The Wholesome Versatility Of Jim Legxacy’s black british music
Igoris Tarran
At some point years after folks like Q-Tip, Pharrell, and André 3000 first embodied it, the term “genre-blending” became the most annoyingly vapid descriptor in my inbox. Gradually, a compound adjective that had once been reserved for people like Lauryn Hill or Kanye became lifeless boilerplate copy for any shitty artist who listened to Nirvana once and decided they were “more than just a rapper.” For every Doja Cat or Trippie Redd, there’s 10 or 11 who are a few flops away from becoming either an IG model or a morally ambiguous streamer. The thing is, “blending” suggests control, and you can’t control something you never really grasped in the first place. But sounds are a lot easier to corral when you create them yourself. As his own primary producer, Jim Legxacy flaunts the deft, improvisational control of Jérémy Doku. The producer-rapper swirled disparate sonic elements for his breakout 2023 album, homeless nigga pop music, and he makes the mix even more seamless — and more expansive — black british music, a mixtape that oscillates between textures and feelings with an impressive dexterity that defines the best artists.
Sitting at a lithe yet sprawling 35 minutes, black british music lives up to its name, pulling from all the diasporic elements at the core of… well, Black British music. And beyond. For tracks like “Sun,” Legxacy swings into breezy afrobeat you’d hear at Tunnel Vision. “’06 Wayne Rooney” is vibey pop rock for the best Urban Outfitters commercial never made. It could have been mediocre if the lyrics weren’t woven in the thread of his own harrowing experiences. Here, he lets loose trenchant symbolism that carries heft without formulaic rigidity: “I’m unemployed, they hold me down by my feet/ My nigga went jail, I caught a uni degree/ I slept on the floor and I got dirt on my jeans/ I can’t pattern my life, too many holes in the seams.”
As a body of work, black british music is diverse. Ditto for its individual songs. Over the course of just a couple of minutes, genres and sensations multiply, with Legxacy’s spontaneity being a big bang that spawns micro universes. Tracks like “Father” are the best type of cross-pollination. The chipmunk vocal sample layered atop frenzied grime percussion evokes a childlike impulsivity; it’s a slap at the intersection of playful experimentation and fundamental production mastery. And yet, suffused with wounds of absentee fathers, it’s a collective portrait of damaged youth — a forlorn vignette of intergenerational and intercultural trauma that rap songs, genre-blending or not, can’t always help you escape.
If you could make a safe exit from despair, it might sound like “New David Bowie,” a jittery masterpiece of kineticism and emotional overflow. For that one, Legxacy burrows into the ornate discordance of jerk, grafting spurts of playful, intermittently half-sung bars over whimsical harpsichord, patois samples, and more sped-up pop vocals for a collage of scattered beauty. By the climax, you end up somewhere between wherever you’re sitting and spiritual catharsis. Legxacy holds it all together with unforced honesty and disarming wit. “I put my phone on DN — uh, uh, life of a sinner/ She don’t like no rapper, so I told her I’m a singer,” he spits on the track. Unlike most supposed genre-blenders, though, he’s actually both — even if a couple of the rock and afrobeats tracks scan slightly generic.
Coasting over the mistily nostalgic “Stick,” itself another shapeshifting aesthetic adventure, he flashes some tightly wound flow structures and quippy wordplay that drips in humor and pathos: “Sellin’ Charli to the brats/ Said I’m never going back.” On “3X,” he meets Dave’s well-honed agility with gentle melody. There’s a suppleness to it that emits smooth exasperation — an oxymoronic combo that requires some solid flexibility to generate. The symbiosis underscores the sophistication of the project.
To be clear, Legxacy is far from the first British act to swerve between genres. An implicit conceit of a mixtape title like black british music is that this eclecticism is the sound of the culture. But whereas Central Cee’s Can’t Rush Greatness followed stream-bait patterns with mandatory Lil Durk and Lil Baby features and rote, “Hey guys, this next song is this type of song” setups, Legxacy’s latest is connected by sequencing and transitions that can feel unwieldy, yet tidy. There’s an undercurrent of Cash Cobainian genius that renders it all as experimental as it is elegant — as borderless as Jim Legxacy’s outsized imagination.
COLD AS ICE
Drake - "What Did I Miss"
That’s right, Drizzy. Let it all out, buddy. In the end, all those courtside Laker games just didn’t mean as much as you should have thought they did. Maybe you weren’t quite the uncle figure or big bro you thought you were. Not only are there no new friends — there apparently aren’t old ones, either. But there are more new slaps. And all these betrayals will, I hope, lead you to make a lot more of them. I named my column after one of your songs. I don’t love you hanging out with all those lame MAGA streamer losers. I really hate you working with Stake. I really, really hate that UMG lawsuit. But I still believe. And “What Did I Miss” is, at the moment, reason enough.
Benny The Butcher - "Summer '25"
The Butcher’s coming — and I’ll be right here to quote his bars across all social media platforms. Here, he shows off some intriguing bball metaphors and a potential teaser, or at least an acknowledgement of the need for a new Griselda album.
Cash Cobain - "Feeeeeeeeel"
Cash Cobain x Brazilian funk is charming, flirty, fun, and — lest we forget — slizzy.
Loe Shimmy - "Tubi Movie"
Netflix & Chill is getting wayyyy too expensive. Let’s try out Tubi, word to Loe Shimmy and his penchant for chill delirium.
Monaleo - "We On Dat"
Monaleo pulls up with a dense slab of playful, sneering menace with a hook that’s fun to shout out loud. Not a hit, but I’m rockin’ with it nonetheless.
Don Toliver - "FWU"
With every new drop, I find more reason to listen to Don Toliver instead of Travis Scott. Here’s the hundredth.
Freddie Gibbs & The Alchemist - "1995"
It’s simple: Freddie Gibbs and ALC drop some new shit, I’ma listen to it. Good. And I’ma enjoy it. A lot. Here’s to hoping Alfredo 2 matches this one: “Belt to ass like Joseph Jackson, no relaxing.”
BabyChiefDoIt - "Went West"
BabyChiefDoIt went off on “Went West,” a customarily relentless track that’s as snarling as it is technically sharp. Jump on the Chief train while you still can. I’m not the conductor, but I’m sitting near the front pretending like I am.
Shoreline Mafia - "Rockin"
Listening to this takes me back to when Drakeo The Ruler was alive, SOB X RBE was just coming out, and our nihilistic hellscape was a bit less shitty.
