Review Summary: The Machine's in his feelings.
Conway utters, “Do anybody care that I’m stressed?’ as if the answer is staring straight at him. There’s a level of vulnerability displayed that the New York artist has scarcely demonstrated in previous works, offering only fleeting glimpses behind a façade of gangster rap braggadocio and verses loaded with references to guns, fights—the whole nine yards of being the king of the game and taking no prisoners. Appropriately, it’s perhaps the most stripped-back production delivered by the Machine; contrary to the bombastic beats of
If It Bleeds It Can Be Killed, the contents of
God Don’t Make Mistakes are dependent on the distinct vocals of Desmond Price. Restrained piano-based passages dominate the record, creating a moody, atmospheric space that Conway populates with bars that viscerally deconstruct the illusion of a stoic emcee. The apex of this undoubtedly arrives in “Stressed”: an unburdening of all the loss that was always the subtext of Desmond’s work, only now emerging in a haunting contrast against glittering key arrangements. This is a man who saw the death of a son, lost a close relative to suicide, feels unwanted regularly by those around him, cannot stand the sight of his appearance in the mirror—anything and everything, Price feels it, and it hits him all at once. There’s a genuine sorrow in his wavering voice that cuts through the artist-to-listener divide like a knife, bringing the audience face-to-face with the uncomfortable realities of depression that are so infrequently spoken of. The entirety of
God Don’t Make Mistakes features the Machine as someone not unlike the rest of the world, leading to an exceptionally evocative experience and undoubtedly the most relatable LP Conway has crafted to date.
While “Stressed” is the crown jewel of the disc’s open nature, “Wild Chapters” places the Buffalo rapper in the same somber mindset as he reflects on his past, candidly admitting the errors he’s committed while trying to carve his own path. There’s an earnestness to his characteristic drawl that replaces the menacing confidence of numbers a la last year’s “Kill All Rats.” A slight haze seems to blanket the instrumental, casting a cloud over proceedings that follows in every melancholic piano note, hitting a pinnacle in a distorted, layered refrain that seems to descend from a separate plane. The Desmond style most are familiar with still remains even in this context, diversifying the runtime of the album’s concise 48-minute length. An eerie electronic loop personifies the violence of “John Woo Flick” as Conway, backed by Griselda veterans Benny the Butcher and Westside Gunn, flex their lyrical muscle concerning anyone that considers messing with them. But the beating heart of
God Don’t Make Mistakes rests firmly in tunes such as the closing title track, granting insight into the darkness that can affect anyone regardless of the disguise they wear. Conway ends the entry questioning his fortunes and misfortunes, weighing both and struggling to find conclusions as elegant key chords cascade in the background. Perhaps the proof is in the LP’s namesake and the final phone message sample of Desmond’s mother: all occurrences, like the scribblings of rap verses on scratch paper or being in the wrong car at the wrong time, happen for
some reason. This is the journey of a man as he grapples with his faults, his history, and how to move on. By the end of the day, it’s the same soundtrack so many live with in the daily grind of life: perpetually inquiring, confused, searching for solutions. It’s
real, and Conway lays down a stellar performance to illustrate every inch of the shadows.
