Isaiah Rashad — The Sun's Tirade

A forty-four second intro with Rashad mumbling a question over muffled noise. Sets the disoriented tone but does not earn its own track slot.

FrancisGotHeat's beat has a warped vocal sample and snapping percussion, and Rashad delivers one of his tightest verses, using internal rhymes and a faster flow than he will maintain later. The writing catalogs mistakes and regrets without self-pity, and the hook's repetition builds momentum instead of dragging. The track works as both a song and a mission statement: Rashad can write when he wants to.

Cam O'bi loops a clean guitar riff and Rashad describes sobriety as unwanted hunger, the verses capturing the irritability and low-grade desperation of early withdrawal. The metaphor is simple but the execution is specific: he is not preaching recovery or wallowing, just describing what it feels like to want what is killing you. The mix buries his voice slightly, making the delivery feel even more internal. The song became the album's calling card because it condenses the entire thesis into three minutes.

Two beats stitched together: J. LBS. and The Antydote build a slow, bass-heavy groove and SiR sings a spacey melody that contrasts with Rashad's lower register. The transition between the two sections is seamless and the runtime justifies the structure. SiR's presence gives the track a dynamic Rashad cannot create alone, and the production allows both vocalists to work in their pockets without competing. One of the album's most fully realized songs.

D. Sanders and Al B. Smoov construct a slinky, off-kilter beat with live bass and Zacari provides a drowsy, melodic hook about a relationship falling apart. Rashad describes the same situation from his perspective with small, accurate details—missed calls, half-apologies, the sense that both people know it is over but neither will say it. Kendrick's verse is the album's sharpest writing: internal rhymes, narrative control and a clear point of view. His appearance also highlights that Rashad is working in a looser, less technically demanding mode. Still, the song works because all three vocalists commit to the same feeling.

Park Ave. and D. Sanders lay down a walking bassline and Rashad floats over it with a sing-song flow, the lyrics cataloging substance use and detachment. The track is economical at under three minutes and the production has enough movement to hold attention. Solid but not essential.

Tiggi and Deacon Blues build a brighter, more uptempo beat and Kari Faux adds a verse with more energy than Rashad has shown so far. The subject is partying and flexing, a tonal shift the album has not earned. The track feels like an attempt at variety that works against the album's central argument. Decent as a one-off but misplaced in the sequence.

Steve Lacy plays a hypnotic one-chord bassline and Syd trades verses with Rashad, her delivery more direct and grounded than his. The chemistry is strong and the minimalist production gives both rappers room to work. The song meanders lyrically but the vibe is so locked in it does not matter. A mood piece that earns its runtime.

Crooklin and Pops build a harder, more traditional Southern rap beat and Jay Rock delivers the only aggressive verse on the album, providing a jolt of energy the surrounding tracks lack. Rashad and Hugh Augustine match the tone and the track works as a brief detour into something closer to a posse cut. The sequencing is smart: the album needed a palate cleanser here.

Over seven minutes, D. Sanders and Crooklin build a beat that shifts textures halfway through, and SZA provides the album's best melodic hook: a sung phrase with real shape and emotional payoff. Rashad uses the runtime to explore the same theme from multiple angles—feeling trapped, self-medicating, watching relationships dissolve—and the length feels justified because the production evolves and SZA's presence keeps the song from becoming monotonous. The album's longest track and one of its best.

Mike Will Made It brings a glitchy, more aggressive beat but the mix still buries the drums and foregrounds Rashad's layered vocals. The writing revisits substance abuse without new details or insights. The production is interesting but the song does not justify its inclusion this deep in the tracklist.

Dzonybeats and D. Sanders construct another hazy beat and Rashad delivers another set of verses about pills and detachment. The craft is competent but the album has already made this point multiple times. Filler.

DK the Punisher builds a beat with more bounce and Rashad complains about image-conscious rappers and fake flexing, a tangent the album has not set up. The subject feels imported from a different project and the writing lacks the specificity that makes the better tracks land. Skippable.

The Antydote and Carter Lang deliver a mellow, bass-heavy groove and Lance Skiiiwalker contributes a brief vocal that does not add much. Rashad revisits relationship dysfunction in the most general terms. The song drifts without incident.

Calor's production is warm and jazzy and Rashad offers a character sketch about a woman navigating hardship. The writing is more narrative than usual but arrives too late in the sequence to reframe the album. Decent but misplaced.

An instrumental outro with a looped sample and no vocals. Pleasant but unnecessary as its own track.

Free P and J. LBS. build a minimal beat and Rashad delivers a self-aware verse acknowledging that he is out of things to say. The title is the most honest moment on the back half. Should have been a signal to end the album ten tracks earlier.