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
Grandeur sits at the heart of ‘This Music May Contain Hope’, RAYE’s second album, and the result feels nothing short of breathtaking. On this record, the singer born Rachel Keen explores a wide spectrum of sounds across its 73 minute length, moving from emotional ballads to lively funk moments and the jazz pop style she has become closely associated with. It can feel overwhelming at first, yet the magic that comes from RAYE fully committing to her vision makes the experience rewarding from start to finish.
‘This Music May Contain Hope’, a conceptual project about pushing through insecurity and heartbreak, unfolds like a lavish stage production. RAYE takes on the dual role of main character and guiding voice throughout the story. “Allow me to set the scene. Our story begins at 2:27am on a rainy night in Paris. Cue the thunder,” she says during the opening track ‘Girl Under The Grey Cloud’, which arrives with sweeping orchestral strings. Spoken passages appear across the album, helping shape the narrative and giving the project a sense of direction, almost like hearing the official recording of a Broadway show.
With this framework in place, the South London artist allows herself to fully explore the album’s diverse musical palette, and most of the time it works in her favor. Sometimes she fully embraces the theatrical side of the concept, especially during the closing section of the smooth R&B track ‘The WhatsApp Shakespeare’. Other moments are delivered more straightforwardly, such as the emotional slow building ballad ‘I Know You’re Hurting’. She also revisits her earlier dance influences with the impressive house track ‘Life Boat’.
Across the entire album, two things stand out clearly. RAYE’s flexible vocals sound better than ever, and her songwriting feels sharper than it has before. Take the playful highlight ‘I Hate The Way I Look Today’, a swing jazz inspired track reminiscent of Ella Fitzgerald, where she admits “I’m okay to be lonely / If I’m lonely and skinny / I have such silly self-loathing thoughts, it seems”. Then there is the emotional storytelling in ‘Nightingale Lane’: “It was right there, early June / Next to Old Park Avenue / Standing in the rain, I watched him walk away”.
Despite all the vulnerability and emotional struggles explored throughout the record, RAYE ultimately reaches a place of optimism, staying true to the album’s title. She gathers her close friends on ‘Click Clack Symphony’ with support from Hans Zimmer, finds closure with guidance from Al Green on the smooth seventies soul inspired ‘Goodbye Henry’, and reaches toward something greater alongside her sisters Amma and Absolutely on the uplifting ‘Joy’ as she searches to be “free of all the pain and every fear”. After the stormy opening imagery of that “rainy night” and “thunder”, RAYE eventually realizes that “the sun exists behind the clouds”, as she shares on ‘Happier Times Ahead’.
‘This Music May Contain Hope’ shows RAYE performing at her absolute peak. The album feels huge in scale and emotionally powerful, yet it remains rooted in honest experiences and real feelings. Yes, it asks a lot from the listener, but that is also what makes it so special. Every dramatic moment and musical shift feels like RAYE claiming her independence and finally creating music entirely on her own terms.
