You can fly from Oakland to Los Angeles in less than 90 minutes. The drive is an easy six hours. The Warriors play at the Staples Center four times every season. The Raiders flitted back and forth; so did 2Pac. But for the most part, the Bay and L.A. have been rigidly, impermeably separated. That's never bothered DJ Mustard. The producer mercifully born Dijon McFarlane rattled into trunks four years ago with Tyga's inescapable “Rack City” and hasn’t left since. His sound—dubbed, for better or worse, ratchet music—stripped the Bay's signature hyphy sound down, muddied it up and dressed it in khakis. It eventually bled out of California altogether, seeping into Top 40 by way of T.I., Tinashe, Jeremih, Big Sean and YG. Biters bit, then the biters got sampled. By 2014, Mustard had taken over all of pop music armed with a handful of keyboard pre-sets.

The high water mark was YG’s debut album, My Krazy Life, issued last March by Def Jam. Even the beats that don’t bear his name are ratchet through and through, a blueprint for the MC to reimagine Compton as the world’s most dangerous strip club. Mustard parlayed that into a Roc Nation-backed compilation album, 10 Summers, that called in favors from Rick Ross, Lil Wayne, Boosie BadAzz and a bevy of heavy hitters. The record itself didn’t make the impact his work for other artists had, however, and soon came the questions: How long until Mustard’s beats are perpetually-bouncing pieces of nostalgia, sprinkled in middle-of-the-night oldies sets? YG’s new single is out; it's G-funk revivalism courtesy of Terrace Martin. What’s next?

Mustard has an answer, and it’s too small to fail. The maddeningly-titled 10 Summers: The Mixtape, Vol. 1 is here, and it’s more vital than anyone would expect. A glance at the tracklist shows some regional names (Iamsu!, Dom Kennedy, Casey Veggies) and a couple of genuine stars (The Game, Ty Dolla $ign). But for the most part, Mustard leans on the likes of DrakeO, Choice, RJ, Skeme and so on to provide the lyrical prowess his production demands. 10 Summers is remarkably paced; the early run of “Shooters,” “Tool” and “Trippin Off Hoes” is a lightning round of kinetic beats and dry wit like “Credit cards with somebody else info/I’m a Blood, I’ve been fucking on some Crip hoes.” What should feel redundant by now is somehow still refreshing—even The Game sounds leaner and hungrier than he has in years.

You know how Rich Homie Quan’s “Flex (Ooh, Ooh, Ooh,)” sounds like a Mustard beat that was updated for 2018? By the mixtape’s midpoint, Mustard is flexing in all directions, carrying his style to a variety of natural endpoints. “Overdose” sounds like Clams Casino had a kid with a girl from an Ice Cube song. “Mr. Big Bank Budda” is what Mannie Fresh might make if he were locked up in Venice for a decade. 10 Summers: The Mixtape is not going to change your Los Angeles or my Los Angeles, but it’s a faithful document of what the city can and should sound like in 2015 and beyond. —Paul Thompson

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