'Real' is a word so drenched in irony it now has little meaning. My Way – a collection of grimy bleep bloops and harsh spitting – is a work of integrity and resolve. In times past we might have called it real. For the moment 'excellent' should suffice.
Who Am I is stunning. An autobiography at once quiet and urgent we learn, “I always done my own thing. Let me show you”. It's a line that would sound a little shallow if it wasn't surrounded by the rest of My Way. Happily it is, so it's a mini-triumph. Creepin' is a drawcard. There's something disarmingly honest about a man like Frak writing a love song to the Nike swoosh and Ralph Lauren's collared T-shirts, all while backed by a monstrous beat. This Thing Of Ours, whose title is a window into how many Sopranos episodes Fraksha (and, one expects, his fans) might have watched over the years, is actually a celebration of the role music plays in Frak's life. Future is cannabis-induced paranoia. Not a bad thing in this case, especially opening as it does with a Brad Strut guest spot. The image of London ending up like Soviet-era Moscow is particularly resonant. Ain't Got Time is paranoia of the opposite kind as our host delves into his fear of stagnation and, ultimately, death.
It's hard to believe My Way is a debut. That's in part because Fraksha has been around so long. But it's more because our host is so assured. Frak's confidence and charisma invite you to fall into his world. If only we could call it 'real'.
