Note: This article contains references to suicide.
On “The Book of Soul,” the penultimate song from Ab-Soul’s 2012 breakout album Control System, his life flashes before his eyes. What starts as an abridged telling of his childhood battle with the rare skin disease Stevens-Johnson syndrome gives way to a recollection of his relationship with singer Alori Joh, who died by suicide months before the album’s release. The song corralled Soul’s fascination with religion, conspiracy theories, and traditionalist wordplay into a bracingly personal story that’s more unsettling a decade later—if only because of how prescient it turned out to be.
In 2016, Do What Thou Wilt. marked a turning point in the life and music of Herbert Stevens IV: drug addiction and a rabbit hole of conspiracy theories figured heavily into his songs, isolated him from his family and, during the creation of his latest album, Herbert, led to a suicide attempt of his own last year. Though the video for single “Do Better” features an alleged reenactment of that attempt, Soul says the song—and most of the album—was written beforehand. Herbert is framed as his most personal project, the one most reflective of his government name in its title. And while he sounds reinvigorated, his worst tendencies as a rapper consistently hold him back.
During the peak of Top Dawg Entertainment’s popularity in the first half of the 2010s, Soul was known for breaking down complex spiritual, political, and historical ideas into smoothly rapped, if occasionally overwrought, forms. His best songs painted him as more than just Ras Kass with access to BearShare: He was inquisitive and sly, funneling historical texts and philosophies into jokes and bouts of self-discovery. Herbert is Soul’s first album devoid of the encyclopedic deep-dives that have been a hallmark of his work for the last decade. When he locks in on specific moments, like examining his public image on opening track “Message in a Bottle” or reminiscing about friends who kept him away from street life on “Hollandaise,” his elastic flows and storytelling bring the corners of his block and his mind to life. On “Do Better,” he grapples with survivor’s guilt while interpolating lyrics by his late friend Mac Miller; and on the title track, he describes the sickness breaking his body down (“Eye doc said I need new corneas/I’d rather need those than a coroner”) while confiding in the family he has left. These flashes of his personal life are nothing short of harrowing.
But Soul’s penchant for forced wordplay and over-commitment to Real Hip-Hop spoils the mood. He may have left the amateur philosopher schtick behind, but this is a man who grew up idolizing battle rappers like Canibus, and old habits die hard. The funniest and most shocking bars walk the line between the realest shit you’ve ever heard and quips from a book of dad jokes, and several of Herbert’s songs lean dangerously toward the latter. There are at least one or two clunkers on nearly every song, lines meant to be clever that, in reality, wouldn’t cut it in an episode of Epic Rap Battles of History. Some are word games that yield boring prizes (“Knew I might be on BET/Now I think I might be E.T.”); some are bouts of dated braggadocio (“You very venereal, I’ma set you men straight”); some are nonsensical (“Would a honey stay when the money goes?/I dunno, ask Winnie the Pooh”) or just straight up corny (“Just keeping it a buck, I’m on one, George Washington.”) Soul’s love for hip-hop is evident in his delivery and his academic commitment to interpolations of Grandmaster Flash and Lauryn Hill songs, but these tryhard raps—and the “what happened to hip-hop?” screed that opens “Moonshooter”—detract from both the serious and fun songs across Herbert.
