Mach-Hommy doesn’t just seek to control his narrative; he keeps it under lock and key. Very little about the Haitian-American rapper’s life is public knowledge, and any details he offers in songs and interviews often raise more questions than answers. Still, there’s a thoroughness to his antics. He sells his own albums for $444; he uses lyrics about the importance of a Gore-Tex jacket to convey particular eras; offers fragmentary details about his past in magazine cover stories. His grip has loosened a bit since he’s gotten more press and released a good chunk of his discography on streaming platforms, but he still enjoys the distance his mask and microphone afford him. “We’re making donuts with someone A6 / None of this shit belongs to Page Six,” he says with unabashed disdain on “Bad Hands,” the second song on his latest album. Notorious Dump Legends: Volume 2. It doesn’t have the glitz and pomp of 2021. Pray for Haiti either Balens Cho (Hot Candles), but Mach’s mystique and lyrical skill make the music unpredictable.
Like the 2018 release that kicked off the Notorious legends of the dump series, the second volume is a collaboration with Atlanta rapper/producer and frequent collaborator Tha God Fahim, who appears on all but one song. On a technical level, his forms complement each other well. Mach is a Swiss Army knife, able to switch flows and languages on the fly while delivering melodious, punchy lyrics (“Two L’s make a dub in this cold milk” on “Cold Milk” or “Heard none of you niggas’ weed platos” on “Pissy Hästens”). Fahim is the pivotal voice who arrives with direct punchlines and life advice, strictly adhering to the beat. On “Pissy Hästens”, Mach’s agitated voice slowly turns into a growl, embodying the frustration he experiences when people mispronounce his name. Nevertheless, Fahim’s professional rhymes anchor the Jersey rapper’s erratic thoughts. From time to time, Fahim matches Mach’s energy and the two enter a sparring contest; “Olajuwan” and “Everybody (Source Codes)” contain two of Fahim’s most energetic verses, his voice briefly rising above his usual nasal monotone.When rapping together, Mach and Fahim adapt to each other’s changing tides like a yin- yang in constant transformation rmation.
Despite the reciprocity, this is ultimately Mach’s show. He has the most exciting vocal twists, the slipperiest flows, and his beats have the highest stakes. You can hear him crooning about the “Sour Patch Kids writing articles about me every day”; in his stories of watching enemies relax on the same beach as him; or in the way he transitions from English to patois and Kreyòl mid-song, as if he’s flipping between apps on a phone. It’s hard not to get caught up in the myth-making at the end of “Olajuwan,” as Mach clears his throat in grand style: “His latest shit became public domain as soon as he spit it out / He’s a magician, his name is Mach – Hommy, he’s the sickest For all his poetic culture, Mach loves a good flex as much as any rapper. volume 2 He doesn’t stray far from that sensibility, another excuse for him to reflect on his life and good fortune, and for him and Fahim to delve into their own legends.
