What would Gravity’s Rainbow sound like as a rap album? Here is an album which, if we may, reminds the listener of their whispered allegiances to fundamental realities. The brushstrokes are delicate, stabbing, pointed. The overwhelming crescendo they whirl towards may be one of bitterness, and rightfully so. There is also lightness. A black man is giggling and pointing at you. It may have everything and nothing to do with rap and one’s place in it. Humiliation, no longer a threat—but a reality, has been exhausted. Perfect Hair is what remains.

The album vibrates, oscillating between journalistic extremes du jour, occupying a space few have let rap extend to. It is neither cheerful nor depressing, beyond those qualifiers. The rapper, having moved past the limited authority of rejection or ostracization, has arrived at a truth.

A Whole Crew of characters weave their way across the shifting stage. Aesop Rock, Danny Brown, Open Mike Eagle and Pegasus Warning all spit directly earwards.