As AKAI thinks his way through these songs, shifts in his instrumentation and delivery track the mundane ups and downs of his life, and his emotions saturate the world around him in vivid shades. On songs like the Wavy Bagels-produced “Here’s to Hoping You Notice,” he trudges against the beat with the inertia of rumination, while charlieonthetrack’s “CALAMITYMAN” sees AKAI nearly giddy with triumph, raising his voice to a taunting bark: “Stick a needle in his fear, watch if his constitution pops!” Across the album, jazzy samples play off the improvised movement of AKAI’s thinking, like on the Lonesword-produced “Things that Stick With Me,” where an insistent, needling hi-hat keeps his flow brisk and vigilant as he sizes up the risks of violence and the pitfalls of trusting those in his midst. Most songs use familiar New York underground production to chart their emotional terrain, balanced out by fun sidequests like “Giggly,” in which AKAI smokes some weed and compares Detroit producer CoffeeBlack’s odd, spacey instrumental to Spy Kids. More muted or lackadaisical material still feels purposeful, like “HAKKYOU,” where Stability’s tinny beat and AKAI’s loose, teetering flow have the comforting feeling of a just-okay weekend after a tiring week.
No Control, No Glory never sounds insular or withdrawn; AKAI always faces outward and moves at a pace you can follow, trying to frame the abstruse parts of his individual experience in approachable ways. He makes this collective purpose explicit on the Mari Geti-produced “Free the World,” whose groovy marimba instrumental resembles something off the MIKE/Tony Seltzer projects. It’s a brash, confident song about the drive for self-determination, about always being willing to try again because you have “99 save files.” More broadly, it’s about connecting the struggles of oppressed people across the globe. “When I say ‘free the world’, I don’t forget nada/Not about Tigray, not about the Congo/Not about Sudan, not about Gaza,” he raps.
The refrain suggests a collectivist ethos—a mounting awareness of our communal responsibility against genocide, dispossession, and empire—that many have reached for, especially in the years since October 7. When AKAI repeats the lines a second time, it shifts from a rallying cry into a more solemn reminder, as a low-pass filter sucks the air out of the song, and all that’s left are the words in his head. Each group of people he mentions takes on a new weight. You contemplate all of those who have died, all of those at risk of dying, the harsh limits of one individual’s anxieties to effect change, and the need to participate in a wider movement regardless. Then the murk recedes, the song’s world opens up again, and the thoughts remain.