The opening works of “Time” are met with a subtle build-up that transposes into open-air synths and a piano run that strikes more nostalgia than future constructing. As Maxo’s vocals set up these adjacent deliveries where he is more present, he creates conflict with his instrumental. He begins to describe through a cloud of reawakened smoke, “Cause I done seen niggas die over fake shit, just to find out the money don’t make shit. ‘Cept a lot of handouts and a lot of wide mouths from niggas you ain’t seen in a few, then they wonder who receiving the loot.” While rhyming, Maxo has this form that can orchestrate choruses as simple, memorable, but ultimately a real boost to his portrayal.
Oftentimes, albums that have little to no features can become difficult to comprehend every minute detail and show some erosion to the attention span of the listener. Maxo solves this by having a record that is 10 tracks and just barely over 30 minutes with many of the pieces featuring these interludes of droning instrumentation that hypnotize the listener.
He begins, “Damn, I ain’t really been living, money all in my vision. Really out here tryna get it, God really my witness. Momma know I been sinning.” He continues on to finish,” I ain’t even tryna brag none, but it’s hard turning that bread down when you member days when you had some.” Never does the mix become too complex, but is just the right amount of flowing and stuttered production that can give hope where musical corpses lie.
And as the sun does one more lap around, LIL BIG MAN seems to be a revolutionary point for Maxo that illustrates grace over bombastic nature. Before disappearing into the throes of community, Maxo cracks the pavement and stumbles on back into the isolated sands of Mars.