It helps that his writing is sharper now, able to drop in these casually worded revelations that just fuck you up. “I would go try to invest in an island, with my luck I’ll see a tsunami or something,” he talk-raps over the smooth DMV bounce of “One.” On “2am,” he follows up “They made me feel way less about myself like I was nothing” with a “Nigga, fuck you” that hits like a deep exhale. I have to take off my headphones and do a lap whenever he confesses “Opioids destroyed the best of me, but I still hope they work” on “When You Miss Me Most,” which, in a bit of tonal whiplash, has a hard-ass sickboi and prodbydaee instrumental that pulls off the drill trick of laying every drum possible over an unexpected indie rock sample. It’s uncomfortable listening to rap that talks about drug addiction so straight-up, given all the deaths the genre has been hit with from the disease in the last decade, but there’s a serious honesty he brings to the topic that feels like more than just rapping about emo stuff to fill stadiums.
Nineteen songs of Nino Paid clawing his way toward the light is overwhelming, but all of the musical exploring he does lightens the mood a little. Not all of it works. I’m good on the Buddah Bless-produced fare for the Lyrical Lemonade universe (“Valedictorian”) and the lazy Jaydes-style guitar ballad (“Long As I Got Love For You”). It’s a lot better when he’s positioning himself in the lineage of DMV music. Like “Peace of Mind,” where he tests out a pivot to Wale-assisted brunch rap. Or “Drop,” a trip back in time with Shy Glizzy, who is flexing his kid’s school tuition with an AutoTune preset that hasn’t been used since 2016.
Then, unexpectedly, Nino taps D.C. production archivist Tone P to hook him up with go-go fusions with live instrumentation. For years, go-go—a collision of funk, R&B, and hip-hop that is the region’s percussion-centric pastime—has been the subtle backbone of throbbing DMV free car drum patterns. Nino fully leans into the sound on two tracks: “Step With Me,” which interpolates a classic by UCB, and “Shine,” a legitimately great Nino Paid song that seamlessly mashes up his fragmented vignettes of hard-earned perseverance with bass slides and a killer electric guitar riff. “She took me in and that really mean something/My mother would watch as I play on my bike,” he raps, his vocals cracking like it’s a recording ripped from a club show. It’s a moment that feels euphoric for more than just the Nino Paid close readers but anyone who has been emotionally invested in the rise of DMV rap over the last decade.
