(Yung Lean was himself an atrophied version of a Lil B archetype.) Widely varying in quality, these records can walk a fine line between trivializing their subjects, and casting them in a new light-violence as contemplated abstraction. There's a continuity to this strain of affected innocence and amateurism in current rap: consider the boyish playground vocal style of Rae Sremmurd as they rap about carrying extendos, the dreamlike ambience of Chief Keef's marginally popular but critically acclaimed 'Citgo,' or even Yung Lean's dry, monotone recitations of rap cliche. Which is to say it's quotable in any situation, stuffed with a lifetime's worth of stories, all tossed off in an unassuming drone.Ĭonsidering Drake's recent infatuation with Makonnen, it should be unsurprising he's been drawn to Dej's similarly moon-eyed detachment. Her uncensored reality is one of violent threats ('Let a nigga try me, try me, I'ma get his whole muthafuckin' family'), pop culture references ('Set it off like Jada Pinkett'), armored self-awareness ('Mind full of money, heart full of demons'), everyday irritants ('Gave him my number he won't stop calling'), and casually tragic asides ('I've been out my mind since they killed my cousin').

In this setting, Dej's lonely sing-song melody propels errant thoughts, as if she were singing to herself with no audience. It's the sonic topography of the Midwest, evoking open spaces under the unreal orange glow of city sodium lights. In combination with its propulsive kick drums, the record's soft washes of synthesizer and serene, reverb-heavy piano recall a local history of futurist Detroit techno as much as any local hip-hop antecedents. 'Try Me', released in early July, glides on an airy, atmospheric gem of a beat by Ypsilanti, Mich., producer DDS.

Dej loaf try me clean intro