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In the same way that Kendrick Lamar explores his family legacy on DAMN, Maxo has been navigating his own intergenerational patterns since he started making music. The parallel paths taken by Maxo and his dad remain a significant motif in his music. “When he went to prison, we ain’t had no money and I had to start making money on my own,” Maxo says. When Maxo was about 11-years-old, his dad was arrested on fraud charges. Driving the metaphor home, the cover art features Maxo’s face stitched together with his father’s. The album title Brandon Banks comes from the alias his dad used. from Nigeria, and started hustling in the streets when Maxo was a kid. For one, he’s named after his dad, Emekwane Sr., who immigrated to the U.S. in Southwest Houston, Maxo Kream is in many ways his father’s son. Maxo, who recently became a father himself, has been helping to take care of his brother’s young child since his untimely death.īorn Emekwane Ogugua Biosah Jr. Still, his music, as well as his burly and imposing appearance, belie an ultimately warm heart. It’s an unfortunate and unavoidable element of a certain kind of life. Vignettes of betrayal run deep in Maxo’s catalog. We subtly transition into a panoramic view, as the rapper takes note of the friends who were more concerned with fleeing a crime scene than helping his kin, rapping: “My brother bleedin’ on the ground and he ain’t even tryna help.” “On his neck, hе felt you was a threat, he had the burna tucked/Four-five, pocket rocket, he just bought it but ain’t use yet,” Maxo raps. His brother, realizing he’s been set up, proceeds to fight back. “OG Chronic marijuana buyin’, how you end up dyin’.”Įvery line arrives like deftly paced camerawork, as Maxo constructs a scene worthy of a Scorcese film. “Takin’ trips to California, frequent flyin’ with United,” he raps. Maxo sets the scene as if it were a flashback in a novel, starting with a drug transaction that goes south. The song unfolds like the recounting of memory, the details seared in the rapper’s mind. On “Trips,” he gives a vivid play-by-play of the night of his brother’s death. Now, with Weight of the World, Maxo is unraveling his grief with profoundly grounded precision. I trusted him more than anyone, including my Pops. T hen, around the beginning of nationwide lockdowns last March, Maxo’s brother, “Money” Madu, was murdered in Los Angeles. Suddenly, Covid-19 threw a wrench into what appeared to be a promising future. He went on to appear on last year’s Dreamville compilation Revenge of the Dreamers III, and was getting ready to go on tour. Anxiety over what feels like endless lawyer fees Wrenching reflections on the cycles of criminality in his own family.Īfter Brandon Banks, Maxo’s star did in fact begin to rise. Like much of Maxo’s work, the song lays bare a host of internal struggles. On the record’s biggest hit, “Meet Again,” Maxo takes cues from classic H-Town ballads, rolling over somber low-ends, crafting a letter to an incarcerated friend. Sobering, concise, and dutifully executed, that album finds the rapper suffusing his already stellar songwriting with an engrossing, Goodie Mob-style paranoia. He was poised to finally see his breakout moment following the release of 2019’s Brandon Banks. Maxo raps in the deep southern baritone of many of the city’s most iconic acts and has already been prolific for nearly a decade at the ground level within Houston’s hip-hop scene.