Soul Glo: Diaspora Problems Album Review

Aside from a 30-second non-sequitur of twinkle guitar that precedes the blunt force of “(Five Years and) My Family,” there are no breathers or interludes, none of the things that typically stretch a hardcore album to the capacity of a vinyl record. “Can I live?” are the first of Jordan’s many, many words on Diaspora Problems—nearly 5,500 in the lyrics sheet by my count, delivered as rapid-fire Migos triplets, scorched screamo howls, deadpan spoken word, and a very believable Johnny Rotten impression. To some extent, he can be taken literally here, as in, who will survive in America, in the face of everything that is actively trying to kill him as a financially insecure Black man. Even beyond the threat of institutional force, Jordan has spent the entirety of Soul Glo’s existence exploring the feedback loop of poverty, debilitating depression, and the impossibility of obtaining proper treatment. These pathologies dovetail in “John J,” an astute sociopolitical treatise that begins with Jordan’s memory of putting a gun in his mouth just to see what it would feel like, and then fast-forwards to a searing image of 2020’s protests: “I’m on 15th seeing 20 police run toward me to protect a bank.”

But as “Jump!!” makes bracingly clear, being an artist on the verge of a breakthrough might be the biggest threat to Soul Glo’s survival. “If I get popped before it’s clear I’m hot/Of course there’ll be someone to fill in,” Jordan frantically spits, soon elaborating on Jadakiss’ immortal line from 20 years prior—“You know dead rappers get better promotion.” Jordan claims to be “living on Juice WRLD Pop Smoke time,” evoking two Black artists who died before turning 21 and became cottage industries, a ghoulish scenario for labels generating seemingly endless posthumous content without having to consider the human being attached. The chorus links them to Breonna Taylor and Ahmaud Arbery, victims of violent killings whose legacies likewise threaten to be relegated to social media symbolism and murals in gentrified city centers. The urgency in Soul Glo’s delivery ensures that Diaspora Problems never descends into nihilism.

Then again, Jordan’s question of “Can I live?” could just as easily be heard as an homage to the classic Jay-Z cut, an arch rebuttal levied at anyone who tries to find fault with Black people exploiting capitalism’s many loopholes. “They want to persecute me because I get money responsibly, ethically?” a voice announces at the beginning of the subwoofer-busting “Driponomics.” Jordan rattles off luxury streetwear brands in the chorus, honoring those who use Off-White or Supreme gear as the means or the rewards of their work: “Reselling, upselling, I’m telling you/Labor to get comfortable is only for the gullible.” Or, as the man once said, can’t knock the hustle.