TRAPMAT SAVIOR is fortunate indeed to keep such good company. As advantages go in this rap game, having both Nicholas Craven and Mike Shabb in your corner is far better than having rich parents, although Monsieur Savior seems to have that going for him, too. Live from Montreal’s ex-pat exodus melting pot, he reps Port-au-Prince but looks distinctly Levantine, and the story of Arabs in Haiti is a tale too long to tell here. (Word to Andre Apaid, though!)
The beat, of course, is exquisite. Nicholas Craven is a brand unto himself at this point, and for good reason. He is a grandmaster of the artform, and putting on your homies has a long, if not proud, tradition in this genre. Craven is under no obligation to answer to “fans” who only want to play fantasy football with beat placements. I am certain that TRAPMAT SAVIOR is a great dude, but nothing I’ve ever heard from him has moved me one millimeter. Even over this lush, gorgeous head-nodding canvas, his nonchalance falls flat. He surely has the effortless part down, but the mastery may never come.
“One weekend, I put up their whole salary.” Nothing changes much past that opening line: this is low-effort status brags from a low-effort rapper. He has referred to his style as “mumble bap,” hopefully the single stupidest fucking thing I have to read in 2026, but it’s only March. There should be at least fifty new subgenres coined by next year, right?
No matter what you call it, stripped of music video artifice and luxury sonics, his actual performances are more awkward than cool. Perhaps the most uncomfortable example would be his faceplant a year back for On The Radar, rocking a too-tight backpack and the body language of a shy child dissociating in public. None of that is really a liability in this modern era, and Lord knows that iconic neon sign has seen far worse.
Two albums deep now, TRAPMAT SAVIOR will surely abide, but the big question is whether he can convince people outside of the 514 that any of this drawling detachment matters much. I know he was trying to make inroads through NYC for a minute there, but they already have UFO Fev. Long-term, I suspect T. Savior will surprise us and hone in enough to start delivering Valee-level results with his chosen toolkit. Scientifically speaking, there is no clear evidence that top-shelf Montreal marijuana either helps or hinders that kind of artistic growth; it depends on you.
As for bars, ca va et au revoir, that bar has been set below sea level since the seismic 2017 XXL Freshman Cypher dropped. Coincidentally, T.S., Esq. has claimed Playboy Carti as an influence, too. What I perceive as incompetence might just be ingenious homage, then, non? I wrote then: “This Carti twink has all the energy and charisma of a teenage gas station cashier, his voice cracking as he hands you small change & avoids eye contact.” That act used to be cutting edge stuff, but now it’s a decade old, a crowded lane, a conveyor belt of lost addicts waiting to die young. (Word to Scooter Braun, though!)
The mumble bap wave has only just begin, but as El-P savagely said of Esoteric way back when: “You don’t innovate because you can’t innovate, it’s not a choice…despite what you might tell your boys.” Something needs to shift here: learning to rap better, getting way weirder & more melodic, or becoming a hook machine like 03 Greedo or Stove God; these are all acceptable answers. I have faith this dude will prove me wrong eventually, but imagine being so cottonmouth you need to have subtitles on your own shit! Two Dickies, one for the polished video and one for the wasted beat.
