Whatever Playboi Carti lacks in substance, he makes up in sheer audacity. For the better part of two years, he kept his fans waiting for a full-length project, held over by a handful of songs, guest verses and previews. “Less is more” is the Atlanta-native’s mantra, and the arrival of his eponymous debut is only further confirmation.

Playboi Carti is an exercise in efficiency—more beats, less words in number and variation. It’s an exaggerated take on an old formula that all but guarantees his tracks will become earworms, which they do. Verses and hooks smash into each other with repetition, as his signature ad-libs command space in a way not even Jim Jones or Young Jeezy could’ve imagined. Here, they aren’t just highlights or devices to advance the song’s conversation; they’re the main attraction. Ad-libs become parts of hooks, outlines of lyrics and, sometimes, simply just are the lyrics.

When Carti does rap, his syllables stack on themselves, and the rhymes seem to float between the production rather than on top of it. His punctuated flows discard of conventional song structure to allow his beats to breathe—“Location” becomes a celestial trip, and “No. 9” feels exotic and regal. Showing up for lyricism is a mistake when this is all about atmosphere. Nothing is heavy-handed or contrived. When he slurs “this is not pop, this some rock” nearly 30 times on “Half & Half” or rhymes most of “Other Shit” with the name of the song, it’s simply an economical method of getting from one “Yuh” and “Ooh” to the next. But Carti is tactful in discerning where and when he can get away with letting the instrumental ride and when he needs to rise to the occasion.

Earlier this year, he attributed some of his tape’s delay to his search for a producer that could help him develop “Carti’s sound.” It seems he’s found it in Pierre Bourne who helps the rapper balance cloud rap with straight up bangers. Playboi Carti’s immediate standout comes only two songs in with “Magnolia” (previously known as “In My Sock”). It rumbles infectiously, accented by a summery flute, as Carti gives a charismatic performance on par with his 2015 breakout “Broke Boi.” They find the magic again on “woke up like this*” with an able assist from Lil Uzi Vert whose natural energy upstages his frequent collaborator.

Though Uzi and Carti have both been tagged with the “mumble rap” descriptor, Carti is only a rapper by loose definition. He’s decidedly more interested in a rapper’s lifestyle and fashion a la his mentor A$AP Rocky (who offers a show-stealing verse on “New Choppa”) than he is the raps themselves. Music is a means to an end, but in this overcrowded landscape, it’s Carti’s magnetic confidence that turns just enough into plenty. Even when he seems more interested in his hiccuped “WHAT” ad-lib than the bars themselves, curiosity and intrigue are reason enough to keep listening.

The hype that surrounded Playboi Carti before and after its release is a testament to the near mythological anticipation it generated and sustained. Minimal and on brand, the rollout utilized everything good about rap’s internet: leaked snippets scattered across YouTube and Twitter functioned as free and continuous marketing; Soundcloud informed the aesthetic and kept it relevant while the continued indecision around the release took on a meme-like life of its own. Outside of the internet, Carti signed a deal, earned a few high profile co-signs, and kept up appearances in the fashion world. The mixtape is ultimately part of a larger Carti branding campaign which has boosted his star considerably. But when it came time to finally put it out, he wound up sharing a release date with Kendrick Lamar’s DAMN. The competitive nature of rap rendered the two inadvertent rivals, but Carti isn’t the nemesis here—he’s the comic relief.

Playboi Carti feels like a break from life, the soundtrack to a mindless good time. Women, money and all types of drugs are everywhere, but mostly Carti’s just flexing so that his listeners can do the same. That this mixtape wasn’t totally eclipsed by King Kendrick speaks to the perpetual draw of lifestyle rap and personalities that transcend rap. People don’t just want to listen—they want someone to model themselves after. But perhaps more importantly, Carti reflects the demand for music that exists simply because it can, music that lends itself to some much-needed escapism.