Swarvy – Anti-Anxiety

swarvy

Swarvy is what happens when Alice in Wonderland can beatbox like a motherfucker. In this album it’s like following a pimp-walking white rabbit, that’s never late for a damn thing, making its way through the dream logic of a delirium landscape while smoking a fatty that hits the sky with purple puffs. The first track comes out all grooved out in jazz funk from the late ’80s, and there’s this voiceover of a dude telling everyone how much he loves to work. It’s obvious, because of the sick beat in the back, that the same goes for the producer. The beats on this album are hella chill. It’s kind of like if J Dilla approached you and he smiled so hard his face melted. It’s strange, it’s dreamy, and I never want to wake the fuck up. Blue pill or red pill? Fuck that. This album is what happens when you pop both those bitches and peace the fuck out like a boss. 

Mark Sweeny is the main motherfucker behind Swarvy. He’s a multi-instrumentalist, composer, and producer out of Philadelphia that has been blurring the lines between genres since he started. His beats are laden with feeling and fun. On this album, he’s joined in by some solid underground rap talent like: Jeremiah Jae, The Koreantown Oddity, Zeroh, Versis, Neslon Bandela, Ivan Ave, lojii, Vida Jafari, and Pink Siifu. Sweeny’s got an ear for what’s good and what’s next, in his production and choice of talent. It’s impossible not to hear that’s he’s going to be the next big thing in the rap scene. You can tell he’s a deep follower of the Dilla style and he sidles nicely next to names like Flying Lotus, Rag G, Thundercat. You know, all those other motherfuckers over there at Brainfeeder. The tracks on this bitch are short but there’s 15 of them. Everytime this album ended I just put it back on like it was my fucking fix. 

I don’t know if any of you know the ending of Alice in Wonderland. Alice wakes up with her head on her sister’s lap and her sister says something like, “Why, what a long sleep you’ve had!” It’s OG dream sequence shit. Most days reality feels like some shit you just can’t wake up from. And though this album’s production can seem dreamy, it’s focus is on what’s grounded. Life doesn’t separate into reds and blues or blacks and whites. It doesn’t force you into rabbit holes, into rabbit’s holes, or into some fucked up trilogy where cookie-making Jamaicans are prophets and God is some boring-ass circumlocutory motherfucker. What’s stranger than strange is non-fiction. Swarvy doesn’t try to sound dreamlike: this motherfucker is dreamlike. He doesn’t try to sound fucked up or bizarre, he is fucked up and bizarre. That’s why Swarvy can sound like the strangest strange, because his shit is the realest of the real. 

 

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