By: Ross Edwards
Rating: 8/11

Amidst shady electronic piano simulations, epic synth battles, and ugly overdubs, Joe DOE raps a weirdly relatable mesh of apocalyptic, environmental, sarcastic, cynical, vaguely scientific socially commentary.  This is definitely 21^st century rap, as every song is straightforwardly flavored by the overwhelming hopelessness of colliding problems (some less obvious threats than others): solar flares, economic recession, 2012, and even frustration with the music industry (as on "Sick Shit:" "What do I gotta do to prove to you motherfuckers, that I am on a much higher level than you mothersuckers?"). He's a good rapper because his flow is catchy, the on-top-of-the-beat antidote to southern rap, and it’s hard to pinpoint who he is: like an anonymous corpse he shifts timbres, voices. His songs are about as angsty as an emo band, but he's building some Stephen King-type novel in his repertoire, complete with recurring themes, foreshadowing, and the dark undertones (and overtones) that shudder the listener like a creaking door in a dark, unfamiliar house. He unveils his personality pretty strongly here, as he is responsible for programming beats, lyrics, and the amateur singing sharpened by dissonant overdubs. His music depicts a man rattled by drugs and anxiety, talented in spite of it, determined to rise above everyone through fearless self-promotion and tireless craftsmanship. He is all the more intriguing because of the confusion as to whether his desire is for fame, or to walk away from his berated world like a hero from the smoldering wreckage of epic beats and word explosions.