Between Memory and Fire: Teephlow’s Meditative Return in “Memories” and “Resurrection”
A few years ago, I wrote about Teephlow’s 6-Feet and Reflections; two deeply introspective records that stripped away the noise of mainstream rap and laid bare the bruises and brilliance of an artist grieving, observing, and confronting his world. (You can find that old article here, https://www.bittermistakes.com/2023/04/24/teephlow-6-feet-and-reflections-review-the-boldest-from-lukeman-baidoo-just-yet/)
Those songs felt like letters Teephlow had written to himself in the dark, letters full of honesty, pain, clarity, and pride.
Now, in Memories and Resurrection, he returns, not as someone who has left that darkness entirely, but as someone who has sat in it long enough to understand its shape. These two tracks don’t just mark a continuation; they mark a kind of stillness before movement, a breath drawn between what has been survived and what is yet to be conquered.
“Memories”: The Long Look Back
There’s a quiet ache to Memories, even beneath its confident delivery. Teephlow is in reflective mode “reminiscing on memories from 03,” he begins, immediately locating us in a time when pain was personal and unspoken. The line “I died inside when they ghosted me” is delivered with such restraint it almost slips by, but it lands with the weight of abandonment that many of us have learned to live with. There’s no posturing here, just a man sitting with his younger self, unashamed of the scars.
But even in looking back, Teephlow doesn’t wallow. “I am trying to find my root,” he says, mapping out a spiritual archaeology of self. The wordplay is still there -clever as ever- but it’s in service of something quieter and more deliberate. This is not a flex; this is self-communion. “Them be replicas, them for pay like 10% / But I am great, so I jie my eye.” He’s not simply shrugging off his imitators; he’s choosing silence over vengeance, purpose over posturing.
The production which is subtle and melodic acts like a soft current under the verse, letting the words do the heavy lifting. It’s the kind of song that doesn’t demand your attention so much as invite your stillness. You listen not to be hyped, but to be reminded. This is Teephlow remembering who he was, but more importantly, why he continues.
“Resurrection”: The Reckoning
If Memories is the meditation, Resurrection is the monologue. It opens with a simple, declarative line: “Heavy is the head and I ain’t capping.” From there, Teephlow pulls us into a whirlwind of thought; an interior interview between his conscience, his ambition, and his demons.
There’s something spiritually urgent about this track. He isn’t just confessing; he’s confronting himself in real-time. “I must admit that I’ve been reckless / This is my confession.” The vulnerability here is not ornamental, it’s foundational. The Teephlow we hear is battling doubt, regret, distraction, ego. And yet, instead of letting those inner voices derail him, he lets them fuel his resurrection.
He raps:
“I slept on myself now I’m feeling restless / It’s like a constant interview with my mind and my conscience asking me weird questions.”
It’s a sentiment that hits hard in an era where so many creatives wrestle with inertia and internalized silence. It’s also a subtle nod to his awareness of time, legacy, and the cost of dormancy.
The second half of the song pivots from internal questioning to external defiance. “2025 go stupid / Show them say you do this.” This is the artist waking up, not just to his craft, but to his calling. He’s no longer waiting to be validated. There’s a hunger to Resurrection that makes it feel like more than just a rap song. It feels like a recommitment.
Even the punchlines, witty and layered as ever, carry emotional weight. “I was washed up like rain drops on the same spot / And yet the prayer face be the only time I gave up.” That duality, washed up, but still praying encapsulates the heart of this track. He might have lost momentum, but not purpose. Not faith.
The Sound of Survival
What links Memories and Resurrection is not just their lyrical brilliance, but their emotional honesty. Teephlow isn’t hiding anymore. He’s not running from the industry, or from himself. These songs don’t boast; they breathe. They hold space for silence and rage, confusion and resolve.
And that, I think, is what makes this chapter of his career so compelling. It’s not just about bars or beats, it’s about becoming. About returning to the mic not just as a rapper, but as a man who’s had hard conversations with himself and come out clearer, hungrier, and more deliberate.
The Gospel According to Phlow
Resurrection especially feels like a gospel of self-renewal. It’s unvarnished and emotionally raw; dripping with a need to move. It’s a message to his fans, yes, but also to himself. A reminder that purpose doesn’t disappear in silence, it just waits to be reclaimed.
Together, these two tracks don’t just extend the legacy of 6-Feet and Reflections, which I referenced earlier, they deepen it. This is not the same Teephlow we heard a few years ago. This is someone who has bled, questioned, paused and chosen, again, to speak. And in doing so, he reminds us that art isn’t just about visibility. It’s about vision.
So if Reflections made us stop and look, and 6-Feet made us feel his pain, then Memories and Resurrection ask us to listen, not to the noise of clout or competition, but to the quiet, unflinching voice of a man becoming whole.
And that, in itself, is the real resurrection.