Reemo’s ‘Kyriemo Irving’ and the Evolution of Philly Drill
In the crowded landscape of American hip-hop, few regional subgenres demand as much internal conflict from the listener as Philadelphia drill. While the city’s scene has become known for its theatrical, almost cartoonish commitment to horrorcore and religious imagery, there is a quieter, more grounded movement bubbling beneath the surface. Artists like Skrilla have mastered the art of the meme-ready, choir-heavy beat, yet the sheer audacity of the city’s output can often feel like a stage production. It’s easy to get lost in the mask-wearing personas of guys like HappyDranker and Tovi, forgetting for a moment that this remains one of the most abrasive and unflinching sounds in modern music.
Then there is West Philly’s Reemo, who operates with a refreshingly different blueprint. He isn’t interested in the gimmicks.
His new mixtape, ‘Kyriemo Irving,’ serves as a sharp departure from the trend of costume-heavy rap. The project’s illustrated cover—featuring the rapper mid-layup on a playground in hell—perfectly captures his ethos: a blend of high-stakes sports bravado and existential dread. Drawing influence from the likes of Meek Mill and G Herbo, Reemo leans into a breathless style of narrative songwriting that values the weight of a lived experience over pure technical flash. On the track “OverKill,” he captures a haunting reality: “And them funerals when you know you got to get back for the dead, that’s a horrible feeling.”
Honestly, the strength of ‘Kyriemo Irving’ lies in this vulnerability. While many of his peers in Philly drill focus exclusively on projection of menace, Reemo insists on exploring the emotional fallout of a street-hardened life. He doesn’t shy away from the genre’s signature aesthetic, utilizing the same blunted flows that define the current local sound, but he consistently injects it with a human perspective that feels missing elsewhere. On “In the Past,” he raps, “She look in my eyes, I can’t lie to her/Even my mom know we the ones giving vacations,” grounding the track in a messy, tangible reality that goes beyond simple aggression.
However, the project is not without its growing pains. The record sometimes falls into the trap of over-reliance on generic, mushy soul samples that feel like a tired attempt at a cinematic montage. There is also, perhaps, a bit too much focus on the tropes of petty relationship drama that clutter the runtime. Yet, these structural issues are largely forgiven because of the sharp, flexible writing on display. When Reemo isn’t caught up in the mixtape bloat, he is a gifted storyteller capable of balancing Udonis Haslem punchlines with terrifyingly intimate confessions about his own PTSD-induced nightmares and cold sweats.
Ultimately, ‘Kyriemo Irving’ succeeds because it refuses to be just another drill record. Tracks like “Ray Lewis” elevate the project, delivering a level of violent, crystalline detail that borders on the poetic. By trading in the performative nature of his local contemporaries for a more contemplative, traditionalist approach, Reemo has carved out a space for himself. He is not just rapping about the life; he is documenting the human cost, reminding us that there is a soul buried beneath the Philly drill soundscape.
