On his Fool’s Gold debut, the anxious and acerbic rapper knows he’s rounded a corner in his career, but remains on edge, his eyes glued to the rearview mirror.
Chris Crack has adapted to the streaming era like a runner to a hill. Seemingly emboldened by the demand for shorter songs, he’s turned the inhospitable dynamics of the attention economy into a personal challenge to be more visible, more fleet. Even when his songs are short they never feel breathless; they are filled with personality and purpose. Might Delete Later, his sixth album in 10 months, continues down this path and deviates from it, to mixed results.
There’s a victory-lap feeling to the record. Released by Fool’s Gold, Might Delete Later is Chris’ label debut, a fact that’s more a backdrop than a selling point. While the songs here are notably longer, and he works with artists and producers beyond his usual tight circle of Cutta and Jimi Wingate, Chris remains on edge. For every celebratory line like, “I ain’t going back to my villain ways/Shit, I’m stomping in Gucci, spilling this lemonade,” off “Poisonous Paragraphs,” there’s a sobering rejoinder like, “Our lives decided by them white mouths and shaded boxes,” from the same song. Chris knows he’s rounded a corner in his career, but his eyes remain glued to the rearview mirror.
That swing between relief and anxiety powers his stream-of-conscious raps, which are full of sharp turns that range from absurd to consoling. “Fapping Ruined My Life,” a hookless song reminiscent of Danny Brown’s J Dilla-influenced Detroit State of Mind mixtapes, bounces from insults to personal disclosures. “Said that it was jammin’ with your sister and your mama, and they sandwiched me/I handled it/Let me speak to management, that’s damagin’/Fuck this rap shit/Man, I’d rather be a good dad,” he raps, breaking the rhyme scheme for the last line. His verses are constantly splitting off and opening up, giving his songs a sense of propulsion and surprise.
The production is just as quicksilver, ranging from the silky soul loops Chris favors (“Jesus Dropped the Charges”) to horny R&B (“Creampies are Consensual”) to tinny G-funk (“Keisha Cole Slaw”). The album turns rudderless when Chris cedes the spotlight to guests, none of whom match his sense of economy or knack for color, but the varying production suits Chris well, especially in such quick succession. The three-song suite from “King of the Living Room” to “Raw Sex as Friends” showcases the elasticity of his voice, a quality that could be muted in his past albums, which would often inhabit a single mood or style for their entire runtime.
Though lively, the record’s shapeshifting isn’t always rewarding. From empty couplets like “10 bad bitches dancing ’round my house with pimp canes/Piccolo or Dende” and duds like “She a bird like Hitchcock” to the middling features, Might Delete Later misfires more than usual. And even when Chris’ focused, Might Delete Later lacks the self-discovery and introspection that’s powered Chris’ previous albums, especially 2020’s charmingly twee Cute Boys and pimp-inspired Washed Rappers Ain’t Legends. Where the record’s title implies vulnerability so risky it’s immediately regrettable, in practice Chris is often distant and mechanical, never quite baring his soul. Chris has found his footing in the algorithm, but he’s always been more interesting when he’s hellbent on hacking it.
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