Conway - Won't He Do It (2LP)

Conway the Machine has always sounded like someone who clawed his way out of the cold and brought the grit with him. Won’t He Do It lands like a victory lap earned the hard way, a Buffalo cipher turned personal sermon. The title nods to a church phrase you hear from aunties after a lucky break, but Conway flips it into a calm shrug. Of course he made it here. Listen to the scars.

He released the album in May 2023 through his own Drumwork Music Group with EMPIRE, which matters because independence suits him. You can hear it in the pacing. He takes his time, sits deeper in the pocket, lets the beats breathe. Daringer and Conductor Williams do a lot of the heavy lifting on production, with that smoky, minor‑key loop science that has defined the Griselda sound since the crew began flooding the underground. Conductor’s tag still snaps like a starter pistol, then the drums come in late and dirty, the bass thick enough to fog up the room. It is old world in spirit, but there is no cosplay here. The polish is in the restraint.

“Brucifix” with Westside Gunn is the easy gateway. Conductor sets up a regal, haunted backdrop, and the two trade verses like brothers who know each other’s tells. Gunn crows from the balcony, all fly talk and fine china, while Conway goes low and exact, punching holes through the mix. There is a tightrope walk to his delivery these days. The paralysis that followed his 2012 shooting gave him a slant that’s become part of his rhythm, so the cadences bend in ways others wouldn’t attempt. It turns simple bar work into something spiky and memorable. You feel that on “Quarters”, which rides a grim little loop while he counts up the cost of staying focused when the weather rolls in. He is still heavy on cocaine talk and war stories, but the edges are different now, less boast than ledger.

Then he throws curveballs. “Super Bowl” with Juicy J and Sauce Walka swings south with rubbery synths and late‑night energy, and somehow it clicks. Juicy J turns the lights purple, Sauce Walka shouts from the mezzanine, and Conway toggles between conversational and clipped. He has always been a better chameleon than people give him credit for. The trick is that he never loses the Buffalo in his voice. Even when the drums drift closer to trap, the writing stays unhurried and precise, each boast pinned to something tactile, a detail about a studio night or a memory from a boarded‑up block.

What keeps Won’t He Do It compelling across repeat spins is how it reads as a state of the union. He is no longer proving he belongs beside Westside Gunn and Benny the Butcher, he is making peace with the shape of the room. The beats feel bigger than the early tapes but not inflated, and the sequencing lets you move from smoke‑filled menace to reflective chapters without whiplash. He will drop a cruel punchline, then pull back and talk economy, the cost of doing business, the way success rearranges who calls your phone. That balance is the album’s quiet magic.

If you are crate‑digging, Won’t He Do It vinyl is the way to live with this record. Those dusty loops want air and space, and the slower tempos love a turntable. It is the sort of album that sits nicely next to other Conway the Machine albums on vinyl, especially if you have From King to a GOD or God Don’t Make Mistakes nearby to hear the arc. And if you are in Australia, plenty of Melbourne record store counters have a soft spot for this lane, though it is just as easy to buy Conway the Machine records online if you are out bush or stuck at work. The search terms write themselves for anyone hunting Conway the Machine vinyl, and they should, because this set rewards commitment.

There is a sense of gratitude threaded through the record that fits the title. Not corny, not preachy, just a man who has taken stock and decided to enjoy the shade he fought for. The hooks are understated, the features feel earned, and the production is lean enough to keep the focus on writing. You can step into any track and hear choices being made, not just habits being repeated. That is what separates Won’t He Do It from so many tough‑talk rap albums that evaporate after a week. It is built for the long run, sturdy and sure of itself, the work of an artist who knows exactly what he wants to sound like right now. In a year thick with releases, this one still feels like a keeper for anyone stacking hip‑hop vinyl records Australia‑wide.