His meandering style turns his lyrics into exercises in close reading. Mach's raps are effective because of his three-pronged approach: The man possesses an encyclopedic knowledge of cultural norms, an innate sense of timing that catches the listener off balance, and a gallows humor that's ripe for comedic punchlines. Even if some seem unusual in a vacuum (“Flip you on the track like Tyshawn Jones”, he happily spits to open the “Padon” and “blue cheese” bar in “Gorgon Zoe Lan”), the accuracy and detail with which He combines references is one of his strongest artistic gifts. When you recognize the wordplay hidden in the depths of “Antonomasia” or lose yourself in the parallelism of “Guggenheim Jeune”, you will realize that Mach is a master manipulator of structure. Like a martial arts virtuoso, his flurries of bars aren't pointless swings or lucky punches — but punctuated jabs that land harder with each strike.
In 17 tracks and 47 minutes, #RICHAXXHAITIAN feels like the closest thing to a biopic on Mach-Hommy. That's not to say the album is full of sordid details and telling stories. Its characteristic malignancy and opacity remain. Personal stories are woven into themes already familiar to fans, such as his emigration journey from Port-au-Prince to New Jersey. As in previous projects, it will start in Kreyòl without worrying about the possible need for translation. But the choice makes his more honest statements and vignettes land with more force, especially when he delivers them with a terrible grudge. There are hooks about the International Monetary Fund and interludes about how the scourge of late-stage capitalism is preventing Haiti from achieving revolutionary change. When Mach spits, “White phosphorus rained down on civilians in Gaza/Squadron of Troglodytes shouting patches at jokers,” ferociously on “POLITICAL,” it lands with the impact of an expanding bullet. One particular line rings in your ears on “Lon Lon,” as his tumultuous brush touches the angelic flute of the 1970 Archie Whitewater sample. It's a declaration of who Mach is and why he's doing what he's doing: “I'm not your typical rapping boy/I'm a charming composer'.
For large stretches of its operating time, #RICHAXXHAITIAN it cruises like a victory lap, for better or for worse. Mach breaks out with Roc Marciano, Tha God Fahim and Black Thought, the legendary emcees blasting out over step-by-step groove samples like their chemistry knobs are cranked to the max. The album isn't without its faults, like a sad Your Old Droog verse on “Empty Spaces” and a Kaytranada-produced single that would have been better off as a loosie. But several peaks rise above the project's shallow valleys. Take the finale, “Holy ___,” with its lush choral arrangements and decadent orchestral strings, which feel like a biblical exaltation of his journey as an artist and the adherence to values that have allowed him to sustain his soul. Mach departs with the last bits of wisdom about the realities of the streets he grew up on, sneaking in a sly characterization: “Just an observation from a Haitian teaching all the Yanks,” he raps. He arrives with a nonchalant shrug, as if Mach has all the truths you could ever need. He doesn't care what direction you think his sound should go or if you're convinced of the gospel he's doing – the moment his voice hits your eardrum, he'll have your full attention.
