Hear Me Out: 'Grief'

Earl Sweatshirt has always had a penchant for the dark—from disturbingly violent fantasies on “Earl” to verses about his fatherless upbringing on “Doris,” he does not shy away from the gloomy.  But “Grief,” Earl’s newest single off his recently released album “I Don’t Like Shit, I Don’t Go Outside,” takes his characteristically bleak style to an entirely new level. While tracks on “Doris” were kept somewhat positive by catchy melodies and appealing beats, it seems that Earl is abandoning all pretentions of cheeriness on his newest work.

There is little semblance of a melody on “Grief”; any possible melody is replaced by a deep, reverberating bass. One can barely hear Earl’s voice—in its distinctively defiant tone—over the rough, unpolished synth of the track. He still raps at the same deliberate, patient pace of “Earl” and “Doris,” unfolding his wordplay and verses delicately. In fact, despite his low energy, Earl’s gift for lyricism remains prodigious: “Grief” is an impressive tangle of witticisms, turns of phrase, and references to his own personal traumas. “Thinking ‘bout my grandmama, find a bottle / I’mma wallow when I lie in that,” he raps at one point, displaying his pain over his grandmother’s passing. His affecting couplets sound even sparser and more vulnerable in the context of his heavy and dissonant backing.

Earl may be reaching new levels of somberness, but “Grief” is a far cry from his early days of teen destruction and thoughtless gore. He has embraced, in its stead, a highly contemplative and mature phase that allows him to confront his own psychological battles and past. Lines like, “Making sure my man wallet’s straight like a collar / When you iron that,” indicate that, while the talented Earl may be troubled, he’s no longer even keeping up the semblance of the gun-and-drug-toting emcee he once claimed to be. If “Grief” is any indication, “I Don’t Like Shit, I Don’t Go Outside” will provide a glimpse into the deeply fascinating and distressed mind of one of rap’s most unpredictable confessors.