Open Mike Eagle is an artist whose career I have followed closely. I met him back in 2004 when I was doing research for my undergraduate thesis in Koreatown, Los Angeles, where he was among a group of young MCs recording an album at JUiCE – Justice by Uniting in Creative Energy, a nonprofit, hip hop themed afterschool organization that offered creative tutelage in B-boying, DJing, graffiti art, and MCing. My interaction with him was limited but was enough to recognize the burgeoning talent, and I have watched as he has moved from Project Blowed little brother to Mello Music Group marquee talent, and now even professional wrestler with Mick Foley in his corner. Every time he shows up somewhere like Hannibal Buress’s short-lived Comedy Central show or an NPR Tiny Desk Concert, I geek out and tell everyone how I used to kinda sorta know him. We were chatting many years ago when I was doing more hip hop writing, but at that exact moment my marriage fell apart, I went back to working full time, and my life more generally went to shit so I never got to follow through with the interview we had discussed. C’est la vie, but I still wish I would’ve made it happen.
The point here is that I’ve paid careful attention to his artistic output, and while I have genuinely enjoyed all of it, his newest EP, What Happens When I Try To Relax, has become an instant favorite. It is six tracks of back-to-back bangers, filled with intricate rhymes, dynamic rhythmic cadences, and ethereal boom bap, and it is extremely easy to just let it play on repeat two or even three times in a row. In an age of hit singles and disposable full-lengths, that is saying something.
Mike’s flow has always been fluid and melodic, but he takes his delivery to another level here. He jumps and drops vocal registers at will, altering between a rhythmic pattern of triplets to eighth notes and back again. He has always penned exceptionally intelligent rhymes filled with emotional ambivalence and incisive humor, but here he sounds as confident as I’ve ever heard him.
The more aggressive style suits him, as his vocals are placed front and center in the mix, putting the focus squarely on Mike’s rhymes, which are, quite frankly, ridiculous. He’s got one-liners, punch lines, political commentary – the whole shebang – and none of it sounds forced. “Every Single Thing” shows the full range, from the poignant critique of racial violence and Trump’s absurd claim of “blame on both sides” –
“And black life value is not a size
So what you mean if you askin us to compromise?
If you a citizen it’s automatic qualify
His momma keep the boy picture in wallet size
You should be on the floor cryin
How it’s both sides? We ain’t both dyin”
– to the hilarious boast, “I’m comin off the top at the Hammerstein – I won’t even stop when it’s Hammer time!”
These gems are littered throughout the album. In OME’s capable hands, the most mundane details become profound, such as when he observes of his current (relatively) privileged position, “Everything ain’t great but I can do worse – I can go to the dentist when my tooth hurt” on “Microfiche.” Later on that song, he shows the younger generation how to pull off hashtag rap when he complains of annoying people in his life, “They got my stomach upset – Kaopectate.”
On an EP full of standouts, the true jaw dropper is “Southside Eagle,” which alternates between incredibly down-to-earth boasts (“I’ve been on every podcast that I listen to”) and sober introspection (“I made a audio mural you can walk through about my auntie that I don’t even talk to”). Both verses land their hardest punch with the uncomfortably pointed, “Tryna reach black kids in a room full of whites,” a line which harkens back to Ice Cube’s notion of white kids eavesdropping on hip hop. It also reminds me of a Tupac quote where he discusses the accusation that he glorifies violence:
“There’s a bad part because kids see that and mimic you. I haven’t figured that out yet. But the positive side is the kids who live in a house where the mother is a crackhead, he hears the rap. He’s like, “That’s every day. So I don’t have to feel ashamed.” It cuts both ways. To me, it’s like, when I sing: “I live the Thug Life, baby, I’m hopeless,” one person might hear that and just like the way it sounds. But I’m doing it for the kid that lives a Thug Life and feels like it’s hopeless. So when I say, “hopeless,” and when I say it like that, it’s like I reach him. And even if, when I reach him, it makes it look glorious to the guy that doesn’t live that life, I can’t help it. It’s a fad. He’ll drop the Thug Life soon. But for the person I tried to reach, he’ll pick it up, and I’ll be able to talk to him.”
That is just my mind going in its own directions while listening, but the notion of intended and unintended audiences clearly has a lot of resonance within hip hop, especially within the context of white cooptation of black music in America.
I don’t have time to go into every highlight on the EP, because there are entirely too many. Like when he brags, “I murdered Dracula in Castlevania,” or confidently asserts his own place in the game: “I saw Kendrick at Leimert and didn’t say shit / I saw Vince at the club and didn’t say shit / Cuz this independent hustle is adjacent.” Perhaps the best is the flex, “Confident – I keep my password on my license plate.” The album has only been out for two days but so many memorable moments are already etched in my mind. In a year with few standouts, I am confident this will make my best-of list.
