Album Review: Earl Sweatshirt - Some Rap Songs
As it so often is, as a genre and an art form, rap music
spent a bulk of 2018 being incredibly frustrating, with only a few incredible,
truly worthwhile moments to be found.
There were artists that continued vying to transcend the
genre and become ‘pop stars’ more or less, releasing unnecessarily lengthy
albums in order to inflate streaming numbers, therefore padding overall sales
in an effort to land higher on the Billboard album charts—focusing more on
pushing a product, rather than something of substance.
Then there was Kanye West’s entire ‘Wyoming Sessions’
debacle—five weeks between the end of May and throughout June where West
hastily ‘hand produced’ five albums—two of which were his own projects—and just
barely meeting his Friday release date deadlines.
In a sharp contrast to an album like Migos’ 24 track Culture II, or Drake’s sprawling double
album Scorpion, West’s series of
albums were all exercises in brevity—save for Teyana Taylor’s incredibly rushed
and allegedly unfinished K.T.S.E. (Keep
That Same Energy), the other four albums all contained seven tracks total
(Taylor’s, for some reason, had eight.)
However, in 2018, there were small glimmers of hope—albums
that were actually interesting and exciting to hear—like the experimental and hypnotic Eyes of A Key by the
enigmatic Mix-O-Rap, written and recorded in a penitentiary’s music room, the
production value of the album is a place beyond ‘lo-fi’; or the dark, evocative
lyricism of Paraffin or Manonmars—the former being the new full length from the independent hip hop duo Armand Hammer (Billy Woods and Elucid),
who create an environment as stark as the album’s cover art; the latter being the self-titled full length debut from a moody and young British rapper who is
almost too intelligent for his own good.
Then, there’s Some Rap
Songs, the new album from Earl Sweatshirt—the kind of record that defies expectations
as well as the genre itself, creating something that is both gorgeous and
unnerving, and leaves the listener stunned in the process.
The straight-faced irony of the album’s title is certainly not
lost on Earl—born Thebe Neruda Kgositsile, nor should it be lost on you. The
implications of a deadpanned title such as Some
Rap Songs are that Earl, a rapper, will provide you, the listener, with a
record full of music—the listener expecting the album to be comprised of ‘rap
songs.’
I stop short of calling the album’s 15 tracks ‘songs’—the
longest is less than three minutes; the shortest is 59 seconds. They aren’t
sketches or incomplete—this is the material, as intended.
These are the rap songs.
At 25 minutes, Some
Rap Songs is a dizzying collection of what could be accurately referred to
as vignettes—breathlessly moving from one into the other, unrelenting in its
nature. It’s an album that challenges its listener—it’s not ‘unfriendly’ or
inaccessible, but if you haven’t figured it out already, it’s a difficult
listen. It’s claustrophobic and disorienting, and in its cacophonic nature, it
grabs a hold of you and never really lets up, even after the album’s abrupt
conclusion. It demands your absolute focus and attention at all times.
Some Rap Songs transcends
‘rap’ as a genre, or a tag, and right out of the gate, it’s clear that this is
art—an artistic statement—made by somebody who has outgrown simply being a
‘rapper’ or a performer.
Earl Sweatshirt is an artist—at only 24 years old, he’s
lived practically a thousand lives already, and you can hear the weariness in
the low timbre of his voice. Once poised to be the break out star of the now
dissolved collective Odd Future, following the release of his eponymous mixtape
in 2010, Earl’s parents shipped him off to a boarding school for at-risk youth,
located in Samoa—missing out on the group’s commercial success in 2011, and
returning home in 2012 shortly before turning 18.
While his proper debut, Doris,
found him still working within the sophomoric humor of Odd Future, he left all
that behind and truly came into his own with 2015’s masterful I Don’t Like Shit, I Don’t Go Outside—a
brief, stark meditation on fame, depression, anxiety, and grief.
In a sense, Some Rap
Songs continues in that vein, though it is much, much darker. The songs included on I Don’t Like Shit were still, you know, songs—based around
identifiable refrains; here, there is none of that. It is more or less a stream
of consciousness style delivery that finds Earl ruminating on the passage from
youth into adulthood, his continued struggle with anxiety and depression, working
through his complicated relationships with his parents, as well as grappling
with the death of his father, the South African poet and activist Keorapetse
William Kgositsile—who passed away at the beginning of 2018.
*
Truthfully, I wasn’t quite sure what to make of the first
piece from Some Rap Songs that was
released in advance of the album’s announcement—there’s really no way you can
call anything taken from this kind of an album a ‘single.’ “Nowhere2Go” was
released about two weeks ahead of “The Mint,” the second piece of the album
that was revealed ahead of the release date.
I wasn’t concerned, per se, about the quality of Earl’s
output after hearing “Nowhere2Go”—I was just a little confused. Working in the
context of the album is one thing, but taken outside of that, on its own—I was
not entirely certain what, exactly, I was hearing—the jittery beat with time
stretched, distended vocal sample running throughout most of the song’s two
minute running time, coupled with Earl’s partially mumbled vocals—the whole
thing was very disorienting.
But that’s the point—isn’t it?
In an interview about the song, Earl said it’s the closest
thing to a single he’s got—and I suppose he’s right. Musically, that jittery
beat and distended vocal line winds up being moderately infectious the more
times you listen through; lyrically, it “Nowhere2Go” isn’t exactly the ‘thesis
statement’ of Some Rap Songs, but it
does feature some of the lyric that wind up becoming the conceit of the entire
project:
I think I spent most
of my life depressed
Only thing on my mind
was death
Didn’t know if my time
was next
Tryna refine this
shit—I redefined myself
First I had to find
it—
The imagery that runs throughout Some Rap Songs is fucking bleak—there is no other way to put it—the
album’s first two tracks, “Shattered Dreams” and “Red Water” share a lot of
similar themes (particularly that of blood); on the former, Earl wastes
absolutely no time as he begins dissecting his mental health—“Why ain’t nobody tell me I was bleedin’?
Please, nobody pinch me out this dream,” he asks early in the song. Then,
later, “Why ain’t nobody tell me I was
sinking? Ain’t nobody tell me I could leave.”
On the latter, he returns to those same images, expanding
them out and beginning to work in the incredibly complicated feelings he has
about his mother and father—“Stork on my
shoulder, I was sinkin’—I ain’t know I could leave…Blood in the water, I was
walkin’ in my sleep; Blood on my father, I forgot another dream.”
Throughout Some Rap
Songs, Earl’s calculated lyricism demands your complete, undivided
attention—they are what make this album such a compelling, urgent listen. Using
heavy metaphor and allusion, he continues to reflect on his family, his rise to
fame, his mental health, mortality, and his past issues with substance abuse.
Rarely is there humor—and if there is, it’s clever, biting, and subtle; and
rarely are there signs of hope, light, or optimism. There is no clear
resolution at the end of Some Rap Songs,
but, again, much like the disorienting nature of the album’s collage style
production—that’s the point, isn’t it?
Much has been made about the three years in between the
release of I Don’t Like Shit, I Don’t Go
Outside and Some Rap Songs—mostly
because Earl, as a person and a persona, is so reclusive. In the interim, he
launched a clothing company called Deathworld, made sporadic guest appearances,
as well as sporadic festival performances. He also called off a 2018 European
tour because his depression and anxiety were too much at the time.
In interviews, Earl has alluded to the fact that he began
working on this record—or at least even considering working on new material in
2015, but that production started in earnest at the end of 2016, and it
continued to gestate throughout 2017.
The album, more or less, was completed by the beginning of
2018, but Earl added two additional tracks following the death of his father,
as well as the death of his father’s close friend, jazz musician Hugh Masekela,
which occurred only weeks later.
For an album that is pretty
insular, it grows even more so with its final three songs—“Playing Possum” is a
track that doesn’t feature Earl at all, but rather, overlapping vocal samples
of his mother and father. His mother, Cheryl Harris, is the Chair in Civil
Rights and Civil Liberties at UCLA School of Law—here, he interpolates a
keynote address she gave, wherein she mentions her family (specifically
Earl—referred to by his birth name of Thebe.) Blended in with this are pieces
from Keorapetse Kgositsile’s poem “Anguish Longer Than Sorrow”—the entire track
was intended to be a conciliatory gesture at mending the previously tumultuous
relationship the three have had with one another.
Serving as epilogues, or afterwards, to the album, are Some Rap Songs’ final two pieces—the
dark and distorted “Peanut,” and the instrumental “Riot!.”
“Peanut” was written after Earl’s father passed away, so
lyrically it finds him addressing Keorapetse Kgositsile’s death in the most
direct language—“Flushin’ through the
pain; depression—this is not a phase,” he says, speaking slowly and
emphatically as his voice is overblown, with the music in the background being,
perhaps, the darkest sounding on the entire album. “Picking out his grave—couldn’t help but feel out of place.”
Even for as bleak and hopeless as Some Rap Songss, it ends on what sounds like a triumphant,
borderline jubilant note. “Riot!,” entirely instrumental, is pulled together
from a short sample of a 1969 song by the same name from Hugh Masekela.
*
Thebe Neruda Kgositsile is a complicated individual, and as
Earl Sweatshirt, Some Rap Songs is a
reflection of those complications. He would prefer a life away from the
spotlight, full of solitude, but in contrast, he is not so much ‘drawn’ to fame,
but he finds it alluring—something that is inferred on “Veins,” when he says “It’s been a minute since I heard applause;
it’s been a minute since you seen or heard from me—I’ve been swerving calls,”
then later, taking a more pensive approach—“Sittin’
on a star, thinking how I’m not a star—I can’t call it…Sometimes I feel like I
wanna call it off.”
Some Rap Songs, in
the end, is a look inside someone who is not afraid to let a listener in, per
se, but hesitant to directly reveal too much—revealing as much as they are
comfortable with, veiling things through dense, dark beats and labyrinthine,
dizzying, metaphorical lyrics. It provides no easy answers, but being such an
insular, reflective, and personal project for Earl, it really asks no questions
for the listener—it expects them just to follow along attentively, with the
only real conclusion, which certainly Earl already knew long before putting
this record together, is that there is absolutely no cure for the human
condition—but putting your pain and desperation into art is certainly a place
to start.
Some Rap Songs is available now as a digital download; CDs and cassettes will ship mid-December, with a vinyl release date in late January.
Some Rap Songs is available now as a digital download; CDs and cassettes will ship mid-December, with a vinyl release date in late January.
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