REVIEW: SosMula - Yung Plane Krash
2 High 2 Diversify
37:23 // July 10, 2026 // Limosa Nostra/Atlantic
One half of the trap metal duo (subject of an inexplicably aggressive 2010s marketing campaign that netted them far more attention than they would otherwise have received) City Morgue returns with yet another completely on-brand descent into gritty tough-guy posturing less than a year after his previous record, Kamp Krystl Lake.
Have you heard a single previous song released by SosMula? Fantastic, then you’re already up to speed.
90% of the material here could comfortably slot into any of his preceding releases without raising so much as an eyebrow hair, but some light experimentation, gratifyingly misanthropic overtones and convincing brawn make the experience a fun one for the right frame of mind, if not an overly creative or sophisticated one.
Yung Plane Krash is a comfortable continuation/re-hash of every established trope in the rapper’s arsenal, with the well-worn focus on guns, violence, drugs, women, criminality and general antisocial behaviour making a sneering comeback, all seasoned with a liberal dash of irreverent religious/apocalyptic thematics. Once again, Mula stops only to reload, allowing the gish gallop of depravity to cascade over heavy trap beats that feel like latter-era $uicideboy$ had a bastard child with Scxrlxrd. And yet, for all its familiarity, the sandpapery atmospherics are convincing and mostly land as intended — albeit with the blunted edge of a tool that’s been whetted fifty times too many. As an exercise in intention vs outcome, however, it’s mostly dead on the money.
Toiling under the illusion that Mula would ever mature lyrically was a minuscule thread of hope abandoned long ago, but, if nothing else, YPK displays in no uncertain terms why his solo efforts eclipse both the limited output of CM’s other half, ZillaKami, and the most recent release from the outfit themselves. I previously stated that YPK is 90% returns to the same depleted well, but that remaining 10% clearly demonstrates that Mula has considerably more room to manoeuvre sonically than the bulk of his output would suggest.
‘‘SPORTMODE’’ is stripped down, serious and grimy, comprised of minimalistic musical interjections and gun-sound adlibs that don’t serve as metronomic in the conventional sense, yet provide a structural framework for Mula to flow over. It’s hardly outside-the-box levels of creativity and would never pass for avant-garde, but it’s still focused, distinctive, and considerably more successful in its outcome than the underdeveloped experimentation found on City Morgue’s My Bloody America. Similarly, ‘‘GOODYEAR’’ may well be one of Mula’s finest moments — a borderline-anthemic tirade drenched in that signature bile, backed by a percolating psychedelic rhythm that adds so much ill-deserved depth to the bars it’s genuinely confounding. On paper, there isn’t a great deal to analyse: thematic substance has never been Mula’s strong suit. But, when compounded, the track becomes something more singular than the sum of its parts. Something even — dare I say it — unique.
This is the frustrating thing about Mula’s approach. There are flashes throughout YPK of an artist with an evolving aesthetic vision rather than a man returning to stamp the same card over and over, making the volatility of ‘I’ma kill you, father forgive me, I’ll fuck your bitch, I stick chewing gum on the underside of my desk’ and etc. far more exhilarating. This raw potential is also glimpsed on ‘‘HICCUPS’’, which is notable for its use of subtle glass-harp synth accents — both a perplexing and well-integrated choice: subtle enough to coast under the beat’s broadside but dominant enough to lend the track a legitimately sinister, haunting air. The combination of grimacing severity and music-box camp is startlingly nuanced, and feels like a track that started out as an actual on-paper idea rather than a mere slurry of improvised threats and overdriven sub bass.
SosMula makes a SosMula record, this much is true, and would perhaps be the cleanest bottom line if not for the flashes of diversity that sprinkle the tracklist like gold dust. Or should that be fool’s gold? It’s hard to tell, because Mula’s reluctance to lean into the more leftfield aspects of his sound could be driven by a multitude of factors, whether that’s alienating the faithful or a lack of confidence in taking things too far off-road. But this is precisely the thing — the diversions on YPK feel perfectly in-keeping with his established identity, only approaching it from another route. The comparatively blasé mood and homogenisation of the sound found on KKL has been replaced with something more adrenalized and closer to the spirit of 13 Songs 2 Die 2 or 2 High 2 Die, and crucially, the record feels like a natural sequential continuation, even with the attempted expansion.
While a case could be made for the record being Mula’s best solo effort, it’s nowhere near close to perfect, and being received positively is highly contingent on how accepting one is of a record that two-hands hedonism and nihilism as though they’re virtues; compelling and unbearable are two sides of the same coin on this bass-heavy battering ram. But, it does what it sets out to do, and more importantly, it occasionally hints at what SosMula could do if he ever decided to commit to the scenic route.
Stimulant-fuelled, nasty nonsense with remnants of brain matter stewing around in there somewhere.
6.0/10