by Chris Coplan (@CCoplan)
Buffalo, New York is 372.5 miles from New York City. That fact’s relevant not only when making travel plans but in examining the career of Buffalo’s own Conway the Machine. Over the last decade-plus, Conway has operated close enough to the rap capitol to add to its prestige and bolster its traditions. Yet he’s still far enough removed that his career has been his own, operating with absolute freedom to explore new ideas and approaches. A similar dynamic rests at the heart of his latest, Won’t He Do It.
After 2022’s deeply personal God Don’t Make Mistakes, this massive moment of openness and vulnerability, Conway’s giving himself a victory lap of sorts with this fourteen track effort. It’s a celebration that shifts his overall trajectory and thus remains compelling in some vital ways. The arc of Conway's career has towed this line between fame and the underground, the boisterous kingpin and thoughtful underdog. The issue, then, is that this record strongly celebrates all that shimmers — but in a way that’s less about big hits and instead robust gestures.
There's "Kanye," whose least offensive crime is both its title and boisterous homage. Conway's verse is lyrically even-keeled, which seems mostly excusable given his meh is better than many rappers’ best days. You can almost excuse the homage (it’s earnest if slightly mistimed); rather its personal revelation for the sake of forced engagement, uninspired lyricism masquerading as humble brags (or is that vice versa?). He wants us to feel what this moment means to him, but it's just a little flat. He shows us something that’s real, but it's like a gold-plated toothbrush.
Then there's the one-two punch of "The Chosen" and "Water To Wine." If "Kanye" was the pivot into the overly boisterous, this pair drives home how lost Conway can get in his own ego (or, when he forgets what informs his approach and technique as an MC). The former has potential -- I love the 48 Hours bit/reference and that Sidney Crosby line -- but the whole song seems more interested in ego-stroking over consistency and intention. The latter, meanwhile, solidifies this idea that whatever Conway might intend as declarations of much-earned happiness and success ring as over-plotted and forced (Conway's whole first verse is about getting jewelry for a girl, and it drags on). These two cuts take something like "Kanye" -- a potent moment with latent controversy -- and drag it down into the underwhelming shallow end.
It's this "run" of tracks that's in danger of affecting the remaining LP. It's a collective moment where Conway seems to swing for the fences with his braggadocio -- a moment he's more than earned -- but he hooks the ball foul with a lack of innovation and lackluster delivery. Still, it's hard to be entirely mad about, these tracks aren't bad in a way that they're to be fully ignored or denigrated. If anything, they serve a role that becomes clearer when you explore the record's standouts and genuine feats.
Like "Quarters," which features far too many great lines. More importantly, Conway strikes back at claims that he's changed, or that he’s unprepared for the big time, with undeniable evidence (as extra sharp rhymes) that he's already there. "Stab Out" and its whip-sharp lines (like "I'm as consistent a coke nose drip") only further support his claims of supremacy. Sure, "Monogram" seems like yet another solid track -- "In Paris rockin' drip and the details is the real devil" is unshakably real -- but it's chorus ("I wanna sell cocaine forever") is a rallying cry, a declaration of where Conway is and where he's going, and how the universe flinches under his whims.
Of course, you have to mention the title track, which is less of a Conway accomplishment and more a spotlight for 7xvethegenius. Her two-minute, uninterrupted verse at the end is a career-defining performance -- so powerful it lends Conway credibility and validation for his realness. It basically makes up for other lackluster cameos (like the barely-there Juicy J on "Super Bowl," or lackluster spots on "Brooklyn Chop House").
These true highlights don't define the album as much as they’re movements in some grander, more strategic arc. If this whole record is Conway showing off, letting the world kiss the ring, that process really centers around "Kanye"/The Chosen"/"Water To Wine." They're the most deliberately over-the-top, the most overwhelmingly constructed, and the most needlessly loud and peacock-y. Everything else feels a little more nuanced and understated -- even if that nuance is still Conway screaming about his superiority through a bejeweled megaphone.
In that way, it feels like a show within a record. A moment to briefly pull back and give the people a little added razzle dazzle as he gets ever closer to making that big step up. I may not love that run, but I 1,000% can see them being a big moment and a hunk of overly flash gems to expand Conway's reach beyond a mostly indie-adjacent group of devotees.
Do I think people are stupid for loving it? That doesn't matter. Do I think Conway thinks people are that easily manipulated? No way -- he just knows what people want. Here's the moments of forced piety, the oversharing of ideas and sentiments, the human drama for the masses. Satisfied? Then let the other 39 minutes of this 50-minute record stand as it is -- more depth and charm and prowess from Conway. More moments of cutting wit and brutal honesty and endlessly compelling humanity that, if all goes to plan, transcend that three-track effort to placate the world. It's not selling his soul (don't be so naive) -- it's showing the world what they want before he blasts them away with what he can really do -- dominate effortlessly. If that's not a triumph worth celebrating, then what is?