In the upset of the century, Travis Scott’s voice is not the first that you hear on JACKBOYS 2, the second iteration of the Houston rapper’s Cactus Jack compilation project. Ushering the listener into the label’s renegade world is the legendary Bun B, one-half of Texas rap icons UGK, touting the potential of Houston becoming the next rap stronghold, delivered in the form of a faux-radio interview. A fair amount of mythmaking and shot-calling occurs in the 30-second intro: Bun evokes DJ Screw’s immense impact and idyllic candy paint imagery before dropping an eye-widening statement, promising that JACKBOYS 2 will be the record to convince the rest of the country that Houston is up next. The claim is uttered in such a terse manner that it almost feels sarcastic when it hits your eardrums.
Yet, it falls in line with Travis’ bulletproof self-efficacy. In the years since the 2019 release of JACKBOYS, his standing as one of rap’s resident raging superstars has rarely been challenged, despite all the tragedy and tabloid gossip. He’s ballooned to the size of a red giant star, wielding spectacles like Astroworld and UTOPIA to move weight in merchandise and ticket sales with an unnerving constancy.
But as Cactus Jack’s label head, Travis’ attention has been somewhat neglectful. It’s hard out there for the likes of Don Toliver, SoFaygo (one album and a slew of low-impact EPs after signing in 2021), Sheck Wes (one full-length project since 2018), and the newly signed Wallie the Sensei. JACKBOYS 2 is another attempt to rectify this situation, where Travis tries to build a blockbuster event to let his charges showcase their stuff. Though, similar to the first edition, the Cactus Jack roster is relegated to supporting roles, reducing opportunities for an already shallow talent pool. It’s especially magnified by paint-by-numbers trap and rage production that coasts on the tenets what’s hot right now instead of pushing the envelope with quirkiness and individuality—whirring synths and pounding snares bleed together for songs at a time— while feeling devoid of earnest effort by its spearheading figure, manifesting in a record that pushes you closer to sleep than it does to rage.
It’s as if the crew attempted to translate the “big cinematic event” feeling that colors Travis’ albums (and, to a lesser extent, Toliver’s solo releases like 2021’s Life of a DON) into a compilation mixtape without any of the foundation needed to support it. It’s obvious from the outset: “Champain & Vacay” should break the doors down with Waka Flocka Flame ad-libs, but the subdued, spaced-out synths combine with Travis’ uninspired rebuttals at Pusha T creates a distractingly incongruous energy. It gets to the point where you begin to take Travis for his word when he raps, “On tracks not givin’ a fuck/On wax not givin’ a fuck,” on “2000 Excursion.” Even the superstar bells and whistles seem to be perfunctory on JACKBOYS 2—congratulations to 21 Savage’s ghostly ad-libs on “Kick Out” and Future and Playboi Carti’s obligatory weave over an unmemorable F1LTHY beat on “Where Was You”—which seems counterintuitive at its core.
Very little room is left for the rest of JACKBOYS to display any chemistry (with Travis or each other) or aptitude. They remind me of an AAU basketball team that never practices together, only showing up to the gym once a tournament to grab highlights for their own IG pages. Worthy clips are welcome surprises: Toliver’s Auto-Tune croons trying to break through the atmosphere, Wallie the Sensei’s saccharine vocal runs on “Can’t Stop,” and Sheck Wes’ free-wheeling repetition over producer AM’s subtle electronic beeps and whirs on “ILMB.” But there seems to be a basic misunderstanding about what it means to put your crew in the best position to succeed. The dizzying list of production credits somehow results in a flattened terrain where stock, hyper-efficient rage and trap beats drone in the background, helping to ensure that the few opportunities for Sheck Wes and SoFaygo to do Opium-karaoke are wholly unremarkable.
What is the point of JACKBOYS 2? The most cynical reading is that it exists as a “Travis Scott featuring …” project, solely designed to give Harmony Korine another chance to make a short film and let Travis peddle another merch package. But evidenced by the fact that the Houston superstar is only a positive contributor in sparse moments—meeting the occasion earnestly to match Glorilla’s raucous energy on “Shyne” (justice for the dueling Barrington Levy impressions) and handing the ball off to SahBabii on “Beep Beep”—this doesn’t feel like an adequate answer. Showing the fruits of Cactus Jack Records’ roster also does not seem to be the priority, either, making one question Travis’ ability to boost anyone’s profile, save for Toliver and his nicely carved niche.
Occam’s razor, then, says this is a collection of loose cuts from each artist strewn together as physical proof that the JACKBOYS crew still exists, at least in name. It does make you think of Bun B’s unfulfilled promise on the introduction and wince, wondering what it means that the city’s biggest star’s vision for the future rings so hollow.
ALBUM REVIEWS
The leather jackets and skinny jeans worn by Noah Dillon and Chandler Ransom Lucy have become something of a signature, and the pair have hovered around the edges of the pop worlds in New York and Los Angeles for quite some time. First highlighted by NME during the Dimes Square resurgence in 2023, The Hellp have gradually stepped away from their earlier indie-sleaze imitation and leaned into something far more thoughtful. Their wild, neon-tinged party vibe has been traded for a more cinematic electronic approach that still holds onto a confident, self-aware attitude.
Dillon and Lucy started releasing music as The Hellp in 2016, with early mixtapes rooted in the chaotic nights and carefree behaviour once associated with NYC’s indie-sleaze staples like LCD Soundsystem and Yeah Yeah Yeahs. Over time, though, they’ve earned a steadily growing respect from critics. That rise has come through both their underground gigs, which have included a show at London’s Corsica Studios with Fakemink as support, and through Dillon’s expanding visual work that recently reached Rosalía’s ‘LUX’ album and a pair of music videos for 2hollis.
As ‘Riviera’ approached release, the duo shared: “We knew our next project would need to be a bit more mature… we refuse to become stagnant. ‘Riviera’ is more solemn, restrained and impassioned than anything we’ve done before.” The finished album feels like Dillon and Lucy carefully balancing identity and openness, theatricality and direct emotion.
The lead release, ‘Country Road’, carries a late-night heaviness, the kind of confession you would quietly tell a friend in a club’s smoking area. Its lonely tone is surrounded by glitching electronics and a rising bridge that points to the exhaustion that follows endless nights out. Tracks like ‘New Wave America’ and ‘Cortt’ deepen what the duo mention in their liner notes as a “desperate story of the disparate Americana.” Both pieces broaden the album’s emotional landscape and offer clear-eyed commentary on reluctantly stepping into adulthood.
When ‘Riviera’ shifts into ‘Doppler’, the tone brightens for a moment as hopeful synths lift Dillon’s words about yearning and heartbreak into an emotional peak. And in the final moments of the record, The Hellp land on something instantly familiar to anyone who has drifted away from the club scene. The Kavinsky-like opening of ‘Here I Am’ nods to their early inspirations, while the closing track ‘Live Forever’ arrives with a slow, grounded maturity, built around Dillon repeating the line: “I don’t want to live forever.”
‘Riviera’ holds far less disorder than The Hellp’s earlier releases. This turn inward marks an important risk for a duo once fuelled by the momentum of a downtown New York comeback. By easing off the frenzy, The Hellp have stepped out of the party’s lingering haze and returned with a style that feels more refined and more aware of itself than anything they have created before.
