That’s the thesis of both the album and its lead single, “Press Eject”, in which Pemberton sings, “I don’t want to play your game, don’t want to say what you want me to say, don’t want to pay for the space that I made, it works better when you show your face” over a discord of hyperpop synths and pounding beats. This frustration with the omnipotent algorithm is articulated throughout the album, with many tracks taking on the same sonic and political identity as the single. It’s intentionally overstimulating and repetitive, replicating the social media experience: recycled content, videos auto-playing on max volume, targeted ads, click-to-buy, then pull-to-refresh. 

To remind listeners of their agency as consumers, ROLLERCOASTER is broken up by stripped-down acoustic tracks produced by and featuring Bartees Strange. “When I played [track one] for my mom, she was like, ‘Who’s that singing? Aren’t people going to be confused?’ and I was like, ‘It’s cool, mom. It’s art.’” Pemberton wanted that bait-and-switch. He set out to subvert expectations at every turn. Even songs that lean hip-hop are devoid of genre-typical braggadocio. On “Shadowbanned”, myst milano chimes in with a fervid flow that moves against Cadence Weapon’s spoken-word poetry like flint on stone. Then, Austra’s feathery vocals accompany the rapper’s on “Alarms,” a song that laments the unrelenting notification bubble, with an earworm hook that may catch longtime fans by surprise.

The 37-year-old artist was once critical of mainstream music. Songs made for a 10-second soundbite, to him, were a “personal offense.” But he’s changed his tune since the heyday of ringtone rap, and he’s here for its resurrection in the form of TikTok music. Though he tries to stay “as analogue as [he] can,” Pemberton clarifies that he isn’t anti-tech, rather he’s pro-community. In the same breath that he condemns the grotesquerie of AI art, he praises alt-pop queens Caroline Polachek and Charli XCX for their expert use of social media. 

“[Polachek] does something that’s really hard to do with some of these platforms: she has brought very artful imagery and visuals in a way that is appealing to anyone,” says Pemberton. “And Charli XCX is the same way, but in a different style […] really involving fans in the experience.” 

For Cadence Weapon, it all boils down to connection. On ROLLERCOASTER, the rapper harkens back to the community he found on the early web. It was here, on public forums and websites like rapmusic.com, that he began his career. “It was just a bunch of underground rap nerds talking about music,” he reminisces, his expression brightening. “People weren’t fixated on the internet being an online representation of your life. […] It was a lot slower. There was no profit directive. Nobody was making any money from this.” 

Pemberton looks to Web 3.0 as a utopic model for decentralized ownership. “One voice with a thousand minds,” the rapper says, referencing the opening line of “Press Eject.” “That is the power of the internet to me: you can connect with a bunch of like-minded people and build a movement and organize in a way that is much easier than in person.” 

On my first listen of ROLLERCOASTER, I was reminded of Jenny Odell’s 2019 bestseller How to Do Nothing: Resisting the Attention Economy, a text that is less a self-help book than a political manifesto. I asked Pemberton if he’d read it, and he revealed that the book was one of his influences in the album’s creation. This wasn’t entirely surprising to me. ROLLERCOASTER can be read like a techno-revolt manifesto in its own right. Almost every lyric is a call to action. He asks listeners to question the status quo. He urges them to reject a system that commodifies suffering. He invites them to rediscover community.

“It can be found online,” Pemberton assures me, “and we can find it again.”