Mistakes were made here, but all of them started with choosing that beat. Based solely upon his fashion choices, his clumsy try-hard bar game, and his affinity for uptempo circus music dogshit beats, I’m going to wager that Greesy is a huge Marshall Mathers LP fan. (Parley: he also listens to Yelawolf, willingly.)
I feel equally comfortable betting that there is too nothing much different from “Gut Wenching” in his catalog. There are some uplifting ballads about how you’ve gotta believe in yourself, even when life gets hard. There are some party songs about being young, free & fucked up. The rest is all “real hip hop” wank like this, rambling journal entries from an emotionally arrested adolescent.
And so what? Considering he’s making music for young, doomed Australians just like himself, he doesn’t need too much else to keep touring down under. An inspirational success story, a debut LP full of features, and some catchy hooks for the happy drunks. He’s not about to tour the world, but it’s good enough for Perth.
Which is not to say it’s actually good. The most impressive aspect of Greesy’s delivery is a mystery: how does he manage to make one of the coolest accents in the English language sound more like an acute speech impediment? He writes precise bars but his enunciation is weirdly clipped, as if his very lips & trachea were rebelling against his own words. For all his high-energy rap hands, you can see the same animal panic in his eyes on camera, his body betraying the lie. “Truth will out,” as Willie Shakes taught us. It’s only hunger when it’s real.
Anywhere in these United States, “Gut Wrenching” would be a passable Soundcloud demo at best, so the most interesting thing about Greesy’s performance is the question it raises: is there good Australian rap? There absolutely must be, right? There are many millions of them, after all.
The British have managed to make an impressive showing over the past two decades. I still think their posh accents are too precious to be taken seriously, but I can’t front on the talent of master craftsmen like Jehst, D Double E or Roots Manuva. Limeys also gave us Slick Rick, whose impact on New York City was roughly on par with how the War of 1812 affected Washington, DC. What has Oz given us but Iggy Azalea? Let me know in the comments!
Yet another eminently forgettable cracker, out here rapping his raps. While I respect the work he’s clearly put in improve his penmanship, it is equally clear he’s already hit the hard ceiling of The Best He Can Do. Showing up counts for a lot, but it doesn’t always amount to much. One Dickie.
