It’s often said that art should disturb the comfortable and comfort the disturbed. Des Moines rapper Teller Bank$’ latest album, Hate Island, finds a distinct way to express pain and trauma while delivering an unforgettable and endlessly intriguing work of art.
I knew I was in for a wild ride before I heard a second of music, thanks to the eclectic titles of the album’s songs. From the John Coltrane reference in “A Hate Supreme,” to “They Hated Jesus,” to “Benny and WE$ 3: Requiem For a Jiggaboo,” I knew that whatever it was I was about to hear was not going to be quite like anything I had heard before.
The album’s opening track, “The Second Tower,” yanks the listener into the picture that Teller Bank$ is painting. The world he’s created is one rich with dissonance; it fogs the mind and limits the senses. While the cause of discomfort isn’t up in your face, it lurks nearby, ever escaping your darting eyes.
Even though the unsettling darkness of the music is perhaps the most prevalent feeling created, there’s also a very defined sense of humor packed into the album. Clever wordplay in lyrics such as “Cartoonishly large hammer turn you to a doormat,” or perhaps “N— do exactly what I say like my name Simon” create a tender balance between the perpetual malaise and the tongue-in-cheek bars.
All the while, cutting through the murkiness is a hard-hitting political and social message, amplified by Teller Bank$’s intricate wordplay and ruthless delivery. The album starts with Bank$ clearing his throat and delivering the haymaker of a line: “The moral of every Disney story is forgive the white man, it’s better for you.” On the track “Gang $hit,” he spits “…the president made his dentures from the teeth of the indentured / been censured for centuries / my country ’tis of thee? No no no — my country ’tis of death and despair. / You only get a fair shake if your skin fair.”
Perhaps the most remarkable feature of the music is the unusual syncopation scattered throughout the record. Oftentimes, the music will almost sound “incorrect” — like it’s a car whose wheels are about to fall off and the engine thud onto the road below. Nonetheless, it arrives at its destination. The unusual flows and the slow, mysterious beats create a feeling that lures the listener in and keeps them on the edge of their seats.
While I’ve spent the bulk of my review delving into the edgier cuts on the album, I was equally fond of the more pleasant sounds that were offered, thanks in large part to the soul- and jazz-influenced melodies and samples, particularly the instrumentals on the songs “They Givin’ Speeches,” “im sorry” and “Amtrak Trap Trap.” Hell, even the beat on “George and Javks,” with its four-on-floor syncopation, came off as a dance beat.
Days after my first listen, I still find myself reflecting on the many captivating nuances of this record. Hate Island is a must-listen for anyone craving a masterful use of the English language and top-tier storytelling, or who wants to push their musical boundaries.
This article was originally published in Little Village’s June 2026 issue.
