X

Ken Carson's "X" arrives like a static charge. The production is deliberately abrasive — hi-hats that flutter with almost mechanical aggression, a bass that distorts at its edges, a melody that feels unstable and frantic. Where Summrs builds atmosphere through softness, Carson weaponizes texture, making discomfort part of the aesthetic. His vocal delivery swings between monotone cool and sudden bursts of elevation, the pitch shifting in ways that feel less like singing and more like transmitting. The song has the quality of something recorded inside a fever — focused but not quite lucid, driven by a logic that doesn't translate cleanly into narrative. Lyrically it's about dominance, status, and distance from people who can't match his energy, but the specifics matter less than the feeling: a young person fully inhabiting their own intensity. Carson is one of the flagship artists of the Opium label's more chaotic wing, and "X" lives at the center of that aesthetic — maximalist nihilism rendered in fluorescent trap production. You listen to this when you want something that puts pressure on the room, music that takes up space and refuses to be polite about it.