I Tried to Tell You

The article presents I Tried to Tell You as the moment KP Skywalka really comes into his own. It’s an album where he pushes DMV drill forward without sanding down its edges, letting vulnerability and menace exist side by side. KP moves fluidly between memories of growing up—cheap meals, car rides soundtracked by ’90s R&B—and the present reality of street life, where survival is always top of mind. The 20-track sprawl feels intentional rather than bloated, giving him space to experiment with go-go rhythms, Southern rap storytelling, and smooth R&B textures while still delivering the breathless, rambling flow that defines Free Car Music. What holds it all together is the emotional push-and-pull at the center of the record: KP’s soft interior constantly pressing against the tough exterior he’s had to build.

KP is more than just another voice in a regional wave. He comes across as someone documenting his world in real time, in the tradition of rappers who treated albums like autobiographies rather than collections of moments. The contradictions in his writing—wanting love while recounting violence, joking through paranoia, remembering joy in the middle of trauma—feel less like inconsistencies and more like the truth of a life lived under pressure. The reviewer smartly avoids treating Free Car Music as a gimmick, instead showing how KP stretches it to carry soul, history, and emotional weight without losing its bite. That final image of him realizing he hasn’t seen his grandmother in months lingers because it’s painfully ordinary. It cuts through the bravado and reminds you what the album is really about: movement, sacrifice, and the quiet losses that pile up while you’re busy trying to survive.