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Lucas Foster will fuck up the biggest bowl of chili mac and cheese.
The third track on Anyways, “Blue Cheese Salad,” is illustrative of the sound that Young Nudy has made his living on. It could be considered a mission statement, before the percussion drops he clarifies: “I told y’all I only make stoner music, gangsta music, killa music, fuck ya hoe music.” Or it could be called a banger, when the bass starts shaking he starts with “She said boss up so I dropped the top on that bitch!”
But with Nudy it’s always been about the beat. East Atlanta’s premiere foodie has been sorting through his email for four years, and his palette hasn’t yet been poisoned by weed smoke or pharmaceuticals. Nudy has a preternatural ear and feel for curating a sound that resides in the sweet spot between left field and trap-a-holic crack. Here the synths, spacey, distressed and wobbly, move left to right, up and down across the mix, next to stripped down claps and of course, Nudy’s aspirational raps (bleu cheese is great slang for blue face hundreds). It’s a sound that Pierre Bourne and Carti trade in as well, but Nudy’s stamp on it, his raspy voice filled with wacky bars, has given him a lane all his own.
