Lots of rappers call themselves students of the game, but not all of them actually like to study. I get it—if you’re wary of overworking a verse or belaboring a reference, the mercurial energy of a marathon studio session or a hanging-mic freestyle is probably a safer bet. Not for ZayALLCAPS. The multi-dimensional California musician’s best trick is blurring the line between play and professionalism, rawness and rigor. “The medium itself is the artform,” he raps on his new LP, My Uncle Told Me Some Real Ass Sh*t on the Phone Yesterday. “It’s habits I formed.”

Zay’s fourth album in as many years marries the spirit of a hustler and the swagger of a college kid. Its tone-poem structure and train-of-thought lyrics maintain the breeze of Zay’s last few tapes, but there’s levels to this shit. Like sedimentary rock, My Uncle Told Me Some Real Ass Sh*t… charts both the layers of Zay’s eclectic taste profile—neo-soul, rare groove, reggae, Gucci-era trap, and indietronica, among plenty other vinyl-bin labels—and the process of manifesting his bespoke style. It’s a fine-tuned package with “no bad ideas in a brainstorm” bravado. Point blank: It does not sound like anything else in rap right now.

By applying a jammy, near-Baduist flow to the sequencing, Zay can cogently dissect 10 ideas in one three-minute song without sounding crowded or, worse, pretentious. Take “Digital Jungle,” a co-write with his regular collaborator conworld, which opens like a lost Flying Lotus iPhone ringtone and closes with a break best described as “Soulsville does ’70s Brazilian jazz.” Or “infinity pools,” which retrofits a Death Grips drum break with a coloratura synth patch ripped straight from the Mii Houses. The mise-en-scene matches Zay’s conflicted internal monologue, christening himself both a “demigod” and an “idiot” in the span of a four-count before the beat collapses into a maelstrom of 808s and stacked harmonies. Never has he sounded so intent on showing his work, smudge marks and all.

The primordial ooze here remains a blend of pluggnB and West Coast rap experimentalism a la Odd Future, the same sauce that linked 2023’s Balling Out of Spite with last year’s level-up art Pop*Pop Art. But Zay’s appetite is far too hearty to settle for siloed genre worship or nostalgia bait. When the palette gets extra N.E.R.D.-y on “B3lieve Dat,” he swerves to channel Little Dragon; when the spirit of Brent Faiyaz starts to compel him on the butter-smooth “Swoop,” he shakes it off with some tidy Atlanta bass on “Signz.” The second he starts crooning like he’s smoking good rolling solo on “Changez,” he blots out the blueprint with some 808s-era Kanye vocal modulation. Think “Bestie Tokyo” is gonna play out like “Street Lights” based on the opening salvo? Wait until he hits the “That’s My Best Friend” sample.

Zay’s most cerebral impulses feel accessible because he’s enthusiastic about letting us under the hood, chopper culture-style. Among the voice memos spread like pylons across the tracklist are recordings of a sales rep at instrument retailer Sweetwater calling about his order and a friend hyping up a work-in-progress (“My girl got ears, bro… you gotta leave some for the rest of us.”) Zay makes a great Mr. Steal Your Girl, but here introspection outweighs braggadocio. He’s as keen to retrace the steps of his romantic relationships as the development of his craft, even when the unflattering shoes fit. Beneath the bubbly, DREE-produced “4skore” simmers a harsh indictment of a toxic entanglement: “Faked it, I hate it, I’m changing,” he mutters. The triptych rings true for anyone attempting to create art, a reminder of the power of the drawing board.

There’s more than enough music right now about the trials of making music right now. Still, there’s a reason Inside the Actors Studio ran for 22 seasons and the most fervent alt-rap acolytes are constantly begging their idols to empty their hard drives. My Uncle Told Me Some Real Ass Sh*t… manages to go behind the music and get in front of it at the same time, straddling so many X-rayed fragments of the past it starts to look quite like the future. “Baby I’m the truth—I ain’t just a fad,” he coos to a paramour as they drive around L.A. listening to Troop on “Swoop.” Zay’s latest vehicle is the best of both worlds: You can hear every gear turning, and it still rides like a dream.