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Medhane’s Offering: Album Review
by aishamanneIn a music landscape controlled by unfair and unpredictable algorithms, it makes sense that some artists are trying to keep up with trends in an effort to avoid irrelevance by any means. But that’s part of what’s refreshing about Medhane’s Offering: the soulful, meditative raps on this album are not trying to be anything other than real.
Whether you resonate with his reality, one layered with pain and regret and memories of betrayal, he presents it over irresistible soul samples and jazzy instrumentals that entirely reject the notion of chasing sonic trends. Even without listening closely to the lyrics, just with Medhane’s classic Brooklyn cadence over smooth production, Offering sounds like music to remember. It isn’t the most memorable project in his catalog, but beyond that context, these songs feel like the kind that you make memories to—or sit and ponder your memories with.
Offering is the most alone Medhane has been on a project since 2021’s Amethyst of Morning. Last year, he and longtime collaborator/friend producer Kahlil Blu shared the stage on Double or Nothing, a punchy departure from his typical pensive boom-bap. The EP balanced upbeat, drum-heavy bangers with more mellow loops. Three years prior, Do The Math flexed Medhane’s pure hip-hop chops through lyricism and production featuring verses from Elucid, Navy Blue and Wiki. Now, Offering resembles the solitude of Amethyst of Morning, invoking a similar emotional quality—there are features from Houston singer Peyton and New York music collective Standing on the Corner, but these are accentuations around the album’s central story. It feels like they emphasize, rather than detract from, the singularity of what sounds like Medhane recording thoughts from a journal for personal viewing only.
What is most clear on Offering, however, is his palpable desire to be heard. The album begins with a somber introduction [‘i(ntro)’], a drumless soliloquy that sounds “something like a quiet storm in the summer,” words he uses in the first few lines. This progression of vulnerable confessions, observations tinged with painful lessons learned, sets the foundation for his emotional state. His perception of the world is a direct result of what he feels the world has put him through, which is an elephant in the room that he respectably confronts right out the gate—not by name, but at least with an honest nod of acknowledgment.
Within the first thirty seconds of the album, we hear bars like, “Times changed, I ain’t the same as my brother/Watched ‘em eat, I played the shade made a come up/It’s a game, niggas baiting your hunger/Type to steal shit, say they discovered/Niggas switch teams, changing they colors.”
If you’ve been familiar with Medhane over the past few years, you likely already know. If you don’t, he wants you to—he wants it known that he won’t go quietly, that the wound is still fresh five years later.
The retort that he’s becoming a broken record is to be expected after this project, but the intro track paints a clear portrait of self-awareness; he hasn’t let go of the past, nor does he think he should have to. He raps about not running away from his issues, and it seems to be this lack of fear that drives him to discuss them over and over again.
The last line of the intro is “Niggas hurting and pretending they fine,” which is left to simmer for thirty seconds of the cooing instrumental before the song closes. This line could be Medhane describing himself in his daily life, and/or a statement of distinction: while everyone else is pretending, I’m not, at least not on this album.
And in many ways, he never was. As far back as 2020, the Routine rapper cited Biggie, Future, Earl Sweatshirt as some of the artists who inspired him to incorporate mental health into his subject matter. Albums like Own Pace and Cold Water confront themes of depression, anxiety and trauma. Even back then, there were some references to painful losses and trust issues in friendships. Yet, despite all that, there’s still a discernable shift in his lyrical content before and after The Incident.
Collaboration and partnership has always been central to Medhane’s career. When he rose to prominence in the underground around 2019, he was associated with acts like producer Slauson Malone (Medslaus) and sLUms, a rap collective that included MIKE, Ade Hakim and others. He was a collaborator of Earl Sweatshirt (on Some Rap Songs there are nods to some of the people who were impacting Earl’s sound at the time; “I be with Mike and Med”). Lore has it that Medhane even played a role in connecting fellow underground natives like Mavi and Maxo to bigger acts in the scene earlier in their careers. So it’s no surprise that support—who’s on my side and who isn’t—has always been a recurring theme in his lyrics.
It should similarly be unsurprising that losing the support of the majority of those people would be relevant to his current work. In 2020, sexual assault allegations disrupted the trajectory of his career. The way the allegations surfaced was rather nebulous—there hasn’t been much tracing back to any original post or accuser—but they were immediately met with response from Medhane, his collaborators, and his fans.
Medhane has consistently denied the allegations, and over the years whenever they resurface he’s posted screenshots, emails and messages in an effort to prove his innocence. In 2020, former collaborators like Slauson Malone, MIKE, and Mavi announced that they were distancing themselves from Medhane due to the allegations. Other artists and creatives in the New York scene posted on social media denouncing him, many of whom are included in the messages that Medhane has since posted showing people apologizing for the role they played in spreading a “false narrative.”
In addition to regaining the support of former detractors, other hip-hop artists like Ankhlejohn, Pink Siifu, Elucid, Wiki, and more have since supported Medhane’s music. He also has his own fanbase that have supported the post-Cold Water releases. In other words, not all was lost.
But lyrics about people switching teams and showing their true colors, about Medhane mistakenly thinking certain people were his brothers, are usually associated with a loss that’s been central to the unfolding of this story—the loss of his friendship with MIKE.
As the two came up together, they also shared the same pool of fans. So there’s been a lot of investment from the public in how they interact (or don’t); there are Reddit threads dedicated to analyzing which of MIKE or Medhane’s lyrics are shots at each other. This culminated in a larger moment earlier this year, the first public interaction between the two since 2020. Fans had surmised that Medhane was taking shots at MIKE in his On the Radar freestyle when he rapped “what the fuck is 10k, I’m ‘bout a bankroll,” referencing Jay-Z’s “I’m ‘bout a dollar, what the fuck is 50 Cents?”
This led to MIKE, the leader and founder of 10k Global, calling out Medhane on X—throwing jabs about his ability to sell out a show and book tours. 10k’s own Florida rapper Niontay jumped in to announce that the two rappers had already fought (you can guess who he claims won), and the fans ran off with it from there.
Back in 2020, the allegations Medhane faced raised important discussions around the normalization of misogyny within hip-hop, especially the underground. Everyone who spoke publicly on the matter, including him, denounced the culture of sexual harm against women that society enables. But today, it doesn’t seem like that’s what this is about anymore. In a world post-the Great Rap War, fans sensationalize sexual assault allegations in ways that demonstrate a lack of true concern for victims. Having a “weird case” gets thrown around like a punchline. We dance and hopscotch to choruses about rappers being pedophiles, and then we watch both sides of the war go on to rub shoulders with abusers.
Sure, there are people who were rightfully shocked by the news of 2020 and decided to cease their support for Medhane based on the information available at that time. But today, much of the negative attention surrounding him online is simply an extension of support for MIKE. During this year’s spat between them, many people made posts admitting that MIKE’S dislike for Medhane is enough to justify their shared disdain, regardless of his reasons or their validity.
Five years later, in the absence of any proof or source of the allegations (and in the presence of multiple attempts at proof on Medhane’s end, whether or not you choose to believe them), one must ask: is the shit-talking that ensues online whenever his name comes up driven by a genuine concern for the safety of women, or is it simply an opportunity for people to dunk on their favorite rapper’s opp?
(Because this is my platform, before continuing I want to clarify that if I had not done the necessary due diligence on the matter in question, I would not be here writing this review.)
The beef between Kendrick and Drake raised similar questions surrounding whether the subsequent discussions about women were rooted in sincerity or sensationalism. Of course, those two rappers in many ways could not be more different than the players involved in New York’s underground scene. However, Medhane is a rapper who, like Drake, understands the experience of being outcast from your hip-hop circle. On his recent single What Did I Miss? Drake grapples with similar themes of betrayal: “Last time I looked to my right, you niggas was standing beside me/How can some people I love hang around pussies who try me?” are lines that could’ve come straight from the psyche of Medhane.
They share a “no new friends” kind of appreciation for brotherhood. On Offering, mentions of betrayal are usually balanced with themes of loyalty and honor; he’s far from pessimistic about his friendships, and even learns about life through them. “My brodie told me” is a recurring device in his lyrics, holding space for bites of wisdom he attributes to his friends: like “life is just a moment, dawg” on Red Eyes.
There are emotional highs and lows throughout the album as Medhane presents the moments of his own life. Sometimes he’s rapping about being betrayed or losing his Grandma; other times, it’s just about wearing Acne denim or sipping sauvignon blanc. This topical breadth is showcased on Offering and in Medhane’s style in general; he manages to portray the quotidian aspects of the life of a 20-something with deep thoughtfulness, while depicting the heavier, more traumatic parts of life with crisp simplicity.
After i(intro), the next song to follow is lighter in tone. Medhane rides the jazzy, mellow beat of never forgot like a bicycle, which is fitting since it sounds like a song to bump while biking around Brooklyn on a breezy day. He starts, “I rock the bubble when the temperature drop,” a line that resonates as a shout-out to New York (and reminds me of his fellow Brooklyn rapper TyBass’ recent project, Catch A Wine In A Bubblecoat Music). The song ends with a fun sample from a viral TikTok video.
He reunites with JUNIE for the third track babysteps, as well as tracks 13 (so blue) and 14 (lift me up!). The duo last worked together on Sacrifices, their joint EP released in 2022. Medhane is at his most Medhane when the two are together—their shared affinity for rare samples and soulful instrumentals makes for undeniable musical chemistry. Where the first two tracks focused more on what he’s learned from others, this one is about lessons from Medhane. He shares his personal habits and philosophies, like icing out his ears and then investing his money, or working out at the gym, or living with regrets: all the baby steps on his life path. At the end, he asks “why they frontin’ like we ain’t the best?”, chuckling through the question the same way he did that line on Do the Math’s ‘puzzle piece’: “I’m the one, these niggas number three.” Rappers laughing through their disgust is my favorite genre.
He lets the song cry on “A Long Walk,” detailing both his personal struggles and the struggles of the world over gentle piano laced with soft trumpets. Medhane tells us that he’s been talking to God more in a voice that sounds almost tearful, asking “why He give me these cards for?” After a long, emotional walk, the pace increases as he begins “Speedwalking,” a classic kick-snare track that sounds like what comes after wiping your tears. “‘02 Roc” is a quality contribution to the ‘hip-hop meets R&B’ lexicon, with Peyton’s airy vocals dancing around Medhane’s bold delivery over a triumphant beat that could’ve fit into Jay-Z’s early 2000s discography. The more authentic Jay-Z impression, however, is unintentionally on red eyes, another jazzy number where Medhane’s steady, measured flow is as Brooklyn as it gets.
His honesty seems to increase as the album closes. On “so blue,” JUNIE helps him speak straight from the heart on another tender sample where his emotions become more self-assured. It’s less about being down than staying down. It’s about the come up, the survival rate from attempts to be broken. “Niggas tried to push me out and I created a niche,” he declares.
This album, a quality exploration of vulnerability and personal growth that posits the hip-hop tradition as a locus for emotional transmutation, is not a far departure from Medhane’s work so far. If you were looking for something entirely different from him, this project may not deliver any surprises. But if you love when rappers rap, when it’s not just hype beats and catchy melodies but skillful, probing lyricism and production that evokes feeling, it’s undoubtedly worth a listen. Also, the quasi-wars between the East and West Coast “sides” of hip-hop earlier this year drew much attention to the unfortunate state New York rap has been in for the past few years. In this day and age, it’s genuinely refreshing to hear a “New York rapper” who was not only born in New York, but raps in a style that demonstrates appreciation for New York hip-hop’s golden era.
Sure, here and there he’s still whining about betrayal. But he’s been using his music to express grief around the loss of his grandmother for just as long; do we want him to hurry up and get over that, too? Medhane learned from the Biggie, Mobb Deep and Tupac ilk, and he’s from a generation that came up with JuiceWRLD, Future and G Herbo. Through both his music and his influences, it’s clear that hip-hop and the blues have always been inextricably linked. The late Brownsville rapper Ka once said that he didn’t do live shows because his music is for your pain, and he didn’t want to make people feel that at shows. Maybe there’s a time and place for music that reflects on trauma, and it doesn’t have to be all the time. You’re free to only listen when you’re also in that mood.
On a stellar closing track, likely the best on the album, Medhane raps, “Tried to turn me to the villain but it built the resolve.” The question of whether his subject matter will ever stop referencing the past is futile, because he’s proud of what came from it: his resilience.
The hope is that the next project sees growth from Medhane not necessarily in subject matter, but in the liberties that he takes with his newfound place in hip-hop—and the world. It should feel quite freeing to create your own niche, even if you were made to. What could that sound like in the future? Offering demonstrates that Medhane has mastered his own style. He can curate a project with intention, his ear for production is consistent, and his skill for lyricism is sharp. But can he experiment? Projects like Double or Nothing began to scratch the surface of this potential, but Offering was more of a return to the classics.
Personally, I don’t need a YEEZUS from him. But it would be nice for the next project to come from a Medhane that has reflected on no longer being beholden to underground hip-hop fans and their expectations, the media, nor the past. It’s a secret weapon waiting to be tapped through his style and approach.
Still, he’s good at the blues and always will be. And twenty years from now, if Medhane’s still rapping about how most of the niggas he started with are in his J, that might be alright with me. Because it still doesn’t make the music not good.