The Houston rapper reprises his Sauce Ghetto Gospel series, bringing his booming baritone to diaristic confessions and slick songs of celebration.
Most Sauce Walka songs adhere to the same basic blueprint, regardless of their themes. The Houston rapper’s voice starts out at conversational levels—well, the type of conversation you have with your loudest friend at a moderately turnt party—and usually ends with every bar landing at full force, like a preacher booming from a pulpit of fire and candy paint. Walka (born Albert Mondane) has used that template since he began spitting under that name in 2014—a framework that he’s applied to a dizzying array of beats, from trap and Miami bass to early aughts New York boom-bap. But he’s also had a fascination with soul and gospel samples that stretches back to his very beginnings as A-Walk in the late 2000s. 2018’s Sauce Ghetto Gospel was the first time he devoted an entire project to rhyming over gospel samples. It’s undeniable that his powerful vocals, slick wordplay, and storytelling shines over these sounds, and the third entry in the Sauce Ghetto Gospel series proves he’s as potent as ever.
Walka is a singular presence on the mic, but a bold voice and bravado can only take you so far. Luckily, he matches that intensity with storytelling that builds on big emotions and tearful confessions, finding a middle ground between vintage Boosie and younger bleeding hearts, like YoungBoy Never Broke Again. There are moments where he imagines never seeing his children or feeling sunshine on his skin again (“First Testament”), and others where he calls out rappers for faking lean addictions, only to descend through the memories of his own paralyzing addiction (“I Dropped It”).
His attention to emotion and detail is further magnified on songs like “Brothers Story,” where a drug deal gone bad leads to squeezed triggers and rivers of blood. At first, the track seems to chronicle someone else’s narrative, with Walka rapping in the second person. But the scope widens gradually to reveal Walka is referring to his own brother’s death, as he self-administers a tongue-lashing: “This ain’t [Grand Theft Auto:] San Andreas/You got your lil’ brother murdered tryna get some head/And on top of that, you tried to finesse him like he was gettin’ bread.”
Lyrically, the Sauce Ghetto Gospel series is designed to purge demons, but there are a handful of lighter moments to ease the pressure. Walka brings the same conviction to “Slab Holiday,” a thunderous celebration of Houston car culture, and the blow-a-bag-on-your-shawty anthem “Good Coochie.” Songs grind to a halt when Walka becomes a little too relaxed; occasionally, he falls back on ill-informed hot takes and boorish language that goes from absurd to offensive. It’s unfortunate to hear Walka delve into the struggles of people hardworking people in the first half of “GG3 Intro,” only to default to boneheaded theories on Black-on-Black crime and then claim that Kanye West was “crucified” by the media. He puts his foot in his mouth often enough for it to leave a bitter taste, but not often enough to fully derail the album; they are awkward bumps on an otherwise smooth ride.
Walka has proven time and time again that he can rap over anything, but there’s a reason that he’s committed to the Sauce Ghetto Gospel series enough to pump out three volumes. His words land with more purpose over these beats; the flows become more unpredictable, and, for a while, his perspective is the only one that matters. Much like the Daringer-produced beat he rapped over during his spotlight appearance on YouTube freestyle series From the Block last year, Sauce Ghetto Gospel 3’s best songs are intoxicating because they draw from the well that inspired Walka to rap in the first place—of all the beats he’s tamed, these are where he’s most willing to bleach the bones of his past and cruise around in souped-up cars for the pure joy of it. It’s hardly revolutionary, but Sauce Ghetto Gospel 3 is a reminder of just how satisfying the bread and butter can be.
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