The roles and expectations of the performer and producer have become an increasingly popular symbiotic relationship within the world of hip-hop. Constantly striving to break new ground through experimental combination, we as an audience have only become more and more receptive to the removal of anonymity and praised those whose calling cards have helped to define a generation. The latest case of this supposed dynamic duo comes from infamously incompetent rapper NAV, and one of trap’s highflyers, producer Wheezy. Surging forward, on the back of a notoriously unstoppable hot streak of album abomination after abomination, heading into the project, I struggled to identify any complimentary benefit for Wheezy to be involved with the curious case of sentient AI that is NAV. At the end of it all, I come out the other end feeling just as puzzled.
Though it’s easy to see why his talents were called upon, as Wheezy essentially spoon feeds NAV his most versatile and colourful selection of instrumentals to date, his counterpart feels a constant malignant cancer. That’s exactly what ‘Emergency Tsunami’ is. With sparks of production genius bookending the album by Wheezy, I felt as though NAV had all the tools to break free of his eternal robotic antics and make his magnum opus. Instead, we are yet again starved as NAV repeats the exact same tricks that have constantly made his discography such a grueling experience. It is borderline amusing just how consistently NAV entertains all his criticisms, as ‘Emergency Tsunami’ feels like a NAV lover’s dream and my waking nightmare.
Despite trimming back the fat, and making a far more manageable tracklist, the 14 track epic – something NAV could realistically entertain – constantly runs thin, as it doesn’t even feel like NAV attempts to hide just how substanceless he is. We have the hollow ‘Friends & Family’ which sees NAV circling back to his superficial failsafe of debauchery and lavish living. It’s a tale as old as time, and one that manages to root itself excessively, without fail, into each and every NAV record. Whilst I had hoped a track titled ‘Friends & Family’ would be his eventual origin story packed with intimate imagery, it instead extends a topic that feels all but dried up.
NAV doesn’t pull the plug there, as I find his less than creative approach to topics is simply the tip of the iceberg that is his dysfunctional wordplay. Showing he isn’t afraid to flaunt his vapid poeticism, everything just feels so on the nose as more than a few one-liners end up as eye-rollers. ‘Nasty’ delivers on that promise, “I put ice on her neck, I’m keepin’ her cool, yeah/I’m a Scorpio, I can get nasty too”, as it feels as if NAV stops at nothing to prove just how out of touch and corny he can be. We get a glimpse into the ramblings of a mad man on the ironically named ‘Modest’. NAV provides some of his laziest and most childlike gems with, “Gettin’ to the cheese like cottage” & “I was down bad, eatin’ chicken on Tuesday, same time Pluto made “Honest”, on his anything but humble anthem. It’s an issue that was rife all over ‘Good Intentions’ and it’s clear as day that the sands of time haven’t made NAV any kinder to the idea of the metaphor.
This isn’t the only issue that seems to have spilled over from album to album. Staying true to the NAV character arc, it is that instantly identifiable (for all the wrong reasons) sub-human droning that essentially defines the album. It’s not like this is the case for just a handful of tracks, nor is it solely applicable to this album, but these colourless vocals are responsible for the bulk of NAV’s downfalls across his career. We have the nauseating ‘Vetement Socks’ which pictures NAV in quite possibly his most stiff and artificial light. There is no fluidity to his cadence or annunciation as his mutagenic approach reads like directionless malware code. It is simply so unenthusiastic and inexpressive I can’t even begin to comprehend what beneficial value his stagnant approach brings to his sound, as it spoils even the best of the scarce compositional elements.
Though littered across the whole album, the single greatest offense of this monotonous droning is strummed up on ‘Young Wheezy’. Here, NAV is joined by Gunna, as the two go back and forth, swapping their respective brands of bland. If it wasn’t a struggle enough to endure the tiresome robotics of NAV alone, it is simply overbearing being exposed to this one-two punch of co-existing audio tranquilizers. With their sleepy demeanor and a shared appreciation for this borderline comatose sound, there simply isn’t enough contrast on offer as the listen feels particularly deprived of variation. Pampered with one of the more one-dimensional instrumentals from Wheezy on the album, and it feels as if they ask too much of their audience.
Though he may be the worst offender, NAV is by no means the only one rinsing his absolutely criminal vocal stature on the album, as more than a few familiar faces similarly fail to wow. Enlisting the help of Gunna was simply step one in what feels like NAV’s masterplan to unite the entire rogue’s gallery of Young Thug’s cultist proteges. What is perhaps most astonishing, is just how carelessly each clone manages to reach new levels of unoriginal. We have ‘Don’t Need Friends’ which sees Lil Baby go toe to toe with NAV in the hopes of taking the title of the flattest and most one-dimensional performer. Virtually nothing here warrants applause, as very little separates this showing from the countless others Lil Baby feels inclined to donate to any commercially recognisable artist on the daily.
The shameless Thugger admiration is multiplied tenfold on the skeletal ‘Trains’. Here, NAV is joined by Lil Keed, the man that lauds over the title of the unquestionably most shameless imitator. Whilst I have always struggled to warm to his particularly derivative and uninventive sound historically, he sounds more redundant here than ever before. The parallels are undeniable, so much so that it is simply distracting, and borderline impossible to recognise him as anything other than Young Thug with a congested throat. NAV really does himself no favours here as he pulls out all the stops to celebrate his most unlikeable performance to date. Concerned with his trivial hoes and shallow death threats, it all just feels like a parodic fanfare.
Where ‘Emergency Tsunami’ shows glimpses of a desire to escape the constraints of a quintessentially NAV album is within the presence of external influences. Anything that works or anything that genuinely sparks interest is outside the jurisdiction of NAV’s reach. NAV is finally granted peace on ‘Repercussions’ as he gets the Young Thug feature he so desperately desires. Unfortunately, this is to the detriment of NAV talents. Stealing the spotlight, Thug condenses a variety of vocal acrobatics and intricate schemes into such a compact amount of time, a feat NAV could only dream of imitating.
The crooner is left hung out to dry, as he plays second fiddle again on ‘Do Ya Deed’. With its woozy, hypnotic synths and poignant keys, the atmospheric escape feels like the natural habitat for the omnipresent SahBabii. Like a prowler in the night, his ghoulish inflections feel as if he breathes down my neck, all whilst I’m left in wonderment at the sensory overload that is the otherworldly production. That same complimentary back and forth is lost instantly the moment NAV enters the equation, leaving me to question in what world ‘Do Ya Deed’ could sanely be classified as a song by NAV.
Given his significant contribution, I wouldn’t be doing my due diligence without crediting the efforts of Wheezy who essentially single-handedly makes ‘Emergency Tsunami’, no matter how marginally, a cut above your run of the mill NAV album. Persevering through distraction after distraction, I catch myself returning to Wheezy’s arrangements as the only salvageable aspect of ‘Emergency Tsunami’. Look, I’m not making a case for this being the single most mind-blowing production ever, in fact, Wheezy is far from reinventing the wheel here, but this truly feels like NAV’s do or die moment as the difference in production here, feels like night and day. Whether it be the stroke of eccentricity that is ignited by the zany, extraterrestrial synth passages on ‘Make It Right Back’, or those hell-raising horns on ‘Friends & Family’ that cut right through the mix with their unbashful, patriotic stature, Wheezy truly pulls out all the stops in an attempt to prove to the world that there’s something more to NAV.
Whilst some part of me is open to believing that, NAV has never provided any solid proof that there is. Furthermore, there’s no denying that even when given all the tools at his disposal, NAV simply refuses to shake the defining traits that make him such a challenging listen. I could sit here all day identifying what exactly works from Wheezy’s perspective, only to just as easily pick out multiple ways in which NAV is just a detrimental ticking time bomb waiting to explode. Constantly going against the grain on a myriad of tracks, with no identity, or purpose, I simply can’t ignore just how half-baked and indistinct everything is. Without focus, NAV is undisciplined, and without discipline, NAV feels like a windup toy who is left to constantly wander aimlessly.
At this point in his career, as harsh as it is to say, NAV just feels like a lost cause. With no signs of slowing down, and an almost harmfully oblivious approach defining each album cycle, I simply struggle to see what NAV adds in value other than glimpses of an inevitable technological takeover. Anything that warrants a return to ‘Emergency Tsunami’ is solely on the shoulders of his collaborators, as without them, what exactly is it that we get here that we haven’t already been subjected to in the NAV discography. Whilst he isn’t exactly breaking the status quo, I almost struggle to verbalise just how much more bearable Wheezy’s production makes this thing, as it feels like the first real spark of creativity I’ve heard circumventing the NAV narrative in a long time. From his repetitive hollow debauchery and braggadocio anthems to his inane lack of emotive empathy ‘Emergency Tsunami’ is NAV at his worst, simply re-packaged in the hopes of fooling listeners with a thin, deceitful veil.
Emergency Tsunami – NAV – 3/10
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