Conway the Machine delivers You Can’t Kill God with Bullets, his fifth studio album, clocking in at just over an hour with 18 tracks. Released on Drumwork Music Group, the project features production from names like The Alchemist, Conductor Williams, Daringer, Apollo Brown, and Timbaland, alongside guests including Roc Marciano, G Herbo, Tony Yayo, Lady London, KNDRX, and Heather Victoria. The sound centers on gritty boom-bap, with soul samples, trap elements, and occasional drumless loops creating a dense, street-level atmosphere. Conway’s voice carries the rasp from his Bell’s palsy, each word pushing through with deliberate force, evoking the strain of survival. Themes of trauma, betrayal, grief, and guarded success dominate, structured as a loose chronicle where verses loop back to the 2012 shooting without resolution.
The album opens with “Gun Powder,” a brief intro sampling H. Rap Brown’s 1968 speech on power and violence. Drums thud sparsely, setting a mood of defiance amid historical weight. Conway uses the clip to frame his endurance, transitioning into “The Lightning Above the Adriatic Sea,” produced by J.U.S.T.I.C.E. League. Bass rumbles like distant thunder, with sparse keys echoing over kicks that land heavy. Conway stacks lines about Central Booking cells next to Coachella stages, his delivery monotone, blending property ownership with post-shooting jealousy from associates. The structure jumps timelines, mirroring fragmented recall, fostering a mood of unresolved tension.
“BMG” shifts to Sndtrak’s soulful boom-bap, where horns swell briefly before fading into snares that crack sharp. Conway affirms Black excellence, his flow accelerating on threats of demon time, creating an atmosphere of spiritual armor clashing with street menace. “Diamonds,” with Roc Marciano over Conductor Williams’ beat, layers dusty loops and bass that vibrates low. Conway details slaughter with casual detachment, while Roc’s verse adds observational chill, the mood cold and calculating, structured around escalating one-up bars.
“Hell Let Loose,” featuring DJ Whoo Kid and Tony Yayo, brings araabMUZIK’s trap-infused production—hi-hats skitter over booming 808s. Insults roll off in group verses, evoking a chaotic cypher vibe, though the energy plateaus without sharp peaks. “Crazy Avery,” handled by Timbaland, surprises with frantic drums that pulse erratically, like a heartbeat under stress. Conway lists investments in artists—flights, hotels, Coachella slots—his tone defensive, building a mood of ingratitude’s sting.
“The Painter,” reuniting with Daringer, strips back to lo-fi keys and snares that echo hollow. Conway catalogs problems avoided, his rasp emphasizing distrust, crafting a solitary atmosphere. “The Undying” acts as a short interlude, minimal beats underscoring persistence. “Nu Devils,” with G Herbo on araabMUZIK and Beat Butcha’s trap beat, thumps with sub-bass, verses trading gangsta narratives—Herbo recalls teen riches, Conway sharpens threats. The mood intensifies with shared grit, structured as a back-and-forth dialogue.
“Otis Driftwood,” produced by JR Swiftz, loops strings over steady drums, Conway claiming improvement with age, the atmosphere reflective yet assertive. “Mahogany Walls” returns to Conductor Williams’ lo-fi boom-bap, bass humming deep as Conway vows Drumwork’s reign, mood triumphant with undercurrents of isolation. “Parisian Nights,” featuring KNDRX on E. Jones’ beat, smooths out with chopped vocals and reefer haze, Conway describing Medellin connects and French linen, evoking rare relaxation amid global hustles.
“Se7enteen5ive” goes drumless, napes’ production floating on ethereal samples. Conway paints dope imagery—bricks, TEC-22s, wake plates—his flow unhurried, building a hypnotic mood of routine danger. “Attached,” with KNDRX and Lady London over Moo Latte’s soul chops, explores toxic bonds; London’s verse flips pursuit dynamics, the structure alternating perspectives for a tense, intimate atmosphere.
“I Never Sleep,” from Apollo Brown, chops soul samples with added kicks, Conway seeking forgiveness, mood heavy with regret. “Hold Back Tears,” produced by Beat Butcha, minimizes elements to piano and faint drums, Conway listing lost loved ones—grandmother, child—his admission of depression raw, atmosphere thick with sorrow. “Organized Mess,” The Alchemist’s drumless loop, details decade-long wealth, mood shifting to guarded accomplishment. Closer “Don’t Even Feel Real (Dreams),” with Heather Victoria on Bonjour’s soulful boom-bap, ends on surreal success notes, her hook melodic against Conway’s inventory of unreturned favors.
You Can’t Kill God with Bullets runs long, stretching past 60 minutes with a sonic palette that stays mostly one-tone—gritty loops, bass-heavy beats, sparse arrangements dominating. Repetition creeps in; tracks like “Hell Let Loose” and “Otis Driftwood” echo similar flexes and doubts without fresh angles. Features add variety—Roc’s menace, Herbo’s energy, London’s flip—keeping momentum. Structure lacks tight sequencing, bleeding songs into a stream-of-consciousness document rather than polished arcs, which suits Conway’s headspace but risks sagging.
Listeners who are still able of hour-long sits find reward here. The album pulls from Conway’s core—trauma as fuel, success as burden—delivered with venomous precision. Production honors boom-bap roots, evoking basement sessions with vinyl warmth and street echo. Mood lingers in gray areas: gratitude tainted by loss, riches shadowed by silence from peers. Conway circles betrayals—blocked calls, absent support during breakdowns, leg breaks—without naming culprits, heightening paranoia.
We gravitate toward the gutter grit of early mixtapes like Reject 2, G.O.A.T., and The Blakk Tape, where Conway’s voice cut rawer, beats hit harder in unrefined bursts. Those projects captured immediate hunger, verses spilling like open wounds. This album steps closer to that intensity than recent efforts, sharpening the pen on mental health struggles and relational fractures. No viral chases or softened edges; instead, dense inventories of pain and persistence. Drumwork’s independence shines—Conway answers to no one, pouring out crises like narcotic sweeps, warm liquor mornings, and worthy mercy pleas. The record avoids boredom through vivid specifics: supermodel tosses, vision boards for billions, grills on teeth post-shooting.
Overall, You Can’t Kill God with Bullets affirms Conway’s place in Hip Hop’s grimy lineage. His rasp commands space, production provides sturdy frames, mood sustains through shadows. Flaws exist—length tests patience, sonic uniformity demands focus—but the core holds firm. Favorites: “The Lightning Above the Adriatic Sea,” “Diamonds,” “Hold Back Tears,” “Don’t Even Feel Real (Dreams).”
7.5/10
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