Review Summary: I been living what I wrote
The idea of the confessional singer/songwriter has become less and less exciting within music in recent years. What once promised an appealing and earnest vulnerability that offered thoughtful insight into the mindset of an artist quickly deteriorated into generic platitudes that aim for universal appeal at best and gaudy greeting card clichés at worst. It’s become an increasingly stale and predictable area of music with the tag “confessional” becoming synonymous with the depressed acoustic guitar playing musician singing adolescent-sounding diary excerpts. It’s hardly surprising then that it’s taken an unlikely source to remind listeners how powerful confessional writing can be.
Earl Sweatshirt couldn’t be classed as a singer-songwriter as such, he’s more rap's leading confessional rapper-producer. Odd Future exploded onto the scene and relied heavily on shock humour and horrorcore lyrics (often drawing accusations of misogyny and homophobia) to attract listeners. Whilst most members of OF seemed to either just be adopting a persona to draw attention or just being juvenile for the sake of it, Earl’s rhymes always felt slightly more real and therefore more menacing. He soon ditched lines about murder and rape, favouring more introspective lyrics on his debut Doris. It turned out Earl’s fantasies were only slightly darker than his everyday thoughts and his latest album I Don’t Like Shit, I Don’t Go Outside finds him shedding even more light on his inner struggles.
As the full title of his latest album states I Don’t Go Outside is an album by Earl Sweatshirt but it also feels like an album exclusively for Earl Sweatshirt, it’s an open therapy session with the rapper seemingly hoping to exorcise the demons from his mind by presenting them on record. He’s fully aware that listeners may not want to be subjected to the feelings that cloud his mind, he scoffs “pardon me for going into detail” on Grief as a kind of anti-apology, but that doesn’t prevent him from doing so. It’s indicative of why Earl is such a fascinating rapper in today’s hip-hop world; he’s completely removed from the “commercial” rapper ideal, the album features no potential radio single or marquee guests. Vince Staples is the biggest name and when he shows up for a verse on closer “Wool” he’s concerned with “trying to keep it hood while crossing over” inadvertently highlighting the difference between Earl and his peers in the process.
Earl is actually closer to the Bret Easton Ellis characters that roam around a nightmarish LA either too stoned or too apathetic to connect to anyone. “My bitch say the spliff take the soul from me” he admits in his disaffected drawl and, unsurprisingly, that soullessness extends to the beats themselves. They’re consistently claustrophobic and woozy with the drums sounding particularly lethargic, creating an insular atmosphere that further creates the feeling that I Don’t Go Outside is a journey into the recesses of Earl’s darkened mind. The problems he’s rapping about are familiar; his strained relationship with his mother, growing up without a father and his wariness of celebrity status which have only worsened with time, on “DNA” he’s suspicious to the point of paranoia telling his mother he’ll “get a gun if I get too popular” and justifying such a suggestion with “I’m just being honest with her.”
That honesty is central to I Don’t Go Outside, its Earl offering an unflinching view into his cracked psyche; his rhymes often veer into stream of consciousness territory with Earl revealing all his inner demons in the process. The album isn’t necessarily a character study of Earl Sweatshirt; it’s more an exhaustive look into the man’s struggles and the toll they take on his life. At times it feels uncomfortably and uncompromisingly open but, then again, all honest confessions are.
