The singles, “Chopstix” and “ Numb Numb Juice,” are much less jarring to the flow of the record than predecessors like Oxymoron’s “Man of the Year” and “Studio.” (Q will have you know that all the singles you hated the most went platinum.) The chaotic neutral storyteller of Habits & Contradictions and Blank Face shows out on “Tales” and “Attention,” but he’s a little more appreciative of a happy ending now, if only a little. You’re struck, in songs like “Black Folk” and “Dangerous,” by how impactful a writer he can be in a short space. The shift feels radical yet also natural. It’s the shortest, brightest work in the catalogue. You wonder sometimes how much he cares about radio.Ĭrash Talk is an attempt to bridge Q’s creative and commercial impulses, his somber thoughts and brilliant comedic timing. The gap in style from his singles to his deep cuts can be wide. His tenure as a major-label rapper has been a war between his impulses as a West Coast rap David Simon and the higher-ups’ desire to package his talents into hit records. His flows and wordplay are ice-pick sharp, and his storytelling makes excellent use of every line. Q’s vocal delivery is wild and unpredictable, but his chaos is controlled. Kendrick raps about philosophical crises, and Q writes about complicated quandaries he’s managed to think, plot, or fight his way out of. Their styles are unique but complementary each one’s body of work feels like a different planet in the same galaxy. The four rappers bonded in and after sessions at Top’s L.A. Through Top, Q met Ab-Soul, Jay Rock, and Kendrick Lamar, members of the hip-hop group best known as Black Hippy. By 21, he was good enough to get recruited by West Coast producer and label owner Anthony “Top Dawg” Tiffith for the hip-hop start-up Top Dawg Entertainment. Q, born Quincy Hanley, started rapping casually as a teen hustler in South Los Angeles. It’s the story of his life as a famous rapper - the old albums pulled from his days as a gang member. (He is, after all, only 32.) Q sees today’s new Crash Talk, his fifth album, as the correction to Blank Face’s somber mood. He jokes about not wanting to rap like he’s 40 years old anymore. He thinks the tone is too uniformly dark. He’s a bruiser on “Ride Out,” a detail-oriented storyteller on “Groovy Tony,” a capable singer on “By Any Means,” and a classic Cali gangsta rapper on “Str8 Ballin.” When I ask Q about Blank Face on a warm, overcast Tuesday in the New York offices, though, he seems bored with it. “I ain’t been right since out the cervix,” he rapped on “Torch,” the lead track on his 2016 Blank Face LP.
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