Reject on Steroids

Midway through his new mixtape, Reject on Steroids, the rapper Conway snarls, “They want me on Freshman cover/But I’m a seasoned vet,” and he’s got the truth on his side—XXL asked him to apply. Aside from the occasional shout-out on Dipset epics, Buffalo, N.Y., was a complete non-factor in hip-hop before Conway and the MC Westside Gunn parlayed years of mixtape hustle into a recent deal with Eminem’s Shady Records. XXL might’ve leaked its Class of 2017 to Conway; on “The Vision,” he makes very specific complaints about rappers with painted nails and dyed, beaded dreads getting New York airplay, “like that shit’s normal.” He then threatens to solve this problem by emptying very large guns in their direction. Reject on Steroids—a quasi-sequel to Gunn’s Hitler on Steroids and preview of their Griselda on Steroids tour—is muscled-up new hip-hop for people who don’t find a lot to like about hip-hop’s new wave.

If you recognize the first proper track as an instrumental from Black Rob and the Lox’s 1999 track “Can I Live,” Reject on Steroids will be right up your alley. Conway doesn’t have a whole lot of concern for “real hip-hop” moralizing; he probably doesn’t care about Playboi Carti or XXXTentacion’s dedication to craft. He’s just pissed that Hot 97 would rather play them or Ed fucking Sheeran, when the commercially viable, local goon rap that once defined it still exists. The appearance of Prodigy, Raekwon, Jadakiss, and Styles P at the Griselda on Steroids stop in NYC is a reminder that those guys went platinum, so why not Conway?

Conway brags that he’s been called a combination of Biggie, Sean Price, and Beanie Sigel, but there’s far more of the latter two given his disinterest in pop hooks. Given Green Lantern’s involvement, Reject on Steroids something of a 2005 throwback, evoking aspects of Let’s Get It: Thug Motivation 101, The B. Coming, and We Got It 4 Cheap—intimidating, adrenaline-pumping projects that seemed like they existed in separate lanes. They converge in Conway, a street-level hustler who’s “come a long way from that fork and pot,” but not above stunting in a Tesla X and $4,000 shoes. He takes great pride in his rapping, but not in doing so for the sake of riddlin’; he speaks to Blogspot-era nostalgists who still check for guys who make entire tracks out of NBA punchlines (“Spurs”), mock Murder Inc. weed carriers, and reference “The Wire.”

Whatever your definition of “mumble rap” might be, Conway is the exact opposite, spitting clearly enunciated, precisely worded bars with just the right amount of satisfaction in their cleverness. Half of his face is actually paralyzed; Conway was shot in the back of his head in 2012, which caused him to develop Bell’s Palsy. He simultaneously glorifies and downplays this tragedy by saying it only “twisted my jaw,” though it now seems to give him an accent and sneer that could not be more suited for his self-impressed style.

But while Conway’s actual voice makes an impression, his voice as a writer doesn’t stand out as much. He’s not as distinctive as a lyrical stylist as Ka or Roc Marciano, though Reject on Steroids fits alongside their recent work as the New Sound of Old New York. The haunting, nearly beatless “Priest” is all but a Rosebudd’s Revenge B-side. But those seasoned vets are well into their late thirties and beyond, and Conway has major label backing. Judging from the work he and Westside Gunn have dropped since the Shady signing, it’s hard to imagine them being coerced into making compromises. The appearance of guys like Benny and an astoundingly corny Royce da 5'9" verse (“Lyin’ until you got a 12-inch nose, now you got three feet”) do serve as stark reminders that Conway could have easily landed in endless developmental limbo or, worse, marketed for syllable-counting Slaughterhouse fans.

We get occasional glimpses of how “The City of Good Neighbors” followed the path of so many other blue-collar, industrial cities into an unexpectedly blighted urban war zone. But “Through It All” doesn’t offer much of his come-up beyond the usual moral failings of frontrunners and gold diggers who weren’t there from the start. Perhaps it’s the nature of the project, but it often seems like Conway’s holding something back, just in case he has to tell the story all over again for the first time on his Shady debut. For the time being, Reject on Steroids feels more like a light workout than an Olympic victory lap.