It’s hard to take a lot of Korean hip-hop seriously. To an outsider, the vibe that a lot of young, post-Show Me the Money or High School Rapper stars give off is spiritually similar to that of mid-2000s pop punk: teenagers venting their angst through a fixed visual and sonic repertoire. But instead of sporting Vans, eyeshadow, and side-swept bangs, many Korean hip-hop heads gravitate toward AAVE affectations, dreadlocks, and the neoliberal ideal of getting rich at the expense of others. Some rappers, like BewhY and Rich Iggy, have caught flak for their embrace of the far right, the former sampling dictator Syngman Rhee’s voice and the latter mocking the suicide of left-wing president Roh Moo-hyun. Divorced from its cultural and political roots, hip-hop in Korea has become an empty signifier for a generation channeling their cynicism toward perceived enemies, even as South Korea’s hypercapitalist society grinds all to dust.

Iconoclastic rapper Kim Ximya, however, has consistently taken his own approach. Though he eschews explicitly political stances in his music, Kim has earned a reputation as a firebrand, largely for his work with avant-garde beatmaker FRNK in the duo XXX, where he often spits invectives against the commercialized Korean hip-hop industry over jagged, noisy beats. Yet on 2020’s Dog, his solo debut—featuring producers like 250 (of NewJeans fame), Simo, Maalib, and Korean hip-hop OG DJ Soulscape alongside his high-school friends cjb95 and ccr—Kim waved the white flag in his war against the hip-hop scene, opting for a lighter, more sample-driven sound meant to be less “difficult” than his work with XXX. He softened his rhetoric, embracing Buddhism and concepts of impermanence after frequenting a friend’s studio near Guryongsa Temple. Dogma, his first solo album in six years, can be thought of as a spiritual sequel to Dog, leaning further on his old Sector crewmates’ new label SoundSupply_Service on each of these tracks: The beats are bass-heavy and immersive, swirling around Kim Ximya’s more stripped-back, almost trance-inducing lyrics.

Sonically, Dogma feels like a cross between the breakbeat intensity of RXKNephew’s Slitherman Activated and the dark Detroit techno and UK bass introspection of Big Fish Theory-era Vince Staples. Cid Rim and Mount XLR-produced “Me, Life, and Nothing Else” opens with a flurry of granular samples and vinyl crackles; Kim raps over a watery atmosphere grounded by the occasional burst of sub-bass before the kicks sputter in alongside dreamy pads and what sounds like a Buddhist chant sample. “Move My Feet” turns icy and minimalist, a 4x4 kick underpinning Kim’s repetitive refrain a mantra about letting go: “비우고 지워 (Empty out, erase) I move my feet/ 의지 도려내 칼로 (Gouge out my will).” The beats shine without overpowering Kim’s vocals; the ticklish, KAVARI-esque distortion on industrial banger “It’s That” is mixed masterfully with his articulated, machinic flow.

While Kim’s work with XXX leaned heavily on his talent for turning long rants into bars that spilled and sloshed over swung-out, future-bassy beats, Dogma alternates between long instrumental interludes and bilingual refrains that feel more rhythmic than substantive. OHHYUK’s co-production “T-H-I-R-S-T-Y” features thick, guttural Reese bass cut through with breaks and Kim’s sharp tongue: “I don’t fuck with big mouths/I don’t fuck with big talks/I don’t fuck with cheap thrills.” Kim’s club orientation, which featured on 2023’s SoundSupply-produced EP w18c, reaches an apex on “HDI HDI HDI HDI HDI HDI,” with ccr turning Kim’s old demo “100 Drops - OG” into a skittish footwork heater.

In the six years between Dog and Dogma, Kim went through major milestones, finishing his mandatory civil service and getting married to his longtime girlfriend; the album’s sound almost reflects his personal journey, emerging from the murky depths of the first half with brighter samples and beats on the second. Kim does his best Kendrick impression with “Zulu Love,” sampling the arcing melody of Hollywood hippie Eden Ahbez’s classic “Nature Boy” amid stuttering modular synths. The twangy guitar sample and jazzy bassline of “Hanat Dool Set” feel like an homage to J Dilla. And DJ Dahi-coproduced closer “Keep Counting” is a trap anthem that also shows Kim rearing his teeth. “Keep counting/Your money stinks like Downy,” he jabs at the laundering of ill-begotten fortunes, which has become a recent controversy in an arts scene flush with corporate money. Dogma is Kim at his best, tempering his rhetoric and affinity for experimental sounds with brighter club anthems that show that letting go doesn’t have to mean giving up.