Everything feels fluid in Steve Lacy’s latest release, Oh yeah? The tracks seem to pour out of him with little friction, unconcerned with rigid definitions or expectations. In interviews about the LP—his first since 2022’s Gemini Rights, which produced the Grammy-winning moment and the chart-topping hit “Bad Habit”—Lacy hints at a deeper, more concentrated effort, a new level of dedication. Yet the listening experience stays remarkably relaxed and easygoing, so that sense of seriousness doesn’t overpower the casual mood of the music.
It isn’t that Oh yeah? sounds sloppy or unfinished. It is a fully realized work, and one of the most genuinely enjoyable albums of the year. Even at its most polished, the record maintains a loose, unforced energy. Lacy has said the label gave him substantial freedom, and that sentiment shows. There’s no sense of executives meddling or pushing for a radio-ready “Bad Habit” sequel. Instead, the album reads as an unguarded glimpse into the mind of a musical prodigy maturing into a career artist, exploring modern romance and queer desire with a new clarity.
I’ve grown fatigued by writers who insist an artist’s music is inevitably shaped by the internet. Sure, that’s been true for every young musician for twenty-five years. It would be more interesting to hear music that wasn’t formed by online culture. Still, Lacy came of age online, in the orbit of Odd Future—the alt-R&R&B collective including Syd and Matt Martians—who recruited him as a guitarist while he was still a teenager. The group’s eclectic, unabashedly adventurous approach clearly rubbed off on Lacy, who had collaborated with artists ranging from Kendrick Lamar to Vampire Weekend before he could legally drink. He may have absorbed even more from his proximity to Frank Ocean, another Odd Future affiliate whose influence threads through this album as a clear precursor.
Oh yeah?’s artfully minimalist atmosphere, much like Ocean’s Blonde, casts a long shadow over Lacy’s nimble vocal lines, his knack for pivoting a song on a dime, and the sparse acoustic reveries that pepper the tracklist. Yet there’s a broader stylistic palette at play. Just as Gemini Rights draped retro rock, pop, and soul in a lo-fi chillwave veil (with “Bad Habit” becoming a cross-genre hit that topped several Billboard charts), Oh yeah? traces the late-2000s indie synth-psych revival—think MGMT’s era—throughout its entirety, from the opening chant of the anthemic “oh yeah” to the metallic textures of the closing “bebe.”
The closing track, “bebe,” co-written with Lacy’s longtime collaborator Matthew Castellanos and frequent contributor Fousheé, epitomizes the record’s blending of traditions. Within its contained clamor, a regal bassline nods to Willie Hutch’s “I Choose You,” the ’70s soul classic that underpins “Int’l Players Anthem.” Yet the sample driving “bebe” comes from a very different tradition: an acoustic ballad titled “Rusted” by D+, the indie-pop supergroup featuring Beat Happening’s Bret Lunsford, the Microphones’ Phil Elverum, and Karl Blau.
Willie Hutch’s swagger and D+’s delicate quirks are evident in Lacy’s approach, and they never feel out of place. He has distilled his influences into a sound that remains deeply personal without losing its broad appeal. On Oh yeah?, he achieves this with the help of a wide-ranging set of collaborators. SZA, a fearless and conversational force, provides a natural counterpoint on the pared-down banger “is it cool.” Erykah Badu and a sampled new-age piece called “Root Chakra” multiply the mood on “pure color,” a textured mood piece where Lacy channels a Moses Sumney-like reverie over a trip-hop rhythm. Cecile Believe, the Montreal-based indie synth-pop artist connected to PC Music and once associated with Sufjan Stevens’ label, appears on “lovesexdrugbomb,” a wah-wah guitar lullaby co-written by Tyler, The Creator.
Credits also sparkle with names like Ravyn Lenae, John Carroll Kirby, and Porches’ Aaron Maine, yet Oh yeah? never lands as a guest-star showcase. It remains Steve Lacy’s project through and through, a striking display of his talents and instincts. Nowhere is this more evident than on “the feeling,” a sleek electronic-hip-hop power ballad that channels Kanye West’s “Runaway,” bending emotional chord changes and sticky pop hooks into a record that feels as effortless as speaking. Whether it’s the laid-back pop-rock of “doom” or the frenetic electronic bustle of “nice shoes,” Lacy sounds entirely at home, packing a broad sonic spectrum into a compact ten tracks.
Oh yeah? does carry a conspicuous flaw: the lyrics often land awkwardly. During the making of the album, Lacy ditched substances from coffee to edibles, convinced that a clear mind and body would elevate his artistry. He told one interviewer that his commitment to his craft means giving “the highest regard to words,” digging beneath the surface, and avoiding formulaic writing. In another interview he claimed he’s been falling in love with writing and that some of his strongest verses to date emerged here. It’s hard not to wince at times, yet the occasional clumsy line sits paradoxically well with the album’s free-flowing energy.
“It isn’t really about crafting radio-ready bops,” Lacy recently explained. “I want to make music that resonates—music I want to sing, that lands in my body… music that helps you heal and process strange, complex emotions.” Oh yeah? is indeed that kind of record, and yet: “I’m a big baby suckin’ on big confidence/ Karma’s a bitch, and I’m pretty sure she’s attractive.” And: “It’s been a while since I had the taste of the world’s chaos.” A line here and there—like the opening of “nice shoes”—is so vivid and catchy that it lingers and circles back, as if chasing the thread: “If I had a dollar for the friends I’d sleep with/I could buy a pair of really nice shoes/Life is just a stain, not a tattoo/Chasing youth feels kinda lame.”
Taken with a kinder eye, the feeling that we’re hearing Lacy’s casual text messages and half-formed poetry contributes to the album’s unrestrained mood. His wordplay rarely feels forced (it can feel reckless, maybe), and you never doubt that you’re getting the real him. The same raw, unrefined quality that sometimes makes him wince also fuels the intimacy that seeps through even the glossiest moments. Like the artists who inspire him, Oh yeah? reads like a diary sketched inside a virtuoso pop album. Despite its missteps, Lacy is a magnetic creative force whose songs feel like meaningful dispatches from his generation. Is he a genius yet? Not quite. But will I keep returning to this record? Definitely yes, oh yeah.
Oh yeah? hits shelves on 7/17 via L-M Records/RCA.
