More Sundays by Lexicon: A Raw, Unfiltered Punch to the Ears
Alright, let’s get one thing straight—Lexicon’s More Sundays isn’t your polished, radio-friendly hip-hop album. This is 1998 grit straight outta the US, slapped onto a disc with zero apologies. No big-label backing here; it’s self-released under "Not On Label," which kinda tells you everything about its DIY vibe. Produced by Rockwell Martin, this project feels like someone took all their frustrations, dreams, and late-night thoughts and just dumped them into beats and rhymes. And honestly? That rawness hits hard.
The tracklist ain’t long, but damn if it doesn’t pack a punch. Let’s talk about “Sundays (Dirtty)” first because holy hell, that beat slaps harder than most stuff I’ve heard in ages. It’s grimy as fuck, with these low-end basslines that feel like they’re crawling up your spine. The production has this chaotic energy—you can tell Rockwell wasn’t tryna play it safe. There’s no glossy sheen here, just pure uncut aggression. When Lexicon comes in spitting bars, it’s clear he means business. His flow switches up so much it keeps you on edge, never knowing what’s coming next. If there’s one song from this album that’ll stick in your head for days, it’s this one. Trust me, once those drums kick in, you won’t forget ‘em anytime soon.
Then there’s “Wizardry (Bonus)”, which feels like an afterthought but somehow steals the show anyway. What makes this track wild is how unpredictable it is. One second you’re vibing to some laid-back groove, and the next, the whole thing flips into something completely different. It’s messy, sure, but in the best way possible. Like, who even thinks to do that? The scratches are sharp enough to cut glass, and the samples sound like they were pulled from some dusty record bin nobody touched in years. It’s chaotic genius, man. You listen to it once, and you either love it or you don’t get it at all. No in-between.
Now, not every track lands perfectly. Some parts drag, others feel unfinished—but maybe that’s the point. More Sundays doesn’t aim for perfection. Instead, it goes for raw emotion and authenticity, and honestly? That’s rare as hell in today’s overproduced world. Listening to this album feels like eavesdropping on someone’s private jam session. It’s intimate, real, and kinda beautiful in its own messed-up way.
Here’s the kicker though—why the hell did they name it More Sundays? Is it supposed to make us think about chilling on weekends or something deeper? Beats me. But hey, maybe that’s why it sticks. Fucked-up titles for fucked-up music. Ain’t that poetic?
So yeah, if you’re looking for something clean and polished, skip this. But if you wanna hear hip-hop that fights back, that refuses to be boxed in, then grab yourself a copy of More Sundays. Just don’t blame me when it messes with your brain.
