Ghais Guevara’s Goyard Ibn Said is loud, chaotic, and razor-sharp. The Philadelphia rapper and producer crafts a record that moves fast, throwing out references, history, and jokes like he’s dodging bullets. It’s a concept album told in two acts: the first a ride through success and excess, the second a collapse into something more personal and cutting. The production is restless, pulling from jazz, punk, classical, and internet-era hyperactivity. Everything is intentional, and nothing is comfortable.
The album opens with “The Old Guard Is Dead,” setting the tone with explosive energy and a sense of urgency. Guevara’s delivery is relentless, layering lines packed with historical references, political critique, and biting humor. He raps like someone who has too much to say and not enough time to say it, squeezing syllables into every corner of the beat. The production is dense, blending distorted samples with hard-hitting drums that keep the momentum pushing forward.
Tracks like “Leprosy” and “3400” hit with heavy bass and unpredictable flows. “Leprosy” plays with a menacing, almost cartoonish energy, while “3400” carries an eerie, reflective tone, shifting between confidence and paranoia. The beats flip mid-track, refusing to settle into a single groove. Every moment feels like a new scene, shifting the perspective on what success and status really mean.
As the album progresses, the humor gets sharper and the commentary gets heavier. “I Gazed Upon the Trap with Ambition” turns a street-level view into something philosophical, wrapping street survival in layers of cultural critique. “Monta Ellis” brings a dismissive tone, calling out industry pretenders over an off-kilter instrumental that refuses to sit still. Even the lighthearted moments feel like they have an edge, like a joke told while watching the world burn.
Act 2 flips the script. Where the first half rides high, the second half starts tearing it apart. “Bystander Effect” brings in Elucid, with production from DJ Haram, shifting into something darker and more claustrophobic. The energy is still there, but the perspective has changed. Guevara sounds like he’s looking over his shoulder now, aware that the success he’s rapping about has consequences. The beats get heavier, the lyrics cut deeper, and the pace, while still breakneck, feels more desperate.
Tracks like “4L” and “The Apple That Scarcely Fell” carry the weight of reflection, diving into identity, loss, and the cost of playing the game. “Branded” blends orchestral elements with trap, creating a sound that feels grand and suffocating at the same time. The production choices mirror the themes—every high comes with an undercurrent of tension, every moment of celebration is laced with doubt.
By the time Goyard Ibn Said reaches its conclusion, the message is clear. “Shaitan’s Spiderweb” and “You Can Skip This Part” strip things back, letting the weight of the album settle. The final track plays with chipmunk soul elements, flipping the idea of the celebratory closer into something more haunting. Guevara asks the real questions: Who’s really riding with him? Who’s watching from a distance, entertained but disconnected?
The album isn’t just about the highs and lows of success—it’s about the system that creates those highs and lows, about who benefits from them, and who gets left behind. The beats are wild, the bars are sharp, and the message cuts through. Goyard Ibn Said isn’t easy listening, but that’s exactly the point. It demands attention, and it earns it.
8/10
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