A tangled romance is the crux of A Forsaken Lover’s Plea, Chuck’s most comprehensive solo project since Consumers Park, his 2018 debut. The five years that have made up the interim time, not unlike the four years he spent making unheard beats, were teeming with hard-learned lessons, even if not all of those lessons are available on streaming. For one, he found that if he applied himself with patience and discipline, he’d be surprised at what he could accomplish: “It’s cliche
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A tangled romance is the crux of A Forsaken Lover’s Plea, Chuck’s most comprehensive solo project since Consumers Park, his 2018 debut. The five years that have made up the interim time, not unlike the four years he spent making unheard beats, were teeming with hard-learned lessons, even if not all of those lessons are available on streaming. For one, he found that if he applied himself with patience and discipline, he’d be surprised at what he could accomplish: “It’s cliche,” he says, “but if you put in a bunch of reps, you’re going to get brolic.” Like muscle mass on a body, the reps manifest themselves in a distinctive bulkening, adding compelling new layers to his singular sound. Where Consumers Park remained steadfast in the 90s-borne, boom-bap ethos that forged him, A Forsaken Lover’s Plea sounds markedly lush, candid rhymes bolstered by a slew of guest producers — including The Alchemist, Animoss, and NV. Chuck’s own production feels current without ditching its previous homeliness, a seamless compliment to his honest, lived-in raps. On A Forsaken Lover’s Plea, Chuck taps a number of longtime collaborators, each sharing a familiar 90s-New-York backdrop — Remy Banks, Joey Bada$$, Erick the Architect — without sounding like he’s trapped in the past. After all, the record is less about yearning for history than reckoning with it, the weight of time being more of an engine than an anchor. With examining yesterday comes examining oneself; after a decade spent eulogizing New York’s golden age, he’s turning that focus inward, eulogizing the version of himself he’s steadily learning to outgrow. On the title track, a Graymatter-produced conversation with hip-hop about shortcomings and tensions, he admits to being “Too G to take a knee” — less about ignorant pride, and more about the patient resolve that’s not only brought him to his current standing, but is poised to pave the way for both his, and New York rap’s, future. “I’m not giving up,” he says. “All these niggas are like ‘I love so and so,’ or ‘he’s my favorite rapper,’ but not me. I’ve gotta keep going.”
