The scorecard
8.2/10 · Great
- Writing25%
- 8.5
- Production25%
- 9.0
- Delivery15%
- 7.5
- Cohesion15%
- 7.0
- Originality10%
- 8.5
- Replay value10%
- 7.5
Earl compresses grief and displacement into oblique couplets that reward close attention, as when he describes distance in a relationship through cosmic imagery rather than stating it plainly.
The album samples soul and jazz from his parents' generation into dense, claustrophobic loops with dust and hiss left in, creating a sound that mirrors the lyrical fragmentation.
Earl's voice sits low in the mix, buried under the production, which suits the album's withdrawn mood but sometimes sacrifices clarity for atmosphere.
The brevity leaves some ideas underdeveloped and several tracks feel like sketches, though the fifteen tracks in twenty-five minutes do create a continuous statement with flickering, fever-dream logic.
The decision to self-produce almost everything, sample his own father's voice, and structure an album as a sequence of minute-long fragments was uncommon in 2018 rap and positioned the record ahead of a broader shift toward experimental, introspective approaches.
The dense production and buried vocals demand multiple listens to parse, and the emotional rawness that creates initial resistance ultimately rewards the attention required.
Earl Sweatshirt Some Rap Songs — Grief as a Loop You Can't Escape
Some Rap Songs argues that trauma does not resolve into clarity. It rejects the narrative arc where suffering leads to insight and insight leads to peace. Instead it offers twenty-five minutes of Earl Sweatshirt processing his father's death and his uncle's death by building beats out of their generation's music, burying his voice under layers of dust and static, and chopping every thought into minute-long fragments that end before they finish. The blurred cover photo, taken mid-motion and nearly illegible, is the thesis statement: this is what grief looks like when you are still inside it, when the process of making sense has not yet produced sense. The album does not explain itself and it does not offer resolution, which makes it both the most honest and the most difficult record Earl had released to that point.
The stakes are whether abstraction can carry emotional weight. Earl had built his reputation on technical virtuosity and vivid, uncomfortable storytelling. Here he pulls back from both. The rapping is often half-sung, the verses are short, and the production is so lo-fi that you hear tape hiss and vinyl crackle throughout.
The risk is that the album becomes an interesting experiment that keeps the listener at a distance. What saves it is specificity. Earl does not describe grief in general terms; he describes the exact feeling of a relationship ending because of physical distance, the exact weight of carrying on a creative legacy, the exact texture of memory when it is attached to voices that are gone. The sound is abstract but the content is not, and that gap between form and feeling is where the album does its work.
Dust, Hiss and the Weight of Inheritance
The production on Some Rap Songs is built almost entirely by Earl himself, with contributions from Adé Hakim, Denmark, Black Noise, Sage Elsesser and Shamel of SOTC. The approach is sample-based, but the samples are treated less as loops than as material to be broken and reassembled, an approach that shares DNA with Madvillainy's fragmentary construction. Earl pulls from soul and jazz records, many of them obscure, and chops them into fragments that repeat at odd intervals, often with the dust and imperfections of the original vinyl left audible. The effect is claustrophobic and restless. Tracks feel like they are collapsing in on themselves, the loops stumbling over each other without settling into a groove. The low end is heavy and the mix is murky, with Earl's voice often sitting so far back that you have to strain to hear the words clearly.
This is a deliberate choice, not a mistake. The buried vocals create a sense of being submerged, of trying to speak from underneath something. The short track lengths reinforce the feeling that nothing fully resolves. Most songs are under two minutes, several are under ninety seconds, and a few barely reach a minute.
Earl rarely completes a full verse in the traditional sense. Instead he offers fragments: a couplet, a few bars, a melodic phrase that trails off. The writing is dense and elliptical, heavy on internal rhyme and slant rhyme, with lines that collapse multiple ideas into a single image. He layers assonance and consonance so tightly that verses feel like one long exhalation, the rhymes arriving in unexpected places.
The guest appearances are minimal and purposeful. Navy Blue appears on The Mint, his verse matching the album's low-key intensity, and Standing on the Corner contributes to Ontheway!, adding texture rather than a traditional feature verse. The most significant voices on the album, other than Earl's, are sampled: his mother Cheryl Harris speaking on Playing Possum, and his father Keorapetse Kgositsile reading poetry on the same track. The decision to build an album around these voices, particularly his father's, gives the record a clear emotional anchor. Earl is not just sampling old records; he is sampling his own inheritance, the music and words of the generation before him, and using them to process loss.
The weakness is accessibility. The production is so dense and the vocals are mixed so low that casual listening does not work, a challenge that Danny Brown - Atrocity Exhibition also embraced with its abrasive sonic approach. You have to meet the album on its terms, and those terms require attention and patience. For listeners expecting the clarity of Earl's earlier work, this will feel like a step backward.
The short track lengths also mean that individual songs do not develop. Ideas are introduced and abandoned, verses end abruptly, and the album moves on before a thought fully lands. This creates a fractured, dreamlike quality, but it also means that several tracks feel like sketches rather than finished songs.
Twenty-Five Minutes Without a Wasted Second
The album plays as a continuous sequence, fifteen tracks in twenty-five minutes, and the pacing is relentless. There are no pauses, no breathing room, no moments where the album stops to explain itself. The effect is cumulative rather than episodic, similar to how Armand Hammer - Haram builds its oppressive atmosphere through unrelenting density. Individual tracks do not stand out as much as they contribute to a larger mood, a sense of being trapped inside a loop that keeps folding back on itself.
The opening stretch establishes the sound with three short, fragmented entries before moving into the first song that feels like a complete statement. The following track offers the most direct link to Earl's earlier style, before the album retreats into more abstract territory through the middle section.
The back half is even more fractured. Several entries last less than a minute or hover around ninety seconds, and one uses sampled voices from Earl's parents to create the album's emotional center without Earl saying much himself. The final entry is an instrumental that serves as a quiet ending rather than a climax. The album does not build to a peak; it simply stops, as if the process of working through grief does not have a satisfying conclusion.
The length is both a strength and a limitation. At twenty-five minutes, the album does not overstay its welcome, and the density of the production means there is more happening in each minute than on most longer records. But the brevity also means that some ideas feel underdeveloped. Certain entries are over almost before they start, and while this suits the album's aesthetic, it also means that the record can feel more like a statement of intent than a fully realized work. The album earns its length by refusing to pad itself, but it leaves you wanting more in a way that is not entirely intentional.
Where It Leaves You and Where to Go Next
Some Rap Songs is Earl Sweatshirt at his most uncompromising. It ranks as his most experimental and personal work, a record that prioritizes emotional honesty over accessibility and atmosphere over clarity. It is not his most technically impressive album in terms of pure rapping, but it is his most cohesive as a piece of sound design, and the one where the production and the content are most tightly bound together. For listeners who value innovation and are willing to work for it, this is essential. For listeners who want Earl's wordplay delivered clearly over more traditional beats, this will be frustrating.
The album has aged well. The lo-fi, sample-heavy approach that felt uncommon in 2018 now sounds like it anticipated a broader shift toward more experimental, introspective rap. The decision to make something this raw and unpolished, released through a major label, looks bolder in hindsight. The album's influence is audible in the wave of abstract, grief-focused rap that followed, though few records have matched its combination of density and brevity. It is not an album that grows on you gradually; it either clicks or it does not, and the response tends to be immediate.
Start with Nowhere2go and December 24, the two tracks that offer the clearest entry points. If those work, play the album straight through without interruption; the sequencing is the point. Skip it if you need Earl's voice upfront in the mix or if you want traditional song structures. After this, try his earlier work to hear where he came from, or move to Navy Blue's solo material for a similar approach to lo-fi production and introspective writing, or explore MF DOOM - Operation: Doomsday for another take on dusty, sample-heavy hip-hop that values atmosphere over polish. Some Rap Songs is not an album that tries to please everyone, and that refusal to compromise is exactly why it matters.
Track by track
Track Listing
Shattered Dreams
SolidThe opening track sets the template: a chopped soul sample, heavy bass, and Earl's voice mixed low, offering a few bars about isolation before the track cuts off. It establishes the album's aesthetic in two minutes, making it clear that nothing here will resolve cleanly.
Red Water
SolidAnother fragmented loop, this time built around a vocal sample that repeats hypnotically while Earl delivers lines about distance and disconnection. The track is over before it develops, which is the point.
Cold Summers
SolidAt barely over a minute, this is more of an interlude than a full track, though Earl's verse is dense enough that it rewards attention. The production is skeletal, just a bass line and a flickering sample.
Nowhere2go
StandoutThe first single and the clearest song on the album. The beat, produced by Adé Hakim and Joseph, is still fractured but more melodic, and Earl's delivery is almost sung, his voice rising above the mix for the first time. The verse is intricate, full of internal rhymes and slant rhymes, and the hook is the closest thing to a traditional chorus on the record. This is the track that shows the album's approach can work as more than just atmosphere.
December 24
StandoutProduced by Denmark, this track dates back to earlier sessions and was previously known as Bad Acid. It is the most aggressive song on the album, with Earl rapping in a more direct, punchy style over a beat that actually knocks. The verse is sharp and the delivery is confident, a reminder that Earl can still spit in a traditional sense when he wants to. It stands out as the one moment where the album looks backward to his earlier work.
Ontheway!
SolidStanding on the Corner contributes to this track, adding a live bass line and additional texture. Earl's verse is short and the song feels more like a transition than a standalone piece, though the bass work gives it a warmth that much of the album lacks.
The Mint
StandoutThe second single, featuring Navy Blue, and one of the album's strongest tracks. Black Noise's production is built around a sample from the film Black Dynamite and a chopped jazz loop, creating a beat that feels looser and more spacious than most of the record. Earl's verse is dense and knotty, and Navy Blue's contribution matches the album's understated intensity. The chemistry between the two rappers is subtle but real, and the track benefits from being one of the longer songs, giving the ideas room to breathe.
The Bends
SolidProduced by Sage Elsesser, this track samples Linda Clifford and builds a hazy, disoriented beat that mirrors the title. Earl's verse is brief and the song ends abruptly, but the production is striking, one of the album's more memorable loops.
Loosie
SolidLess than a minute long, barely a sketch. Earl delivers a few lines and the track ends. It feels like a fragment that could have been expanded but wasn't, which suits the album's aesthetic even if it leaves little impression on its own.
Azucar
SolidAnother Sage Elsesser production, this one built around a sample from The Soul Children. The beat is warmer than most of the album, almost soulful, and Earl's verse is more melodic. The track is still brief but it feels more complete than some of the shorter entries.
Eclipse
SolidA return to the fragmented, claustrophobic production of the album's first half. Earl's voice is buried again and the verse is short, offering a few lines about memory and loss before the track cuts off. Effective as part of the album's flow but slight on its own.
Veins
StandoutBuilt around a Curtis Mayfield sample, this track has a mournful, gospel-tinged quality that suits the album's themes. Earl's verse is introspective and the production is one of the album's most emotionally direct moments, even as the mix remains murky.
Playing Possum
StandoutThe emotional center of the album, featuring sampled voices from Earl's mother Cheryl Harris and his late father Keorapetse Kgositsile reading poetry. Earl's own contribution is minimal; he lets the voices speak for themselves, creating a moment of raw vulnerability. The track is brief but it carries the weight of the entire album, making the grief explicit without over-explaining it.
Peanut
SolidAnother short track, barely over a minute, with Earl delivering a few lines over a minimal beat. It feels like a coda to Playing Possum, a brief exhale before the album ends.
Riot!
StandoutAn instrumental closer that samples Hugh Masekela, co-produced with Shamel of SOTC. The track is quiet and reflective, a simple loop with bass guitar added, and it serves as a gentle ending rather than a dramatic statement. The decision to end the album without Earl's voice is fitting: the work is done, and what remains is the music of the generation before him, still playing.
Frequently Asked Questions
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