“Love, Peace & Trauma” presents itself as a layered journey. One that balances grit with introspection, and confrontation with vulnerability. Ortiz comes out less as a boastful showman and more as a poet in the trenches, dissecting trauma, perseverance, and the flickers of hope in his experience. The album’s mood shifts between urgency and meditative reflection, and the four tracks below offer different lenses into the emotional architecture he’s building.

1- “PTSD”

From its opening bar, “PTSD” feels like the album’s emotional core turned up. The tempo is steady but heavy , not too fast, not too slow and giving space for Ortiz’s words to weigh. You can sense the internal tug-of-war, where each line lands with tension, like someone trying to steady their breathing in a moment of panic. The production around him is sparse enough to leave room for breath, yet maintains enough pressure and subtle percussion, ominous undertones to remind you of the weight he’s carrying.

Lyrically, there’s a raw confession here, references to internal scars, to reflections that border on obsession, to repeat loops of memory. But he doesn’t linger in victimhood. There’s agency in his framing. He’s not just reporting his trauma , he’s interrogating it, wrestling it. The tension between vulnerability and control is the song’s central thread, and Ortiz walks it skillfully.

2- “Makin It By”

This track pivots the mood. The tempo picks up, the beat feels more determined, almost defiant, as if saying: “I’m here, and I will survive.” It’s a hustler’s anthem, but not in the shallow “money flex” sense. Here, “making it by” becomes a moral and emotional measure making it by without losing your sense of self. You can hear the strain in his delivery, but also glimpses of triumph.

Musically, the production balances momentum and space. There’s force behind the drums, but also breaks and openings for Ortiz to breathe, to drop lines you can replay in your mind. The contrast between the beat’s forward drive and his reflective refrains gives the song a push/pull energy. It’s a standout in that it feels both accessible and intimate.

3-

“The Yaowa”

This track leans into swagger without losing substance. The tempo is gonna make you move and there’s bounce, there’s groove, but the vibe has grit. Ortiz adopts a sharper cadence, more bravado, more edge. It’s almost cinematic: you can picture the characters, the scenes implied in his lines.

Lyrically, it’s a combination of street realism, pride, defiance, maybe even warning. He seems to be in command here, asserting identity, status, respect, but never in a vacuum. His lines hint at conflict, respect earned, challenges faced. Because the beat is lively, the risk is that words can get swallowed, but Ortiz punches through. He rides the rhythm but doesn’t let the rhythm ride him.

4- “Smile”

This is the moment the album leans into tenderness. The tempo drops and the beat softens. It’s quieter, more spacious. The track gives Ortiz room to breathe, to rest, to show face with wounds, hopes, regrets all in the open. You feel like he’s speaking softly into a broken mirror.

Lyrically, “Smile” wrestles more with hope than with pain. It acknowledges damage, but also the attempt to heal, to find moments that break through the darkness. It’s less combative, more open-handed. The contrast against “PTSD” is striking: if “PTSD” locks you in the storm, “Smile” offers a doorway out or at least a window.

The production is gentle, but it doesn’t feel passive. Subtle instrumentation, quiet textures, layered harmonies in the backdrop , with that Rene & Angela sample, they all serve to hold Ortiz’s voice so it doesn’t feel lonely. You may catch yourself leaning in, listening to small cadences, pauses, inflections.

Through 13 tracks , including these four tracks, Ortiz maps a trajectory, from storm, to hustle, to assertion, to fragile hope. He doesn’t shy away from darkness, and he doesn’t offer false sunshine. Instead, he lets shadows and light co-exist. One consistent strength is his command of space and he doesn’t overpack the instrumentals, so you hear every syllable; the beat and voice converse rather than compete.

If there’s a slight tension, it’s that in tracks like “The Yaowa,” the force of swagger risks overshadowing nuance. But even then, Ortiz’s precision in timing, syllable, emotional inflection keeps things anchored.

“Love, Peace & Trauma” through these songs feels less like a show and more like an internal dispatch. It’s not always comfortable, but it’s compelling.

Check for Joell Ortiz on IG: @joellortiz

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