Album Review: Precious Cargo by Maiya the Don
On her first full-length since Hot Commodity, Maiya the Don guards her body, her bag, and her worth like contraband, stacking luxury punchlines that are funny and mean.
Maiya the Don made the transition from a beauty influencer to a rapper, which can look quick on paper but feels more like a struggle in real life. The fans who watch hauls and obsess over Telfar bags don’t translate to a rap verse, and just about everyone who tries the crossover sounds like a clueless tourist as soon as their foot hits the beat. The Brooklyn-based MC who used to rap as just Maiya Earley, steps into the scene as if waiting for the world to catch up. “Telfy,” a tribute to the iconic bag, catapulted her into a public figure with a signature hook. Three years after her 2018 predecessor, Hot Commodity, Maiya is now ready to argue for her credibility as the talented rapper she is, the same way she earned her recognition as a creator. Precious Cargo, her new project, implies what’s held at all costs—the woman, the her; it’s the brand of someone used to being treated like a prop.
Maiya has no issue with ranking herself, and the rankings become even more hilarious when she subverts them. On the song “TEN,” she and all of her girlfriends rate themselves at an absolute ten on repeat, a form drawn from the “Shawty right there is a ten” hook from The-Dream and Fabolous. On the track, her creativity shines with the complex equations behind it: “I’m eight plus two, go do the math on that.” This confidence carries into the house rules set for the fellas on “Let’s Be Clear,” where her raps and bragging are treated as clauses the world has to agree with—“Million-dollar smile, every tooth is a student loan,” and the eerie threat, “Walk around just killing shit, these bitches think I’m Michael Myers.”
While her range is nothing short of a ceiling that she pushes higher two more times, “WBT” and “BBA” feel as if a carbon copy is playing. They follow a generic baddie formula, each on a slightly lower frequency, but both still contain top-tier lines: “Ain’t shit in them notes but a list of groceries,” she scoffs, “I’m first class with the extra seat for my coach bag.” Everything out of her mouth has the potential to become a catchphrase.
Let Maiya take control of a studio budget, and she’ll grab a tiger just to name it Tigger. Her unapologetic attitude gleams with an honest style of joke-telling on “Miss Irresponsible.” She dresses her two dogs up in Gucci and Pucci for an expensive stroll with a Ferragamo leash, takes Elon up on a rocket launch, and even when she boasts of immense wealth, her tone remains deadpan: “I’m treating Neumann like it’s Whole Foods, never check the total,” “You bitches local, I’ve been Amalfi coastal.” While it’s not her song, Kai Cash delivers a perfect complement in his verse on “TOO MUCH.” His baritone grumbles against Maiya’s percussive cadence: “S600 in drive/Don’t ever park it,” he raps, “I heard they saying what I can’t do/Who I can’t fuck.” However, it’s Maiya’s rap that will resonate in popular culture: “When they went Moncler I went Margiela,” “Mark my words I’m making Kream like I’m Maxo.” For her, spending is clearly a contact sport.
Maiya knows how to manage men from a distance while keeping them available on her behalf. She manages attention as well as anyone on “Safe Sex,” which bounces off the JAŸ-Z interpolation of “Izzo (H.O.V.A.),” rather than falling victim to its effects. “He could tell I’m a hot girl cause my heart cold,” she raps before switching to the titular pun, “Plan B ain’t no need for the latex/We in the drop burning rubber that’s safe sex.” She divides the guys in her phone book by region and what each of them offers, sorting from those in D.C. and Houston dropping cash, to an “Isa who Dior my fit,” a Ryan who “used to sneak up in his room now he fly me out,” and an Island Boy who wants romance while the others just seek the high of love to the tune of reggae. By the time you reach “Prove My Love,” her terms are clear: if a man wants to flex by her side, he must have funds. “Could you splurge for the night/Drop 20 on a purse,” she asks before delivering an explicit warning not to play with her heart because her “nigga I can fight,” making just as strong a statement as her offer to splurge.
This novelty-filled track comes to full completion in “Maiya’s Workout Plan,” her comedic culmination as she dictates her own measurements with a straight face: “It’s like a hunnit for ever pound,” “Stop playing this body a weapon.” The real punchline comes in the final spoken scene with her trainer, who cracks under pressure: “Thick as fuck no BBL... Big thanks to Pilates.” Honestly, nothing else on this project compares.
Two tracks on the album provide a dramatic shift midway through the verses. She starts with industry angst in “For the Record,” frustrated that the label “ain’t apply the pressure” and that she didn’t receive the diamond award she deserved, before changing tones and admitting to depression: “I got depressed I was too focused on the bad moments,” followed by a grim declaration of inheritance: “Now I’m a deadbeat daughter I get it from my daddy/I’m a deadbeat cousin I get it from my moms.” A similar turn appears on “TSA Freestyle,” which begins as materialistic flexing of Turks and corsets before raw honesty about her mother emerges: “Sometimes I look into the mirror and I see my mother/Sometimes I wonder how I could miss her but still not love her,” followed by the painful realization of the lack of a paternal presence: “I got all I want and need except a loving dad.” These are moments of vulnerability placed beside those that speak to her inherent resilience.
“Can you hear me now?” Maiya repeats again and again in “Hear Me Now,” a year after hitting the gym and facing those who didn’t support her. Her own answer follows quickly with her absolute best quote to date: “I’m Christopher Wallace in high heels and army trousers.” The title of “Handle With Care” transitions from an object to an adjective on the track. “People would take take take to the point that the shit would hurt,” she raps about being mistreated by those closest to her before resolving, “I’d give with no second thought, but now I gotta put me first.” She guards her circle fiercely in the closing lines as a reminder of loyalty: “The same ones u hang with will hang you like the nooses do.”
The album culminates with “Annie (Have Me),” a raw and emotional letter to her mother instead of a traditional missive. It begins with the statement, “Mommy, I swear I’ve hated you since the age of twelve,” detailing the immense hate before revealing the opposing emotion: “I hate that I miss you/I hate that I wish I could call and forgive you.” She is brutally honest as she admits, “I ain’t in therapy, but I need it/Instead, I ignore shit and drink on the weekend,” and then confesses that motherhood frightens her as she’s reminded of her own father by her reflection. “Annie (Have Me)” stands as Maiya’s most authentic piece, a song she had to shield beneath layers of extravagance in order to deliver with sincerity.
Great (★★★★☆)
Favorite Track(s): “For the Record,” “Miss Irresponsible,” “Annie (Have Me)”