The fiercely independent, Idaho-raised rapper nick! channels a deeply overstimulated, restless frequency on his new EP, “GEEKED!”. Born in 2006 and building a fervent following entirely without industry co-signs, he occupies an interesting lane in new-wave underground hip-hop. His music sounds precisely like the brain chemistry of an internet-raised creative processing the blinding speed of newfound success. He writes and produces melodic, hard-hitting rap that swings unpredictably between high-energy ambition and emotionally vacant late-night reflection.
The whole tape is essentially a hedonistic sprint toward elevation. nick! pushes rage sonics and chaotic aesthetics to their absolute limits. You feel it in the distortion-heavy production, the blown-out 808s, and the sharp hi-hats. In a strangely observant way, luxury fashion functions throughout the EP as external armor. It protects him from underlying emotional turbulence while projecting a relentless, unapologetic confidence.
Listen to “neva lack,” a trap cut built on a bright, staccato, video-game-esque melody sitting atop deep low-end pulses. The vocal delivery is completely deadpan, building a hazy, apathetic space where meaningful connection is happily swapped for sheer self-indulgence. “lean gut w/yuke” takes this numb detachment further. It begins as a lethargic, narcotic loop—sounding faintly like a transmission trapped underwater. Halfway through, the song completely fractures into a crisp, pulsing chillwave trance, pulling the listener into a highly focused, mesmerizing nocturnal drive.
That same chaotic momentum fuels “stuck!”, where a high-pitched, buoyant sequence soundtracks a frenetic, drug-fueled dive into nightlife consumption. Heartbreak only surfaces if it can be smothered in designer threads. On “balenci + chrome hearts,” nick! explicitly weaponizes his wardrobe to cope, riding a fast, cyclical loop to reject vulnerability with aggressive bravado. When things inevitably turn toxic, the eerie, fast-paced arpeggios of “saran wrap!” capture the dizzying desire to evade strained relationships through relentless escapism.
The manic rush culminates in “made ts in 15 minutes,” a gritty track buzzing with the dual reality of sudden wealth and creeping paranoia. A descending, persistent staccato pattern keeps everything incredibly tense, documenting the hustle of an artist fiercely guarding his elevated status. Suddenly, the entire progression pitches down into a sluggish, distorted crawl. The abrupt shift drains the adrenaline completely out of the room, leaving you suspended in a heavy, disorienting void.
It forces a strange, quiet realization—when the money-fueled momentum finally stalls, who exactly are we underneath the expensive armor?
