Underground Rap Review: Reminiscent Echoes by gavthadon

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gavthadon takes us on a leaned out trip through the struggles of adolescence. Made on a Chromebook by a sophomore from San Antonio Warren, this album speaks, and you need to listen.

**Strengths**:

- Evocative soundscapes that capture fluctuating moods.

- Creatively crafted deliveries and lyrics.

- An enticing blend of energetic tracks and introspective melodies, each demanding a replay.

- Nods to the sounds of JuiceWrld and Lucki while establishing a unique identity.

- The unmistakable "high school bathroom" ambiance oozes authenticity

- Impressive production on BandLab via Google Chrome, showcasing resourcefulness.

- His age, just a sophomore in high school, only amplifies the depth of his talent.

**Weaknesses**:

- The mix, albeit authentic, might not cater to everyone's auditory preferences.

- Not for boom-bap, Griselda, Earl Sweatshirt, soul beat only fans of hip-hop

- Vocals, though promising, exhibit areas that could flourish with further honing.

So far I've listened to this album 5 times and each time I found something new. In the hyper-saturated DIY hip-hop scene *Reminiscent Echoes* stands out as a profound diptych: two intertwined tales consisting of six tracks each, bisected by a sorrowful interlude. The initial half unfolds like a hazy journey through a spirited night, where listeners are invited to sip from the auditory version of a cup of that drank, floating on immersive purple waves of sound. It’s a blend of languid tracks with moments of high energy, characterized by inventive lyrical deliveries and braggadocio. Post-interlude, the album shifts gears. Drawing inspiration from Midwest acoustics, it blends almost pop-like melodies with melancholic soundscapes. This second act showcases a vivid emotional spectrum, echoing with the sorrow of lost love and emphasizing the audacious lengths we often traverse to find solace and cope.

We begin with "Again", setting the tone right from the first drop. The lament of a love lost clashes with the assertiveness of recovery. The beat's got this thump, a rhythmic pulse that weaves in the twin emotions of regret and resilience. And while most turn to money and fleeting flings as solace from heartbreak, there's a somber undertone in the vocals. A reflection, perhaps, of the emptiness in chasing distractions over true love. Those lyrics, though? Raw. Poignant. They pour out with the finesse of a veteran, belying the young age of their creator. A theme which continues into “Y.M.F.” which maintains a similar sound but has a more languid flow with more bombastic lyrics.

Now, this album doesn't shy away from experimenting, and to me this is what makes it stand out amongst the emerging “HS Bathroom” sounds design trend. Some might raise an eyebrow at it, but I vibe with it. “K.t. freestyle” embodies this spirit. Stripped of traditional melodies, it's a raw jam session – two homies, vibing out, laying down innovative flows that perfectly fit the unconventional beat.

But as with any night out, there are shifts in mood. "DNA!" snaps you out of that wavy stupor. An assertive, pulsating rhythm tells tales of teenage rebellion, of a life that's as raw as it gets. And yeah, some folks might be taken aback by the mentions of guns at school, but it feels more like a portrayal, an exaggerated reflection of high school life in today's world.

"Why they wanna hate" pulls you into a dreamlike state. It's euphoria, tinged with the sad realization that maybe, just maybe, this high is a refuge from a void, a void where love should've been. By the time “faygo” rolls in, you can almost feel the codeine kick. It's demands an ode to the slowed, reverbed world of lean rap. But then, Reminiscent Echoes doesn’t just revel in these highs. And with us at album's midpoint, the closing of the first act, is a tribute to ingenuity over resources. This is the music of today, made on platforms like Chrome and BandLab, proving that heart and talent matter more than deep pockets.

The "Interlude" acts as a poignant pause as we transition. Reminiscent of the solitude one feels after an eventful night. Its authentic loneliness sets the tone for the second half, which delves into the complexities of heartbreak and recovery.

The second half dives deep into the whirlpool of emotions. "End of the road" and “Last Spring” weave tales of acceptance and nostalgia. Moments of bold bravado give way to raw, emotional outpourings, painting a vivid picture of love, loss, and everything in between.

"If you don’t mind" is like that adrenaline rush you get post-breakup. It juxtaposes the thrill of chasing new experiences against the shadows of past heartaches. Yet, as the euphoria fades, "Best4U" brings the cold, hard comedown. It's a bare reflection, an acknowledgment of mistakes made and the looming shadow of regrets.

By the time “more2life!” rolls in, the narrative turns introspective, pondering on the weariness and ennui brought on by life and love's many trials.

Songs like "End of the road" and "Last Spring" oscillate between the pain of acceptance and the nostalgia of past love, with raw emotions occasionally masked by braggadocio, only to be laid bare by song's end. This emotional roller coaster peaks with "If you don’t mind", an anthemic reflection of the euphoria following a breakup, juxtaposed against the desperation of masking the lingering pain. "Best4U" strips down this facade, revealing raw vulnerabilities and fears of facing one's demons. The album finds its resolution in “more2life!”, encapsulating the ensuing apathy and weariness towards love and life.

In its entirety, *Reminiscent Echoes* is not just a collection of songs but a heartfelt diary entry. Hailing from SA Warren, Gavthadon, in his debut, hints at vast potential, promising listeners an exciting journey ahead.

*Stream Reminiscent Echoes now*

Dolores' and Gil’s Speeches at The Blanton Museum of Art (Director's Cut Edition)

I don't remember everything I've wrote, but I remember writing these speeches. I remember what I wanted people to feel as I wrote them. I remember what they represent. I remember what I REALLY wanted to say lol. Although I save that for another speech. Instead, I want to present a character. A version of me replaying the night in which these speeches were spoken. All as a means to set a backdrop for the speeches as they always were....

In an obscure corner of the universe, on an evening soaked in anticipation, there occurred an assembly of the weird. There, within the art draped confines of Gil and Dolores’ home, in a room that silly mortals refer to as a "man cave", three foolish minds found themselves ensnared in an existential danza - Gilberto Cardenas (the man of the evening), Ruben Cordova (the gravity was enough to draw him from his lair, and he was offered a ride), and an inconspicuous third entity (myself, making final edits to the speeches herein).

As the hour of the moment drew near, in a hapless attempt to distract myself from my unease, I probed the abyss of Ruben’s understanding, inquiring about the nature of his knowledge of Gil. “Does anyone really know Gil?” Ruben quipped, letting the question hang in the air like a puff of smoke from one of Gil’s cigars. In the soundless reverb of that statement, I found myself spiraling down a rabbit hole of thoughts. Contemplating the vast chasm between knowing someone as a monolithic figment, and as a flawed, breathing moment of existence.

Ruben shared his scribbler’s soul and ventured with me further into the dark and dangerous forest of my writing. When put on the spot as to my own style, I expressed my honest aim to experiment with and channel unspoken emotions. In hindsight, I would have painted my intent more as 'experiential' rather than merely 'experimental'. Such philosophies, like the rare Bacanoras de Sonora, were distilled into the essence of the speeches crafted for Dolores and Gil.

For Dolores, I sought to weave a thread that danced a folklorico with the emotive and the feminine. With Gil's, I hoped to capture the vastness of a man’s life in simple and delicate strokes.

However, like all art, these speeches were subjected to the critiques of mortals, and underwent alterations. Some I embraced, others left me confounded. The act of translating another’s inner musings to themselves into your words and then back into their words, and then hoping those words are reflected back with the same fervor, is nothing short of an existential game of telephone.

As the evening unveiled itself, Dolores shimmered, giving justice to her emotions etched in the words. Gil, perhaps weighed down by sheer nerves, took a misstep, even mispronouncing my name. A name he was reading off of paper! But honestly one has to have humor at the absurdity of existing.

So, dear reader, before you lies the raw, uncut, pure, straight from the jungle of thought speeches presented in their OG forms. I invite you to take a hit, and see if you find a sliver of yourself. Isn't that the goal?

Dolores' Speech

Compañeras y compañeros, familia y amigos,—Bienvenidos—and heartfelt thanks to each of you—Mil gracias for joining us in this celebration. This gathering is about honoring something infinitely larger than one single soul or voice. This is a celebration of our arte painted in our sangre on a canvas that unfurls our complexities and sings the language of our culture.

We're standing here at a poignant juncture, with the University of Texas at Austin navigating its new designation as a Hispanic Serving Institute, and the State of Texas itself in a cultural and political battle against us embracing our roots. It is more than fitting—it is poetic justice—that the Gilberto Cardenas & Dolores Garcia Latino Art collection should find its haven at the Blanton Museum of Art here in the capital city.

To Simone Wicha and the Blanton community: by embracing this collection, you're not just curating art. You're curating history. You're curating future. And that deserves more than a casual thank you—it merits a debt of gratitude that spans generations.

Gil and I are beyond pleased that Claudia Zapata will oversee this archive of beauty and expression. Claudia, your work isn't just scholarly; it's sanctified. You stand on the cusp of a new horizon for Latino and Latina art. Gil always referred to Tomas Ybarra Frausto as a sage, the Yoda of Chicano/Latino Art. Claudia, in my humble opinion, you are our Luke Skywalker, guiding us into the future.

Let me pause for a moment to give thanks to my heart's own mirror, Gilberto Cardenas. Fifteen years and more, You've not just been my partner, but the echo of my own passion.Our shared love for this art is a journey that keeps unfolding, a struggle made beautiful in its every hue.

I would be remiss not to thank the anchor of my academic life at UT Austin: Jose E. Limon, as well as the faculty, staff, and the young visionaries—the students. Your support was my northern light, the guiding spark in my pursuit of Latino Studies. To everyone who made my time at UT Austin not merely bearable, but radiant—Mil gracias.

To the quiet pillars of my life, my parents, and my children, their love is just not the wind at my back pushing me forward through the tumultuous seas, but also the ground beneath my feet, making every step I take surer, every path I tread more meaningful.

I'll leave you with the wisdom of Cesar Chavez: "Preservation of one's own culture does not require contempt or disrespect for other cultures." In our sanctuary of art and scholarship, let's etch this truth into the walls. Let it be the cornerstone of not just this collection, but also of the community that cherishes it.

Gracias por todo

Gil's Speech

Part 1 (speech)

When I was trying to write this speech, I didn’t know where to take it. It felt like I was trying to whittle a life’s journey down to a few minutes. And while I was wandering through my thoughts, I had an epiphany. The art collected here says everything I want and need to say.

It’s the best and the worst of me.

Of us.

It’s love’s dance with loss.

It’s pride wrapped in agony.

It’s a selfless soul battling a greedy heart.

It’s the son of farmworkers speaking of his mother’s struggle!

It’s a single mother bringing joy to her family.

It’s an alcoholic fighting demons.

It’s a baby laughing at all the curiosities of the world.

It’s the teachers who mentor us with wisdom.

It’s the students who seek truth.

It’s the scholars who are scribes of knowledge.

It’s the artists who create worlds.

It’s the poets who speak of silence.

It’s the writers who weave their words.

It’s the foundations and the museums.

It’s the curators of our dreams and the collectors of our beauty.

It’s the friends and the family.

It’s La Raza y La Causa, La Feminista y La Soldadera.

It’s the fruits of our labor, fruits that nourish the heart, soul, and mind!!

It’s the flame of inspiration.

It’s the mirror of representation.

It’s a defiant declaration.

It’s our nation as our creation.

It’s a reflection of our culture that is finally being allowed to share its vibrancy with the world.

It’s a song whispered to the soul.

It sang to me, and I am eternally grateful that it can now share its ballads with you.

Grateful that the art can spring forth new melodies that will echo through the winds of eternity.

Part 2 (thanks)

Thank you to my [heart’s companion] Dolores for enduring with me through life’s journey.

Thank you to Claudia for being a champion for the works of our people.

Thank you to Simone and The Blanton for providing a sanctuary for our art.

Thank you to the University of Texas at Austin for helping us define Mexican American Culture as American culture.

Thank you to the interns, and the researchers, and the installers who are the unspoken backbone of our exhibitions.

Above all, my deepest gratitude to the artists.

Artists that have allowed us into their lives and shared their laughter and their silence.

Artists who have made us feel welcome in their home, and shared the bread of unity, and the wine of friendship.

Artists who’s joys we’ve celebrated, and who’s sorrows we’ve shared.

To those who are in attendance, to those in the shadows, and to those who now exist in eternity.

It’s through your art that we confront and counteract the insidious erasure of our illustrious accomplishments.

It’s through your art that we reestablish our native roots as foundations to the soil of this nation.

It’s through your art that the echoes of our ancestors re-ver-ber-ate across the territories that we still dominate .

Your art is the sledgehammer which breaks down the oppressive gates of the art world. In the words of Jean Charlot this “is art for the people.” It’s from the bottom, now we are here.

And without your art, that wouldn’t be possible.

He is Cricchi

There is an unapologetic authenticity to the way rapper I Am Cricchi carries himself. He walks and talks with an endearingly reckless and carefree energy. The energy of a man who has seen the worst of life, and made it out the other side with a new perspective and appreciation for living. He isn’t ashamed, nor does he extol the scars left on him from his fight with heroin addiction. Today, his focus is clearly on the music videos he is here to shoot, but in between his creative streams of consciousness he openly reveals glimpses into his past battles with the demons faced on his journey to recovery.

He goes through a rundown of a video's story with his director DAN2THEL.

Then laments over the cost of getting his teeth fixed.

He says before addiction he had great teeth.

He brain-storms locations in the Manor Ghost Town, thinking the bank might be a cool scene.

Then speaks of selling his mother's antique cash register for $1000 to buy drugs.

He follows up with the fact that he has since paid her back "more than 10 times over."

He plans out the timing of a shot on the railroad tracks that he has been adamant about shooting all day.

Then casually mentions how he destroyed all of his veins with needles, and shows us the damage done to his arms and neck.

His review of his ordeal:

"I give heroin 1 star, do not recommend"

These battles are unambiguously discussed throughout his music. "Running a lot," the first music video he is here to shoot is a visual metaphor for a song about living his life too fast.

In "Momma Ain't," he is particularly proud of a bar in which he speaks of doing so many drugs he was helping the police keep the streets clean.

This hyperbole is not performative. There is no mask being worn. Cricchi is his music as much as his music is him. He is the rare entertainer who professes AND exudes realness.

Here, there are no rented vehicles.

No jewelry on loan from a shady jeweler.

No disinterested dancers who look like they'd be anywhere else if not for the money.

And Cricchi is proud of these facts. There is no need for false bravado to tell his story. On this day he and his director Dan only need a gas can, a 4.6 liter Crown Vic, and Cricchi's wife Desiree as a support driver, to tell their tale.

This is art that represents the struggle. This is art for the people. This is art that is real.

The music video for "Running A Lot" drops April 25th and you can watch it on I Am Cricchi's YouTube channel HERE

To see and hear more of his work click HERE

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