The youngest of the Odd Future crew, Earl Sweatshirt, has had a strange rise to fame. After being sent to boarding school by his mother, spawning the “Free Earl” movement, Earl entered the rap scene with a wave of fans anxious to hear more of the talented young wordsmith. His debut, Doris, gave wonderful insight to the greenhorn performer and his sudden appearance in the spotlight, which very much guaranteed his spot at the top of Odd Future, alongside Tyler the Creator and Frank Ocean. The limelight begins to fade, and now, two years later, Earl is back with his second album, I Don’t Like Shit, I Don’t Go Outside, a dark and isolated trip into the psyche of the more cynical than ever Earl Sweatshirt.
As the album title suggests, Earl's disdain for the outside world has been festering. A more confident, yet brutally honest rapper, replaces the timid young star we see on Doris—one who’s openness to self-criticism is ironically juxtaposed with his willingness to shut himself away from everything. The whole album plays on the idea that Earl is wallowing through the darkness, his own lacking in self-efficacy causing him to shut himself away, leaving it to himself to battle his inner demons. The rapper’s meditations have led him to fume his frustrations, but occasionally show the delicacy of his wavering mind. Running away from those close to him seems to be eating away at Earl’s heart. He professes on “Faucet” that, “I don’t know who house to call home lately,” implying the rough relationship between Earl, his mother and his estranged father. Even his friends don’t seem to be people to fall back on anymore, as on "Mantra" he exclaims: “Name getting bigger than the difference between us/ N***** is fake, I limit the features I give 'em.” This could describe Earl’s current situation with the Odd Future crew, as no notable members show up on the album this time around.
Earl’s production (which he creates under the guise RandomBlackDude) is less about the varying textures he provided on Doris, and mainly sticks to lo-fi drum beats, carried by gritty synths and the occasional jazzy rhythms. The sound fits the secluded atmosphere of the album, especially on lead single “Grief,” the sharp drum glitches slowly roll along, the messy sound running perfectly parallel to the song’s depressing tone, the mangled beats resonating with the cloudy-minded artist.
Earl Sweatshirt is suffocating himself, and there doesn’t seem to be a light at the end of the tunnel. Similarly to the recently released To Pimp a Butterfly from Kendrick Lamar, both artists have been haunted by the ghosts of their past, and they are consumed by their psychological traumas. But where Lamar emerges from his cocoon as a butterfly, enlightened and repurposed, Earl basks in the darkness of his mental asylum. While it seems like Earl is complacent with his situation, there’s no doubt he carries a flicker of hope that something will comes along that inspires him to take a step outside again.
Rating: B
