L I O

After Hours is a very interesting collective. The overall color and style of each MC doesn’t really differ that greatly. Each rapper seems prime for a fight. Ready to scrap at the first hint of someone showing them or their circle disrespect. “What Are We Doing” is an album from a group itching for a brawl. The kind of piss and vinegar on display at certain points of this album is actually breathtaking.

Pure Aggression

How does one describe “What Are We Doing”? In a word: Aggressive. The young men of After Hours don’t do anything by halves. Whether that’s a product of de facto leader Aydioslio’s personal drive and ambition or a need to prove a point. Without a doubt, these MCs hit fast and hard.

From first note to last, the pacing, delivery, and lyrical content is full throttle. “Hard Rock” and “Gyarados” set the tone almost recklessly. After Hours introduces themselves with a series of gun bars that would make the MCs in the Gun Titles crew nod their heads in surprised approval. (“Hit them with that two-two-three, I hit ’em out. You can’t talk that shit with that shit in your mouth”; “Hard Rock”)

Yes, lyrically After Hours doesn’t stray too far from their peers as far as composition and even lyrical content. Trap conventions with bits of rap-sing to perhaps soften the more combative lyrical content. Even the playfulness in GRP-produced tracks like “On Mama” and “Slob on My Nob” fill the listener with a feeling of unease. (“Shut that mouth. Watch me flip your insides out”; “On Mama”) There’s a threat in nearly every lyric. It makes the relative sameness in the production less of an issue.

Crocodile Tears

Indeed production-wise, the album is pretty one note. The backing tracks all pretty similar with little variance. The musical aspect doesn’t really start in earnest until “Monsoon.” Then again, the music very obviously takes a backseat to the MCs in After Hours. As with a great deal of contemporary hip hop, the music is just a vessel. 

It’s interesting, then, that just when the album begins to explore a different production perspective, the song style and lyrical content becomes less assertive. From the violent promise of the first third, “What Are We Doing” moves into heavily Drake-inspired crooning. Songs about sexual conquests, pseudo-affection, and crocodile tear-stained laments of momentary heartbreak.

The sudden shift from men ready for a brawl to a young man who fashions himself a sensitive lothario is jarring. It threw me enough out of the album that I had to listen to it in pieces over several days afterward. This second third of the album feels less genuine. There’s less at stake and even less emotional weight. (Even if that emotion is just raw and unfiltered hostility.)

Then the last third of this album… Damn!

Ruthless!

Beginning with “Wayne Popskiii” After Hours is out for blood. Each song is so aggressive, it might influence some listeners to make dangerously foolish choices.

“Wayne Popskiii” drives home just how nasty these guys are on a beat. A song that gives me serious “Groovy Tony” vibes. Perhaps not in terms of how lethal it is. But certainly in how dark it is in tone and delivery. That sensation that someone’s watching me creeping up the back of my neck. I believe the MCs.

They go for the jugular. Each word slicing like a serrated knife. (“I got a sweatshop worth ethic. I don’t give a single fuck. You cannot get a dollar outta me. I’m a p-i-m-p. And I feed my family. Lookin’ at you little motherfuckers, and I cannot understand why none of y’all can’t be authentic. Ode to your mama and a your daddy a bitch. And they had them a bitch. Man, ain’t that bitch?”)

Meanwhile, “Pyr.exe” has some of the album’s most interesting production choices. Carrying the conceit of a “cursed” or corrupted computer program so far as to influence the way the MC delivers his bars.

“Okay, Alright” re-introduces LATE LEE. I’ve talked ad nauseum about this young man’s continued evolution. He’s leveled up in an almost sinister way on this track. He doesn’t raise his voice a la “Bitch.” But he doesn’t rely on overexaggerated growling as with “Who Dat Boy.” Instead, he opts for quiet. Subdued. His delivery exerts its authority in a way I’ve not heard from him. There’s something dangerous in the quietness. Something that lurks in the shadows ready to attack.

“Warriors, Come Out to Play!”

“What Are We Doing” as a whole is a bit disjointed musically and thematically. However, there is a thick red line running throughout each track. The MCs. These young men know they’re bad. When they decide to get really serious, ladies and gentlemen, watch out. The last four songs on this album… I just have to shake my head with a snicker.

It goes without saying these gentlemen are smart MCs when inspired. For instance, note the intelligence of the double meaning of “Pyr.exe.” A funeral fire for all their victims meets the durability of Pyrex against any kind of heat.

I’m reminded of cult film “The Warriors.” A gang called the Baseball Furies. They enter the scene quietly, menacing, with malicious intent on their faces. Bats swinging a warning to their foes. Their presence alone gives one directive. Run. That same unease, fear for one’s safety oozed thick and nasty through the final third of this album. Even the album artwork is foreboding. A combination of the Dead Tree from “Pan’s Labyrinth,” Cerberus, and the goat horns of an archaic demon!

“What Are We Doing” they ask. The most, After Hours! You’re doing the absolute most. I tell you what. I’m here for it. Keep on like this. The sheer bravado and ballsy brashness shown here suggests there’s more up your sleeves.

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