They say in Venice, California, every other person’s on a skateboard, squinting into the sun in torn-up T-shirts—but my•escy managed to flip that picture on its head. You might imagine the usual hip-hop artist: chains, bracelets, girls draped over luxury cars—but his speakers aren’t blasting the expected basslines or laid-back summer hooks about grilled ribs. Instead, he pulled something raw and heavy from the shadows, twisted it into a sterile, minimalist mix, and now what comes out of the speakers is both unsettling and hypnotic.

His latest single, “Fallen Fruit,” is, in a word, a sonic siege—an unrelenting assault where pounding reverb and aggressive lyrics tear everything apart. It feels like the kind of chaos that summons a crowd of misfits into a pitch-black basement to jump around under the spell of manic screams. Play this at a live show and the stadium’s bound to shake—“Fallen Fruit” burns with a barely contained fury.

The whole track is built like a mental ambush: it starts with a sharp hit and never lets go. Even after the sound dies out, phantom echoes linger like aftershocks under the skin. my•escy’s appearance is a performance in itself. Picture a Slipknot member ditching the stage for a Paris Fashion Week runway.

He’s covered in a kind of gray residue—maybe cement, maybe warehouse dust. But it doesn’t come off as creepy. It pulls you in. I wouldn’t call it trashy — it’s more like high fashion turned inside out. Like Rick Owens designing end-times streetwear for doomsday preachers. “Fallen Fruit” is a volatile cocktail, and it’s hard not to wonder where he’s heading next. If this is the starting point—or rather, the second single—then what comes after might be absolute mayhem.

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