The Oakland rapper known for his standout scam records sinks into a more reflective mood on his latest LP. The cost of this pensive turn is a loss of personality.
In the fall of 2019, Guapdad 4000’s family lost the West Oakland home where he was raised. The timing was crushing. At the top of the year, he’d emerged as one of the standout voices on Dreamville’s Revenge of the Dreamers III compilation, and through the spring and summer, he’d become the colorful face of scam rap. When he got the news, he was just days away from releasing his debut album Dior Deposits. The lost home is depicted as endangered on the cover of 1176: as Guapdad and a woman look at the smoke-tinted sky, fireballs rain down and an inferno looms behind the house. 1176, titled after the home’s address, is ostensibly a chronicle of lost innocence, but it rarely taps into this backstory or pushes Guapdad in new directions.
Executive-produced by !llmind, who helmed most of the songs, the album is something of a reintroduction for Guapdad 4000. Released by Paradise Rising, an imprint of 88Rising that focuses on Filipino artists (!llmind is Filipino, and Guapdad is Black and Filipino), the record is clearly meant to depart from the seedy hijinks of Guapdad’s previous music. Instead of sordid scams and cheeky references to sex and anime over glossy production, the mood is reflective and dreamy.
Brief album opener “10finity” hints at dark thoughts and inner turmoil. “I talk to God at night, I pray/For golden tidal waves/Wash me ashore to another place,” Guapdad sings over a hushed bed of soft keys and warped vocals. “How Many,” which stretches Alice DJ’s springy dance hit “Better Off Alone” into a gloomy haze, is just as introspective, the chorus a series of questions. There’s plenty of his signature alliteration and wit on 1176, but on the whole, Guapdad brings fewer jokes and bars, focusing on his roots.
The cost of this pensive turn is a loss of personality. Guapdad’s scam raps stood out because he balanced shit-talking with curiosity. Where Teejayx6 and Kasher Quon offered scam tutorials and City Girls pitched mantras and capers, Guapdad emphasized play. His scam tales were less about guaranteed scores and more about improvisation and risk, an approach that filtered into his music. From the indie rock of “Choppa Talk” to the steely pimp strut of “Iced Out Cold Chain” to his outre The Little Engine That Could interpolation on “Little Scammer That Could,” he was constantly venturing out. 1176 lacks that sense of adventure.
The record isn’t inert despite feeling nerfed. There are flashes of Guapdad’s wandering spirit in songs like “Muhammad” and “Uncle Ricky.” The former is a fleet rush of wordplay and storytelling, Guapdad blending flexes with autobiography: “Only niggas I fuck with is blue like the Watchmen/Whole body covered in water, but I ain’t washin’,” he raps. !llmind’s RZA-inspired production on “Uncle Ricky” puts Guapdad into storytelling mode. He turns a day with his erratic, street-running uncle into a tense ride-along, honors his relative, and subtly relays his own origin story. The track, which traces Guapdad’s later run-ins with crime to his hectic upbringing, is less about a single, dramatic event that changed his life and more a dive into the anxiety of navigating an unpredictable environment.
“Chicken Adobo,” named after a beloved Filipino dish, is the album’s highlight. Over a breezy acoustic guitar melody and dollops of bouncy bass, Guapdad revisits the summer of 2010, where budding love coexisted with personal trials. His melodies are catchy, his writing is sharp and scenic, and the narrative is heartwarming—qualities that only appear in flashes across 1176. The album rarely sustains the focus of “Chicken Adobo” or builds his recollections into episodes. But when it does, you can smell the peppercorns and bay leaves, can see the world through Guapdad 4000’s eyes.
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