You’d be forgiven for thinking that, his best days behind him, chubby, coke-obsessed plastic gangster Ross was finally lost in a celebrity netherworld – flirting with septuagenarian millionaire Martha Stewart (who’s had more jail time than he has) on TV and Twitter; summoning Chris Rock for pointless, prehistoric skits. Instead, here Rozay sounds like the rap boss he’s always claimed to be. Ferociously articulate, he outshines every feature, even Nas and Future. Always more philosophical than his image suggests, he’s convincingly introspective on molasses-soul drifters such as Santorini Greece. The more modish tracks are somehow less inventive than their titles (Trap Trap Trap; She on My Dick), but there’s much southern-stewed, offbeat beauty elsewhere to compensate.
