NO BRING INS

A lot of your favorite rappers have catchphrases. People tend to call them “ad-libs,” which sounds cooler, but they’re really just catchphrases—even if they aren’t words at all. There was a time when all it took was a grunt from Rick Ross to let you know a track was getting shut down. From Boldy James’ “Where we at wit’ it?” to Myaap’s “On my daddyyy,” announcing your presence is a requisite in every corner of hip-hop. A distinctive catchphrase makes you stand out; a refined arsenal of them can make you the center of attention. Enter Chy Cartier, an emergent Tottenham-bred firecracker whose London twang compounds her phonetic explosions. The 20-year-old rapper’s debut mixtape, NO BRING INS, doesn’t start until her signature chirplet rings out: “Bap! Bap! Bap! Bap!” Since her ascent in the UK last year, Chy has become synonymous with this phrase; she drops it in radio interviews and freestyles while her fans spam it in the comments. When she kicks off a track with a fluttering giggle instead, it’s the kind that spells impending doom. Every now and then, she’ll melodically roll her tongue as if she’s spraying bullets from the back of her throat. All the while her syncopated flows and roughneck punchlines impose themselves over quivering bass. “Let’s be frank like Lampard,” she spits on “Not the One.” Alright, Chy, the floor is yours.

Cartier’s onomatopoeic blitz culminates on single “Yo,” a breakout moment and a microcosm of her menacing appeal. She cartwheels through the gritty, minimal, speaker-knocking backdrop from Enfield producer BKay, a regular collaborator. The way she introduces herself is so saditty it almost hurt my feelings: “Ask ‘What’s new?’/Like you know that I been in the stu’/Foot in the cookin’/I don’t like ugly, never dependent/Come good lookin’.” It sets off a potent hook that bleeds right into her verses in a fist-clenched stream-of-consciousness. What sets Cartier apart is she almost never lands where you’ll expect her to in a rhyme scheme. In this case, it makes for unexpected finesse. Other times it feels hamfisted. On “Problem,” she lets her bars linger past measures at uncomfortable lengths, seemingly forcing lines that might’ve looked better on paper. Over one of several laid-back, Meek Mill type beats, she sounds pedestrian for the sake of being palatable. NO BRING INS splits two ways: About half of its 12 tracks use brute force to roll heads, while the other half tries to ease the tension with vibey restraint. Chy Cartier is at her best when she’s stepping over people, not when she’s trying to stand eye-level with them.

Another heater is “Different Kettle.” The way its simmering string glissando veers into slugs of bass is a frigid display fit for a Twilight Zone episode. More importantly, Chy is rapping her ass off. She spits with more assurance over mean beats like this, and her unorthodox syntax links rhymes together seamlessly. Her brash delivery of that “Rick O down ’till I look like a goth” line has been ringing in my head since I first heard it. “Not the One,” “Real Boss Chick,” and “No Bring Ins” (there goes that giggle again) are similarly rich in percussive barrages and sharp one-liners. Hearing a Brit adopt Atlanta lingo like “fine shyt” and “getting to the munyun” is kinda funny, I’ll admit, but when Chy boasts, “I got a new hairstyle every week, like/I ain’t gotta wait ’till my birthday,” it’s funnier to picture who she’s flexing on. No holds barred—just unabashed cockiness.

When she’s not popping wheelies in enemy territory, Chy Cartier hits barriers of her own making. “I don’t like to say how I feel,” she admits on “Crazy,” but NO BRING INS would cut deeper if she told us more than what she can see. The opening of “SN” shows off her flair for description: Cuban links, white tees, red boxes full of diamonds. Unfortunately there isn’t much past the surface. The spacier, somewhat generic production on the back end of the record seems handpicked for reflection, but real insight is evasive. Cartier flirts with the idea of a love story on “Crazy,” writing about a boy who gives her roses and takes her to Paris, but the lack of emotional depth is glaring when you know it’s meant to be there. What does she feel when she’s with him? How bad does she want it to last? “Locked In” is a plea for honesty and loyalty from her inner circle, except there’s no sense for the betrayal she’s experienced. It makes it hard for her words to resonate.

Since her introduction to the UK’s thriving underground, Cartier’s appetite for luxury has signaled superstar ambition. NO BRING INS can feel like it’s checking off steps in a formula for an accessible album: a couple club bangers, a couple love songs, some vague motifs about getting it out the mud. It’s this desire for crossover appeal that makes the sound palette feel safer than it needs to be. The piano roll on “Good Approach” and strings on the outro could’ve been plucked from any beat pack. There’s no need for Cartier to follow a blueprint—she just needs to feel comfortable. All it takes are some claps and an acid house squelch for her to make “Shush” a standout, rapping in disgust at the leeches attaching themselves to her business. What NO BRING INS shows is that no matter how unconventional her delivery, Chy Cartier can dunk on her opps in her sleep. The real challenge is in making the music her own.