Muthaland is the first, and supposedly final, full-length album from Chattanooga rapper, BbyMutha aka Cindyy Kushh aka Brittnee Moore. In her short career, she's generated a healthy amount of buzz and guested on some pretty stellar jams, but with the release of her debut album, she's announced that she's tossing the brass ring back down the sewer grate where she found it. Maybe Pennywise can pawn it for a new pair of shoes or some tanning lotion of something. After giving Muthaland more than half a dozen listens, I honestly find her decision to quit the business understandable. She's too real for all that shit.
If you want to make it in the industry, you kind of have to anticipate that people will lie to you, scam you, and generally attempt to waste your time and money on just about every rung up the ladder your climbing. Not to mention that the time commitments and financial strains make it incredibly difficult to have a family or maintain close friendships. Also, you're pretty unlikely to make a sustainable living from it even if you become a household name. The industry is a place where good folks go to die… etc, etc… and there is apparently a downside as well, if you can believe it. I don't blame her for peacing out. If Muthaland is all we get before Moore says good-night, then we should count ourselves lucky. At 25 tracks, it's a full meal that will leave you debating whether or not you have room for a second serving. And if you're like me, you'll be hitting play three or four times in a row to get another nip off at those Rock Floyd baked beats and Moore's sugary, sassy bravado.
Even though Chattanooga and Memphis aren't exactly neighbors, there is some not insubstantial horrocore influence on Muthaland that is pronounced enough to be noticeable, but not embellished enough to be distracting. An aesthetic that she pairs with raunchy and sexy lyrics go hard enough to make even someone as liberated as Cardi B blush. It's like Tommy Wright III and Cupcakke cut a record. Scary and horny. That's where it's at!
"Roaches Don't Die" has a classic, slasher soundtrack piano riff woven into the beat, which heightens the sense of delicious trepidation thrown off by the growling bassline, and provides some ironic and appreciable distance from the real life horrors and traumas depicted in the lyrics. "Heavy Metal" has a similarly dark tone and beastly bassy snarl, with lyrics that are certifiably explicate and that will make you feel like you're using those dating apps all wrong (when was the last time your prospective paramour sent you a picture of their butt hole? That's what I thought). "Drowning Pool" hinges on a lyrical reference to an early '00s alternative metal song to describe slaying at the club and sending haters crashing to the floor in flames like a strawman dipped in kerosene hit with a lit cigarette, all to a spanning, spidery beat. Lastly, "Demonology" makes the best use of what could potentially be a Mike Oldfield b-side to tell a hilarious story about regrettable hook ups. Also, there is one song were Moore dumps a guy because he "don't fuck with Satan" which is just an amazing line, amongst a rich portfolio of amazing lines, and one that sells the hell out of the spooky, bangin' vibe that the Muthaland has cultivated.
If you only drop the needle on one track though, make it the hustle-forward, Champaign-logged bass solo anchored "Cocaine Catwalk," where Moore leans into some relentless charming smack talk. With every line she drops, you can't anticipate if she's going to lean in for a hug or take a swipe at you. The tension is intoxicating, frankly. It's probably best for everyone else that she's dropping out of the game. If she kept up the energy on Muthaland for another album, she'd just make everyone else look foolish for trying.
Whatever Moore does next with her life, I hope it makes her as happy as this album has made me. Seriously, Moore, if you are reading this, best of luck to you.
