“Fuck,” Ken Carson mutters on “Jennifer’s Body,” as KP Beatz and Lucian’s cybernetic beat starts, stops, starts, stops, like a heaving spacecraft that just needs a good kick. (He said it’s a Green Day reference.) Strange, gleeful moments like this signal his considered approach to curating his new album, A Great Chaos, designed with restless attention to damage—on loop, it could soundtrack a never-ending moshpit. The beats are some of the hardest Ken’s ever rapped on, but A Great Chaos transcends via its details—in the folds of its rich, Atlantan production, in Ken’s vastly expanded arsenal of vocal stunts and inflections—fleshing out the world of an artist who previously hinted at this promise in fits and starts.
Ken Carson is a lot of things: Playboi Carti protégé turned star in his own right, excellent beat selector, style and swag influence to lots of young people. Somehow, still, the last thing I’d call him is “a good rapper.” Infusing Future and Thug’s straight-line flows and restless chants—and almost none of their personality or writing—with the artificial cool of a Mentos, he tends to lapse into wallpaper rage rap, the kind his young fans will pay money to see live because Carti hasn’t dropped in almost three years. They can barely explain what they like about his music.
Well, something shifted on A Great Chaos. Within the churn of these outrageous beats, Ken sounds alive, funneling his hedonistic tendencies into joyously unholy music. Just a couple minutes shorter than his last album, the limp X (which sounds even more lifeless now), Chaos feels brisker due to its more calculated sequencing. As in the past, production is handled collaboratively by a familiar cadre of artists: Dutch producers Starboy and Outtatown, Working on Dying’s F1LTHY, Lucian, Ssor.t, Lukrative of the collective Neilaworld, to name a few. Refreshingly, instead of copy-pasting rage beats or trying to chase after an abstract notion of punk, this album achieves some of its most monstrous moments by flipping the script on Atlanta rap for a new generation. Check the tumbling keys and organ glissando on the epic “Me N My Kup,” or how the descending, Lex Luger-esque snare roll on “Singapore” introduces an icy duet with Opium labelmate Destroy Lonely. That transitions into the thrillingly blown-out “Lose It” (which asks, What if Ken Carson dropped a late-2000s Gucci Mane tape?) and then into the bludgeoning “Hardcore,” where Ken pulls a WIZRD-era Future, repeating the same four words so that their shape and texture is pulled apart and reconfigured like clay.