Rocky isn’t the same person spitting confidently over tripped-out Clams Casino tunes since he first rode into our collective consciousness on the handlebars of A$AP Nast’s bike. While that aesthetic is still present-“Fine Whine” sounds like Rocky recorded his vocals in a bottle of molasses-there’s the inevitable departure from the norm, as to be expected on a sophomore release. While Rocky has admitted that psychedelic music (and light dalliances with drugs) aided in the recording process as a means of coping with the death of A$AP Mob founder A$AP Yams, initial responses that this is a “druggy” album fall flat considering Rocky’s entire catalog.

The sound of this album is a stark departure from the constantly flowing codeine drip of earlier A$AP projects. Avoiding those trappings is a blessing since Rocky’s best songs usually aren’t any of the singles, but more importantly, it confirms that the Harlem native doesn’t NEED to do those things to stay relevant anymore. This time, there’s no ploy for a crossover hit, no awkward shoehorning into a Skrillex song, or bloated collab tracks featuring every blog-popular rapper at the time to be found anywhere. On his second album, Rocky (born Rakim Mayers) continues exploring, inviting new collaborators and even giving up rapping entirely (on single and standout “L.$.D”). A hell-raising pretty boy clad in designer fashions like the legions of those that came before him, dude does a lot even when it turns out he’s not really doing anything of interest. Dude is a bona fide All-American rock star, the type who uses good looks and a magnetic personality to bed gorgeous celebrities and vaguely ethnic models who peddle waist shapers on Instagram.

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