Album Review: Injury Reserve - Self-Titled
The three-man partnership of producer Parker Corey and rappers Ritchie With a T and Stepa J Groggs has been on the rise for a while, yet for all the conversation surrounding their 2016 mixtape Floss and their 2017 EP Drive It Like It's Stolen, Injury Reserve remain encumbered by a vaguely present inexperience that probably should have been ironed over by this point in their careers. Their fresh and innovative elements cannot help but feel like pale imitations of more refined contemporaries: the experimental fury of JPEGMAFIA, the boyish camaraderie of BROCKHAMPTON, the intricate and melancholy lyricism of Billy Woods. On this, their self-titled debut album, the group proves at least that their ambition has developed, even if little else has; that the record is so enjoyable can be attributed to the moments when all the pieces coalesce to create hip-hop as worthy of recognition as that of their peers.
Even if not every cut is stellar, that the group can shift so effortlessly between various instrumental and lyrical styles is impressive. Jawbreaker, while it may believe itself to be funnier than it actually is, does more than earn a chuckle at the group's absurd discussions of modern fashion's extravagance, the playful beat and exuberant guest verse from Rico Nasty only adding to the track's whimsical nature. The eerie resemblance of GTFU and Jailbreak the Tesla to the work of SOPHIE is distracting (though the appeal of copying her style is undeniable), but despite the offbeat, inane production being the perfect fit for a verse from Aminé, Injury Reserve's members struggle to keep up with his energy. These early cuts also demonstrate an amateurish edge to the group's rapping; particularly with Ritchie, who frequently sounds at least a tad offbeat and is not lyrically talented enough to make up for it.
The group is far from subtle with their distaste for the repetitive nature of modern trap music; Rap Song Tutorial has them literally laying out each of the steps in creating a formulaic chart-topper. A robotic voice walks the listener through the entire process: choose the drums, add a melody, record a hook flaunting one's wealth, repeat a dozen times to create an album; all the while the listener is simultaneously impressed and amused, and cannot help but laugh at the absurdity of it all. Still, it's hard to be too impressed at their wit given that by the time New Hawaii roles around, the group resorts to parroting some of these trendy sounds themselves, the DRAM feature only reinforcing how painfully mediocre of an R&B atrocity the song is. That so few tracks follow the creative example of the aforementioned Jawbreaker or the light-hearted piano melodies on Gravy n' Biscuits is unfortunate.
What a Year It's Been and Best Spot in the House both contain powerful moments of reflection surrounding the group's humble roots and the sacrifices made to get to where they are now, yet neither comes off as particularly immaculate. The latter is still a lyrical highlight of the record, with both rappers wresting with the guilt of not doing enough for someone close to them; Griggs speaks of his coma-stricken older brother, and Ritchie raps poignantly of a deceased friend: "Shit was juvenile, like how I was too cowardly to go to your fuckin' funeral/But still feel like rappin' about your death was fuckin' suitable?/Was I true to you, or usin' you?". The dour, depressing beat is a fitting backdrop, yet a lackluster chorus regrettably holds the song back from true greatness. The former cut opens, bizarrely, by sampling a beautiful track from post-rock band A Silver Mt. Zion which was nevertheless not meant to be rapped over. Even if Injury Reserve knew how to stay on beat it would likely still feel unstable; as it stands, that they eventually discard the sample in favour of tumultuous production and shouted vocals is only a slight improvement.
Luckily, the record ends on perhaps its highest note, with Three Man Weave demonstrating more than anything before the hidden talents of all three members. Parker Corey crafts a gorgeous, tranquil beat filled with tight percussion, keyboard embellishments, and flamboyant sax lines running rampant. Even if much of the album has already been spent in calculated nostalgia, here the tension between the group's wistful reminiscence and their youthful facade is finally eased, fading amidst the synth-heavy instrumental as Ritchie continually intones "My biggest worries were missin' a free throw/Now me, Groggs, and P doin' the three man weave, though".
Despite Injury Reserve's clear understanding of how to create compelling and entertaining hip-hop, their self-titled album is remarkably deficient of just that, with simply not enough tracks coming together as front-to-back demonstrations of their talent. The appeal of this record, then, lies not just in the sparse instances of perfection but also in the rougher, unpolished spaces of questionable decisions that cannot help but give brief glimpses at the potential genius of all three members. While it remains to be seen whether they eventually develop enough to truly deserve all the fanfare which surrounds them, it cannot be said that the hype is completely unwarranted, and it's easy to be optimistic about the future of a group this exciting.
7.5/10
Favourite Tracks: Gravy n' Biscuits, Wax On, Three Man Weave