Snapchat filters and Urban Outfitters lines to come. The titular catchphrase isn’t even interesting enough to carry a track, much less a career, and Lil Pump’s unyielding commitment to this undercooked bit suggests he’s trying to become DJ Khaled for guys who spent the last week roasting DJ Khaled on Twitter. But Khaled has an excuse for selling out; after all, he has an unhappy wife and exploited child to support. Pump’s doing it for the same reason 17-year-olds do anything: boredom and desperation.

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