Firework Factory arrived on our radar because Kemastry reached out directly, and if he hadn’t we would have missed one of the most emotionally devastating rap records we’ve heard in a very long time. The album has no right to hit as hard as it does, with unexpected lines that make you wince with recognition and empathy.

The album is a profound assertion of what hip-hop can do when it’s placed in the hands of someone who truly understands its power to convey lived philosophy born of experience. A street dissection of the human condition, false intentions, how to live a good life and how to consistently come up short of it, Kemastry is brimming with insecurity, regret and self-doubt, and doesn’t flinch from any of it. The thoroughness with which he dissects his own behaviour with unflinching accountability speaks to someone who is genuinely thoughtful and decent trying to understand his own cycles of carnage rather than simply documenting them. This is a rare quality in anyone, and in hip-hop it’s almost unheard of.

Harvs Le Toad’s production is a perfect vessel with beats that are melancholy without being overwrought. Understated and gently sad, built on jazzy, soft R&B textures, he gives Kemastry all the space he needs without competing with him. Autopsy builds on a smoky, spaghetti western guitar speaking of a defiant refusal to be ordinary and submit to the mundane. All Breaks No Gas arrives on a surprisingly languid beat given its subject matter, concerning itself with the relentless pressure of simply having to keep going and the exhaustion of daily survival, longing for a day off that never comes. It’s a document of our current era, an examination of futility and drudge that will resonate with anyone feeling the moderrn world tightening around them.

The title track is one of the album’s most beautiful moments, featuring a stunning harp contribution from Rosza that floats as the beat drifts away. Here, and at several other points on the record, Kemastry abandons any concern for rhyme or rhythm choosing instead to simply meditate on addiction, difficult situations, and truth. The name Firework Factory operates on two levels simultaneously, on one hand referencing lyrical precision, and on the other it speaks to a short temper, arguments, terrible situations and self-destructive patterns. The question the album asks persistently is whether it’s the same spark that creates both.

Wasp Hurricane brings a dark swagger, and Still is an absolute highlight built around the Still D.R.E. refrain as Kemastry lists the things he still does that he wishes he didn’t, the things he wishes he did more of, the things he’s grateful for, and the things he wishes he could say goodbye to, and it’s devastating. It’s Not My Fault ends up abandoning rhyming entirely in favour of pure storytelling, as he insists that a relationship falling apart isn’t his fault while the entire delivery makes clear that he knows full well it is. Kemastry does not like himself in this moment, calling himself selfish in the harshest terms and yet we’ve all spoken to ourselves exactly like this, and that universality is precisely what makes Firework Factory such an important record.