PLAY CASH COBAINthe new full-length erotica from Queens horndog Cash Cobain may have the most pussy-eating references of any album out there. Honestly, what more could you want? Cash, a rapper and producer, is one half of the duo (with Chow Lee) who made 2 Slizzy 2 Sexya 2022 mix that loaded familiar samples into the club-drill blender, mangling melodies and creating too many deranged, pornographic punchlines to keep track of. This project was challenging, fun, and hyper-stabilized in the five boroughs and on Long Island, coming at a time when a lighter, lower-cost alternative to New York's exercise—increasingly defined by death, prison and opportunism-.
Fast forward to 2024 and somehow, those roots have blossomed into an entire subgenre that I grudgingly accepted will be remembered as “sexy drill”, an amalgamation of New York drill, Jersey club and R&B players like Brent Faiyaz and PND. Every week it seems like there's a new rapper in the cities or out of state riding the wave started by Cash. The overpromotion has dampened the sound a bit, but I can't say I'm mad to hear his producer say, “This beat is from Cash not YouTube.” In fact, I can barely remember a day in New York this summer where I didn't catch one of his freak-a-thons blowing up in the wild. There was the “Dunk Contest,” a cool festival for all the real-life girls who are thirsty—it's dirty but also kind of sweet. Also “Fisherrr,” a rich back-and-forth with Queens' Bay Swag that manages to pay homage to Black New York (“And yo' ass fat, know you eat your rice and your lababage too”) while remaining so relentlessly horny And “Rump Punch,” a seductive groove that sounds like you're having a drunken, sloppy grind at the West Indian Day Parade. All three singles are open PLAY CASH COBAINa 19-song endurance test that effectively marks this time of summer by doubling down on its special sex-caps for the city.
Eschewing the open embrace of mainstream rap, Cash steers the album in an intimate and moody direction. His tequila-breathing serenades make me think of Future songs where I feel like he's stuck in a loop of club nights and one night stands that leave him more empty. With cash he spends the same types of nights, except less luxurious, and when he leaves the next morning he is caught in an obsessive sexual pursuit like William Hurt in Body heat. “When your friends ask who's your nigga, I just hope you mention me/And whenever I'm not with you, I just hope you miss me,” he sings on the heavy “wassup wya,” completely spellbound. On “Turks (I Apologize),” it's like he's whispering a combination of dirty talk and promises he probably won't keep in the ear of the woman he's trying to win over. The same goes for the sultry second half of “cantsleep/drunkinluv,” where he pleads, “Baby tell me when you get up/Or I can come get you/Or I can send a black truck,” like he can't live without her . Seconds later, in an almost falsetto, he admits what it's all about: “I'm in love with your fat ass/In 'n' out til' I take that nut/In 'n' out til' I make her cum, like damn.”
