8/25/2026
RJ Payne - My Prediction is Payne EP
B1 The Architect & DJ Goadman - If I Could..
If I Could.. is a collaborative project from Canadian MC, producer and audio engineer B1 The Architect and Canadian producer DJ Goadman.
Across eight tracks, the duo builds a strong atmospheric and ethereal sound, blending sharp wordplay, introspection, conceptual writing and storytelling into a cohesive musical journey.
Citizen Kane - Black Belt Jones
Polo Black - Rabid
Citizen Kane - Who is Shadow Hawk!? (Broken Justice)
Gamblez Tha Lucky Bastard x Stu Bangas - 80's Baby, 90's Kid
Dead Players (Jam Baxter, Dabbla & GhostTown) - Faster Than the Speed of Death
Jam Baxter, Dabbla and GhostTown return to complete the Dead Players trilogy this September.
‘Faster than The Speed of Death’ expertly represents the most recent chapter in a decade (or more) of music making from the trio. Born in Soul-2-Soul’s old studio, turned legendary squat, in Holloway, North London, before evolving into a collaboration from three different corners of the globe (Baxter living in Mexico City, Dabbla hopping around Europe and GhostTown settled in sunny Yorkshire) ‘Faster than The Speed of Death’ celebrates evolution, while staying true to the previous iterations of the Dead Players universe.
Collaborating from distance can have its pitfalls, however, this isn’t Dead Players first rodeo. Once the blueprint was established, Dabbla and GhostTown flew out to Mexico to be in the same timezone as Baxter; finalising songs, shooting videos and eating tamales at the summit of ancient temples all vital parts of the album process.
The result? A pitch perfect listen that emphatically completes the triptych. ‘Faster than The Speed of Death’ is a powerful reminder of the Dead Players universe; a joyride back down the rabbit hole where everything sparkles crimson and green, streetlights bouncing off the side of the getaway car, Baxter and Dabbla’s inimitable lyricism expertly propped up by GhostTown’s thunderous production across 13-tracks.
8/24/2026
Baby Jayne - singles. (Album Spotlight)
Baby Jayne Turns Damage, Defiance and Dark Humor Into singles.
Originally released: November 29, 2014
Length: 3 tracks
Location: Sterling, Illinois
Format: Retrospective album spotlight
Baby Jayne is an artist who is different from some of the artists I have covered in these spotlights because there is a lot of personal history here. She has been a longtime friend, we have recorded music together, collaborated across projects, and shared stages in the past.
So this is not me pretending to discover an artist from a distance. I already know how sharp her writing can be.
Going back to singles. more than a decade after its original release is interesting because the three songs capture several things that have always made Baby Jayne distinctive. She can be funny while being vicious, vulnerable without becoming sentimental, and self-deprecating one second before turning around and verbally dismantling somebody the next.
Baby Jayne has always had a voice that is hard to separate from her personality. Her writing can move from self-deprecating humor to aggression, sexuality, insecurity, depression, and straight-up battle rap without sounding like she is switching characters. Those contradictions are part of what makes the writing feel like her rather than a collection of techniques.
The title singles. is almost aggressively plain for writing this dense.
The cover fits the simplicity and humor of the title. A towering stack of one-dollar bills turns singles. into a visual joke before the music even starts. The title can refer to individual songs, dollar bills, and, considering some of the relationship material on the release, the possibility that being single might occasionally be the healthier option.
That last part becomes apparent almost immediately.
When the Red Flag Introduces Herself
“Succubus”
“Succubus” is Baby Jayne turning toxic attraction into character work.
The song opens with jokes, flirtation, insults, sex, and enough self-awareness that nobody involved can reasonably claim they were not warned. She presents herself as desirable and dangerous at the same time, essentially telling the other person that falling for her is their first mistake.
That is what makes the persona fun. She is not hiding the knife. She is showing it to you while making you compliment it.
Baby Jayne moves between arrogance and self-destruction with almost no separation between them. She can describe herself as both poison and cure, broken and lovable, then treat somebody else’s attachment like another opportunity for a punchline. The language of romance becomes deliberately ugly. Love is punishment, physical impact, obsession, servitude, and eventually mutual destruction.
But the song does not remain a simple exercise in playing the villain. Something changes in the latter portion. The confident predator begins absorbing damage too. Violence stops feeling purely metaphorical. The relationship becomes less about one person controlling another and more like two people finding new ways to injure each other.
That transition gives “Succubus” more weight than the early jokes initially suggest. The character spends much of the track insisting that she is exactly as dangerous as advertised, but by the end, nobody has really won. What started as exaggerated sexual power becomes a portrait of intimacy collapsing into emotional and physical ruin.
The song is really about the strange pride people sometimes take in being bad for one another. Baby Jayne just makes that dysfunction funny enough that you almost miss how dark it becomes.
Mbeatz provides the beat, with Obadiah Bishop credited for recording and mixing.
Finding a Way Out Without Pretending There Is One
“Way Out”
“Way Out,” featuring MidiEvil, turns inward.
Where “Succubus” builds a larger-than-life persona, “Way Out” keeps puncturing the idea that anyone has their life figured out. The opening is full of anxiety, unfinished plans, religion, ambition, artistic frustration, and the feeling of trying to pull yourself upright while your own hand will not stop shaking. Baby Jayne rejects the role of guru or inspirational figure almost immediately.
That becomes one of the track’s central ideas. People want artists to become symbols. They want depression to make somebody deeper. They want suffering to produce meaningful art. They want the damaged person to remain damaged enough to keep creating whatever version of them the audience prefers.
Baby Jayne pushes against that idea directly. She recognizes the ugly possibility that people may have liked her better when she hated herself. That is a brutal observation about the relationship between an artist and an audience. Misery can become branding.
The second verse widens the idea from artists to people in general. Everyone has some version of an exit, escape, distraction, belief, or coping mechanism. Drugs, social media, religion, optimism, romance, and self-destruction are placed uncomfortably close together because they can all become ways of getting outside yourself for a while.
The song refuses to elevate anyone above that struggle. Its final idea is the important one: heroes do not exist because people are too human. That line reframes the entire track.
“Way Out” is not really about finding the correct escape route. It is about admitting that everyone is looking for one.
Bandcamp identifies the song as featuring MidiEvil, although the published lyric page does not separate or label a MidiEvil section, so I would rather not invent an interpretation of the feature that the available credits do not support.
Refusing to Become Somebody’s Quota
“Fair? Well... Minnesota.”
The shortest song is probably the most openly confrontational.
“Fair? Well... Minnesota.” is part farewell, part scene critique, part battle rap, and part exhausted artist manifesto. Baby Jayne writes about performing for overwhelmingly white crowds, financial instability, disappointment with what art has actually given back to her, and the growing realization that artistic communities can exploit people while pretending everybody is moving toward the same destination.
The frustration is not abstract. She sounds tired of being useful to people who do not seem equally interested in being useful to her.
That makes the title work particularly well. “Fair? Well...” sounds like both a question and a goodbye.
The writing still has plenty of jokes and rap flexing. She works Kanye, Big Boi, André 3000, Dolemite, concrete shoes, and shit’s creek into a verse that keeps changing emotional temperature. One second she is talking about debt and artistic disappointment. The next she is threatening to erase somebody’s rap career.
That instability is part of the personality. Baby Jayne does not compartmentalize very neatly. The pain and the punchline usually arrive together.
The most important statement comes near the end when she refuses to let being an artist turn her into somebody else’s quota. That takes the song beyond frustration with one city. It becomes a statement about artistic autonomy.
Baby Jayne can criticize the scene, feel betrayed by it, acknowledge her own obscurity, and still refuse to let any of those things decide whether she remains an artist. That is where the farewell becomes less bitter than it first appears.
She is not quitting. She is leaving on her own terms.
Cal McCaskill, also known as Bob Dolemite/NotPorn, handled the production, recording, and mix, while Baby Jayne is credited for the lyrics and vocals.
Final Thoughts
At only three tracks, singles. is not trying to behave like some carefully plotted concept album. Its cohesion comes from Baby Jayne herself.
Across roughly nine minutes of music, the same contradictions keep resurfacing. Confidence and insecurity. Humor and depression. Sexuality and disgust. Ego and self-awareness. Artistic ambition and complete skepticism about what being an artist is actually supposed to accomplish.
That contradiction is where Baby Jayne is strongest.
She can tell you she is brilliant without pretending she is healthy. She can make herself the villain without making everyone around her innocent. She can mock the entire idea of artistic importance while obviously caring deeply about making art.
Even the three song titles form a loose emotional progression when viewed retrospectively.
“Succubus” asks what happens when attraction becomes destructive.
“Way Out” asks what people do when they need to escape themselves.
“Fair? Well... Minnesota.” asks when it is finally time to leave something behind.
None of those songs offers a particularly clean answer. That fits. Baby Jayne’s writing has never struck me as interested in cleaning life up enough to make it inspirational. The mess is usually the point.
Revisiting singles. in 2026 also makes the age of the release part of its appeal. These songs preserve a specific version of an artist I have known, collaborated with, and performed alongside, but the writing still feels recognizably hers.
The references date the songs. The personality does not.
The sharp humor is still there. The discomfort is still there. The instinct to take something painful and phrase it in the funniest or ugliest possible way is still there.
Maybe that is the best reason to revisit a release like this.
Not because it needs to be treated like some lost classic that history overlooked.
Because sometimes a few old songs can remind you exactly why somebody’s voice stood out in the first place.
John Steady - Cross Roads EP (Album Spotlight)
John Steady Faces the Devil and Himself
Released: August 21, 2026
Length: 5 tracks
Sound: Guitar-driven live instrumentation, no samples
Approach: Songwriting over rhyme writing
John Steady is an artist I have crossed paths with through underground hip-hop, and we have collaborated on music in the past. There has always been a mutual respect for each other’s work, so I am not approaching Cross Roads as a completely detached critic. Like the other album spotlights I have been doing, this is more about digging into the project, explaining what I hear in it, and hopefully putting some more ears on music I think deserves them.
John has always been a real D.I.Y. artist. He writes, produces, records, mixes, masters, and releases his own music. His reputation has largely been built around lyricism and dense multisyllabic writing, but Cross Roads deliberately moves in another direction.
Before John was an emcee, he was a musician, and he had some success playing in a band. For this project, he decided to reconnect with that side of himself. There are no samples. The music is built from live instrumentation, with guitars driving much of the sound. More importantly, John told me his goal was to focus on songwriting over rhyme writing.
That distinction is important. Cross Roads still has bars, but it does not feel designed around proving how many syllables John can fit into them. The writing serves the songs first. Hooks repeat ideas. Images return from track to track. The guitar is not just decoration behind the rapping. It belongs to the same world as the desert roads, bars, bottles, devils, outlaws, and religious imagery.
Finita La Commedia
The EP continues a conversation John started on his previous project, Finita La Commedia. That record dealt with getting older, life after partying, and the reality of sobriety. John will reach eight years sober this Halloween, and Cross Roads does not approach sobriety like a victory lap. It is more interested in what remains after the drinking stops.
That may be the real crossroads here. It is the place where the musician and emcee meet. The past and present meet. The person who drank meets the person who no longer does. The temptation to romanticize the old life meets the knowledge of what that life actually cost.
The cover captures all of that before the first song starts. A tattooed musician sits at an intersection with signs pointing toward El Paso and Las Cruces, a stop sign behind him, a cigarette in his mouth, and a guitar literally burning in his hands. The Southwestern landscape roots the mythology somewhere real. This is not some anonymous crossroads pulled from folklore. It belongs to John’s world.
And of course, putting a musician with a guitar at a crossroads immediately brings the old image of meeting the devil into the picture. John takes that familiar story and makes it personal.
When the Voice of Reason Has History
“Voice of Reason”
“Voice of Reason” opens the EP by immediately complicating its title. John knows what the sensible choice is now, but he also knows where he has been. He describes dark roads, bars, bottles, fights, and a spirit that spent years feeling possessed. He cannot simply declare himself the voice of reason and erase the person who came before.
The devil enters the album almost casually. He hangs around the bar. He plays guitar. He starts fights. He talks to your wife. He is charming enough to make bad decisions seem reasonable. That is how temptation works throughout Cross Roads. The devil rarely feels like some distant supernatural monster. He is familiar. He knows the same bars. He knows the songs. He knows exactly what to offer.
The most interesting part is John’s admission that he cannot really become the voice of reason until he has control over his own demons. Sobriety has given him distance, but it has not allowed him to pretend those demons never existed. By the end of the song, the desert and the devil have already become part of the album’s mythology. John warns that if you meet that demon yourself, you need to do better. He is speaking from experience.
Refusing the Contract
“Cross Road”
The title track turns that mythology into an actual conversation. John meets the devil at the crossroads, and naturally the devil offers him what musicians have supposedly been offered there forever. Talent. Legacy. Success. A deal.
But John’s version of the devil knows something more dangerous than how to make him play the right notes. He knows John’s history. The devil reminds him that he was there during the drinking, loneliness, fights, and nights when no god seemed to be around. He presents himself almost like an old friend who stayed when everyone else disappeared.
That is what makes the song more interesting than a simple good versus evil story. The devil has an argument. He can point to real memories. He can say, in effect, I was there for you. The problem is that the companionship came with a bottle.
John writes about memories that are difficult to remember, which says almost everything necessary about the bargain being offered. The devil can promise comfort, inspiration, and a legacy, but John already knows the price because he has paid versions of it before.
There is also a revealing moment when John says the real devil wears a wonderful dress. The supernatural monster starts becoming less important than the temptations people actually encounter. By the end, John does what the mythology usually tells the musician not to do. He tears up the contract while looking the devil in the eye. That rejection feels like the center of the EP.
The Monster Was Never Under the Bed
“Monsters”
“Monsters” removes most of the distance between John and the demons he has been describing. He says it directly. He is not afraid of monsters. He is afraid of himself.
The devil is still present, but now John describes the two of them like Bonnie and Clyde. That relationship makes sense after “Cross Road.” The darkness was never simply something chasing him. Part of it traveled with him because part of it belonged to him.
The Western imagery becomes stronger here too. Billy the Kid, Jesse James, desert plains, guns, and outlaws all fit naturally beside the crossroads mythology. Underneath those references are some of the most personal moments on the project. John remembers extreme desperation, hunger, drinking alone, and periods when the danger was not some fictional monster hiding in the darkness. He became the thing he was afraid of.
There is also something refreshing about his acknowledgment that the song probably will not get millions of clicks or make him rich. At this stage, Cross Roads does not sound like music created around chasing an algorithm. John is writing because these songs need somewhere to exist.
Carrying the Weight Without the Bottle
“Damned”
“Damned” may be the clearest example of what John means when he talks about the reality of sobriety. Stopping drinking does not erase everything that happened while you were drinking. It does not suddenly answer every question about faith, pain, regret, identity, or why certain things happened in the first place.
John describes himself as trapped inside a cage he created. He carries grief like chains around his feet and pain like the tattoos on his body. The religious imagery becomes especially heavy here. God, angels, Adam and Eve, hell, temples, devils, and damnation all become ways of asking the same question.
What happens when you survive the life that was destroying you but still have to live with the person it created?
John does not give an easy answer. He remembers partying, fighting, poverty, childhood dreams, and the demons waiting at the crossroads. But this time, when they offer him the bottle and ask him to kneel, he refuses the deal.
That refusal matters more because the pain remains. The song does not argue that sobriety makes life painless. It argues that pain no longer has to make the decision. The closing warning brings the entire song back down to earth. You are not going to find yourself inside an empty bottle.
When the Darkness Follows You Home
“Darkness Weeps”
“Darkness Weeps” closes the EP by connecting John’s adult struggles with things that began much earlier. He talks about childhood, sleeping in hotels, people yelling at night, trying to pray for peace, and feeling like his own home was already filled with demons.
That changes how the rest of the EP sounds. The devil did not first appear when John started drinking. The bottle simply gave that darkness somewhere else to live.
John describes alcohol almost like a companion that followed him home. When he was isolated, the friendship could be found inside the bottle. The problem was that the same thing being used to drown the devil was giving the devil somewhere to stay.
The guitar becomes especially important here. The entire EP has leaned into John’s history as a musician, and now the instrument almost becomes another voice for emotions that ordinary language cannot fully carry.
The song does not end with John declaring himself cured, enlightened, or permanently free from everything behind him. The darkness is still part of his bones. He just knows the road better now. That makes “Darkness Weeps” a much more fitting ending than a clean victory song would have been. Cross Roads is not about defeating a cartoon devil. It is about recognizing what that devil represents and choosing not to follow him anymore.
Final Thoughts
What makes Cross Roads interesting within John Steady’s catalog is not simply that the beats have guitars on them. The bigger change is in how he approaches the writing.
John intentionally stepped away from treating every verse like an opportunity to demonstrate rhyme technique and instead built five connected songs. The live instrumentation and lack of samples help separate the project from his usual approach, but the real shift is structural. Hooks matter. Repeated images matter. The sequencing matters. The same devil can mean something slightly different each time he appears.
Across five songs, the crossroads becomes a flexible metaphor for addiction, sobriety, aging, temptation, creativity, faith, memory, and artistic direction.
The guitar is important for another reason too. Cross Roads reconnects John with the musician he was before he became known primarily as an emcee. In that sense, the album title applies to his creative life just as much as his personal one.
Two versions of John Steady meet here. The lyricist is still present, but so is the musician who wants to write a song rather than simply destroy a verse.
The project also avoids one of the easiest mistakes an artist can make when writing about sobriety. John does not rewrite his past into a simple story where alcohol was evil, sobriety solved everything, and the credits rolled.
The devil gets some good lines.
That matters because temptation would not be temptation if it never offered anything. The old life contained camaraderie, music, escape, stories, and memories alongside the damage. Cross Roads acknowledges that complexity while still making John’s choice clear.
He knows where that road goes now. He does not need to walk it again.
If the projects John has lined up are any indication, Cross Roads also arrives during a very productive stretch. His Bandcamp-only Cease and Desist Tapes will collect beats made across roughly the last seven years using samples and loops that would be difficult to clear for modern distribution. He also has two more solo EPs, Intrusive Thoughts and Quantum Lyrics, already finished and awaiting their final mix and master.
Beyond those sits The Baron of Burden, which John says will probably be his final solo full-length album.
If that ends up being the case, Cross Roads feels appropriately placed along the way. It sounds like an artist looking backward without going backward, reconnecting with the musician he used to be while writing from the perspective of the person he became.
The crossroads is usually presented as the place where somebody has to choose a direction.
John Steady sounds like he already made his choice.
A Bandcamp-only beat tape built from roughly seven years of sample and loop-based production that would be difficult to clear for modern distribution.
One of two additional solo EPs already finished and waiting on a final mix and master, with hopes of releasing before the end of the year.
A planned future full-length that John says will probably be his final solo album. Quantum Lyrics is also finished and awaiting its final mix and master.