EP Review: The Drive Home (EP) by Samara Cyn
Samara Cyn’s debut EP is a trial of the chase for validation and the existential dilemmas that often accompany it, marrying materialistic desires with a yearning for credibility and inner peace.
You may not know the name, but you probably know her face. Samara Cyn has been met with praise on the social media streets. Born in Tennessee, her music reflects her experiences growing up and moving around the United States. Her musical style has been influenced by a range of artists, from Ms. Lauryn Hill to Erykah Badu, blending elements of hip-hop, R&B, and neo-soul. She describes herself as wanting not just to be a great rapper but to make really good music overall. As you subscribed to this blog, we have a series called Wednesday Roundups, where we highlight albums and EPs that don’t get ample media attention. With that, it’s a disservice that we don’t tackle The Drive Home in an appropriate setting because Cyn has the potential to be one of the brightest stars in music.
The EP sets the tone with “MFTB,” a searing expression of self-confidence, defiance, and emotional turbulence, reflective of the complex era dubbed the “Emotional Twenties.” Cyn boldly sets the scene for a period characterized by heightened emotion, further amplified in the first verse where Cyn assumes the persona of Neo from “The Matrix,” suggesting an awakening to her potential and control over her destiny. This anti-establishment sentiment is intertwined with personal reflections in the second verse, where Cyn contemplates familial relationships and personal growth (“Give grace for Black boy, came from broken homes/Hold the world, it’s amazing how he hold his own.”).
“Sinner” is a winner here. The influence of Cyn’s upbringing is captured in the line, “Mama always taught me you don’t start those, you solve ‘em,” and through a blend of braggadocio and vulnerability, Cyn flaunts her financial success—“Can you believe they pay me all this money just to talk shit?”—while acknowledging her past experiences and jobs with a trace of incredulity. Samara Cyn articulates an inner dialogue on “imightdie.,” inviting them to consider their state of self-awareness and existential uncertainty. But “100sqft” depicts an interplay between external bravado and internal uncertainty, offering listeners a candid glimpse into the artist’s psyche while challenging conventional perceptions of love, identity, and self-worth (“My head too big for this a-hundred-square apartment.”).
The verses Cyn paints on the catchy “Rolling Stone” is about survival, hinted at through references to “gold-teeth soldiers,” “tattoos,” and a “bad bitch boppin’,” which conjures a world that is both gritty and enigmatic. However, “Entry #149” draws you in immediately with its charged narration by looking into love, heartbreak, and personal growth. Cyn skillfully contrasts the emotional tug-of-war in lines such as “I guess it’s easier to hate you than to date you,” revealing the conflicted emotions that often accompany love—where disdain and longing coexist. The song eloquently expresses that pain and nostalgia are not easily disentangled, as “even after showin’ who you are, I still had stayed for you.”
Cyn premiered “Chrome” at COLORS, and it’s produced by none other than the MVP, D’Mile, who previously did the following track, “D’s Piano.” With “Chrome,” the track reflects the intoxicating allure of materialism and the adjacency of external success and internal conflict. But can we talk about the second verse on how she opens up with an incredible Alicia Keys’ “You Don’t Know My Name” music video scheme:
“I’m contemplating the extent to which I’ll play the game
And figure how to give them keys when they don’t know my name
Could put down mask like Alicia, let this face serve the game
It’s formula to the blow-up, but I prefer the change.”
She’s one of one, I tell you. The introspection deepens as the artist examines the facade of identity and the sacrifices made to achieve dreams, “When you connected to a dream that you’d die for.” This line speaks to the depth of commitment inherent in Cyn’s pursuit. There’s an anarchic edge to her storytelling, too, illustrated by scaling a tree with gasoline—a reckless but determined image of transformation and breaking barriers despite societal obstacles. The Drive Home is a laborious examination of the chase for validation and the existential dilemmas that often accompany it, marrying materialistic desires with a yearning for credibility and inner peace.
Samra Cyn is up next.
Favorite Track(s): “Sinner,” “Entry #149,” “Chrome”