A few words describing Cakes da Killa: polymath, businessman, trailblazer, innovator. New Jersey-born, but he’s reigned in New York through a decade-plus independent career tearing up stages and dancefloors worldwide with a trendsetting blend of rap, house, jazz, dance, and anything that piques his interest. He’s persevered through blogs, SoundCloud, a global pandemic, and an ever-shifting music landscape prioritizing everything but talent and taste. Nevertheless, his critical and communal acclaim precede him: he’s played Glastonbury and Whole Festival, and he’s worked with everyone from Honey Dijon to Injury Reserve to Rye Rye. But upon asking, Cakes declines to submit to convention via self-definition; he knows himself, and the rest truly lies in the eyes of the beholder.

But it’s imperative for the listener to remember: Cakes da Killa is one of them ones. The Black Sheep, indeed.

The Black Sheep’s an oft-misunderstood figure, marginalized and isolated by society for being who they are. This feeling’s followed Cakes through his career: while beloved across the aisles, he’s never landed neatly in any scene, and the industry’s long fixated on questions of his identity before considering his musical abilities. As a younger artist, the externally-perceived novelty of Cakes’ come-up led to him tempering his expectations. The world treated him as if he should be grateful to even be a touring artist, so he was content with grinding for his spot and rarely dreaming bigger. But the Cakes before us today is a decorated emcee, fully aware of his power, his place, and no longer settling for less than he deserves.

Black Sheep – Cakes da Killa’s third album, due March 22 on Young Art Records – is a work of survival, finding its protagonist reveling in the life he’s made and satiating the hunger for more. Reunited with longtime collaborator Sam Katz, the producer behind 2022’s Svengali, Cakes da Killa guides us through a spiritual trip from the clubs of Manhattan to the back blocks of Brooklyn. Half-house, half-hardcore: Cakes wrote every bar, Katz did every beat. Cakes and Katz spent the last few years reconfiguring their melting pot approach for an experience that’s danceable for its entire runtime, yet consistently turning left and showing teeth. It’s the duo at their most comfortable and confident; the listener can hit a shuffle, break their neck, and shake what God gave them in a seamless form that radiates Cakes’ trademark brashness with new edges and newer grooves.

Black Sheep may be the name, but it’s a thrilling listen that spends its time basking in the light. When concerning the pen, Cakes’ relationship to isolation became inspiration for some of his sharpest writing and most electrifying performances to date. He silenced the outside voices, and leaned fully into his versatility: more melodic hooks, even slicker punchlines, and the signature voice that always cuts through with an assertive, raw power. “Cakewalk” moves like a new mission statement, Cakes tearing through a mutated house shuffle with the hook “You can’t have your cake and eat it too” centering him popping shit and pondering love. “Mind Reader” finds Cakes and Stout basking in their own allure, having onlookers at attention while entertaining a new love on the dancefloor. “Do Dat Baby” has Cakes collaborating with Dawn Richard (Danity Kane, Diddy-Dirty Money) to build a sensual synergy just as primed for day parties as it would crossover on the radio.

Whether holding court, going through customs, or crushing competition, Cakes stands firm as a seasoned vet who knows his role and knows the game. He moves through messy emotions with a wise poise, he calls the world how it is, and he’s not afraid to check neither critic nor kitten outta line. Black Sheep’s inspired by seeing the world, by embracing the nightlife and building community. As darkness looms in our global conditions, Cakes da Killa offers new avenues to escape; not of negligence, but of recovery to continue fighting. As said on “Do Dat Baby,” Cakes does it “for the boys that be voguing like they sister.” In a sense, Black Sheep is a coronation of his graduation to foremother: a figure who spent his 20s hustling alongside his peers, focusing on the work and paving the way for the generation we see today. He’s a rapper’s rapper, a girl’s girl, and he’s ready to be a superstar.