Yeat
AftërLyfe

A bit of context for those not familiar with the industry: year of our Lord, 2021. Within the trap current, a new trend emerges from the murkiest depths of the web, drawing heavily from the hyperpop movement and cleaning up its muddier sides, redefining it with a softer, cloudier perspective. What emerges is christened as "Rage Music".

Among the main exponents of this niche, someone who has managed to carve out their own space, gaining increasing attention, is Yeat, an American rapper of Mexican and Romanian origins. What attracts an ever-growing audience is his offering, a reverberation of digital gurgles and distorted echoes. The voice, a sign of human tangibility, is constantly buried under tons of autotune and vocoder, becoming an integral part of that noisy and gargantuan robotic orgy.

"AftërLyfe" is the latest piece of this delirious dystopian prosopopeia, which began two years ago, an authentic manifesto and the hyper-caloric version of the rapper.

The album presents itself as a gargantuan feast of sound distortions and industrial noises, rich with numerous techno rave incursions and glitch outbursts. The language becomes increasingly incomprehensible and alienating. Listening to the 22 tracks that make up the hefty tracklist is a truly delirious waking nightmare, with a more acidic and rough first part, and the second more relaxed in tone, almost lysergic (with the final triplet unfortunately dampening the tones excessively).

Yeat's rap, it must be said, does not deviate from the usual and predictable macho and materialistic mimics. It lacks the full melodic sense of a Lil Uzi Vert and the potential for internet meme trashiness of a Playboi Carti, but the word paradoxically manages to take a backseat, ending up engulfed in this musical swamp, getting lost in the general chaos.

The definitive monument of this rap subgenre. Not for everyone.