“Southside of the Moon” is a playful take on the age-old love story to hip-hop (“I’m from 300, she from 106 & Park/ BET Uncut, I used to see her in the dark”), told over producer DJ Camper’s minimal 808s, snaps, bass notes, and hums. KRIT is still capable of bringing scenes to life with a wide eye and a sharp pen, and certain moments showcase the warm sincerity of his earlier work.
Roses is more expansive in scope, encapsulating a four-act love story from first contact to breakup, sectioned off by the four elements: the early passion of fire the foundation of earth the familiarity and rhythm of water and the turbulence of wind, as he explained during a livestreamed album listening event. Roses‘s imbalance is a shame because its direction feels like a logical extension for KRIT His past love songs are as seamless as the fusion of his pet sounds, pulsing with the rush of first love or the gravity of an argument as the narrative demands. And though KRIT’s risktaking is commendable, the results flounder between earnest ballads and cover band hokeyness. Roses aims for a similar love-soaked retrofuturism as albums like OutKast’s StankoniaMac Miller’s The Divine Feminine, and Silk Sonic’s An Evening with Silk Sonic. Instead of subwoofer-shredding bass, Roses subscribes to the sleek funk style of bands like Sly and the Family Stone and Parliament-Funkadelic-sounds that his Dungeon Family progenitors would spend hours digging through crates to replicate. Between his 2017 double album 4eva Is a Mighty Long Time and 2020’s KRIT Iz Here, KRIT achieved a delicate balance of brash and introspective cuts, which has since been abandoned. The Mississippi rapper’s fifth studio album, Digital Roses Don’t Die, feels like the biggest curveball of his career, even for an artist used to go against the grain. But KRIT wasn’t so much wearing his influences on his letterman sleeve as he was creating his own patchwork from the same materials. Songs like 2010’s “Just Touched Down” and 2014’s “Soul Food” served as tributes to 8Ball & MJG and Goodie Mob, respectively-and weren’t in fashion at the time they came out.
His music-transfixed on the dichotomy between the trunk-rattling anthems and soulful grooves that dominated Southern rap from the mid-’90s to early 2000s-has persisted both for its otherness and overall quality. It’s no secret that Big KRIT is something of a rap anachronist.
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