The jarringly sober track “a lot,” which opens 21 Savage’s poised and superbly focused i am > i was, is contemplative without being dramatic, mournful but not morose. At one point, the 26-year-old recounts his little brother’s murder and how it warped his psychology, but he does so in a perfunctory way, like talking to a therapist who’s already familiar with the smaller details. It’s a great tone to strike first: moody at a bit of a remove.
Early in his career, the Atlanta rapper appeared almost exclusively as a mood—his voice was the ideally dry vehicle for 2016’s Savage Mode, Metro Boomin’s experiment in tempo and ambient sound. At times, 21’s appeal was explained away as a sort of authenticity fetishism, as if the raw carnage in the music was the main selling point. In truth, he’s spent the last few years building a persona that’s tormented by trauma and violence but unworried about projecting just how tough or wise or beloved or feared it’s made him. His raps are self-assured. The songs about the strip club—like the Three 6-sampling, Yung Miami-featuring “a&t”—are good because they’re good strip club songs not because they’re couched in self-awareness or PTSD.
21 is an effective writer because he’s not hung up on what everything means—he’s much more interested in how things actually are, how they feel: the pit in his stomach when he thinks about jail, the weight of his jewelry in his hand. He’s tormented but also wants to go to the club, loves his mom but also his bodyguards, and is willing to explore those halves of himself without using “whoa, there are two halves of me” as a narrative crutch. So the statement in the title—I am greater than I was—is a little misleading. This is not a record about self-improvement as a 12-step course with dramatic results. When it’s about anything, it’s about self-improvement as a small, constant struggle where you contradict yourself and eat your own tail.
The way 21 describes the grisliest details of his past can be unnerving when he filters it through an unexpected tone. He’ll rap about gruesome memories that are shocking in their neutrality: “Back in the day I used to rob with no mask on/Shit on my wrist? I woulda killed the whole house for.” 21 has burrowed so deep into his trauma-wracked brain (see “Close My Eyes” or “Numb” from 2017’s Issa Album) that the subtlest modulations on how he speaks about his demons can have a profound effect. On “asmr,” he raps, “All these dead bodies got me seein’ strange things” with a bounce in his voice that makes it seem like he’s about to introduce a new dance, and maybe he is.
Those small tweaks are smart, but they have nothing on the spontaneous adjustments to his voice. Before Savage Mode, 21 had never been locked to such a deep register and quite so laconic a flow. Since he’s been famous, he’s perfected a half-dozen variations on his whispered style, finding a whole dynamic range where a lesser vocalist would come off as painfully one-note. (Think of 21 as Meek Mill’s equal opposite: The number of textures and variations Meek brings to his full-throttle bars are the same ones 21 brings to his sotto voce raps.) 21’s found a way to emote without breaking character, to grin at the camera without letting his voice crack and sound sarcastic. This helps him sell the sly jokes he peppers throughout: On “can’t leave without it” alone, he says he keeps a stick “like a hobo” and brags about his gun being autographed by Osama Bin Laden.
There are points where i am > i was nearly becomes rote; “break da law,” the Offset duet “1.5,” and parts of other songs will sink into production formats that are so well-worn they’ve become ruts; a song like “gun smoke” is little more than 21 on autopilot. Those blips are fine considering that most of the record is musically exciting. The groove on “letter 2 my momma” is irresistible, and “good day”—which samples Lord Infamous’ “Damn I’m Crazed,” a song 21 could have written in another life—makes superb use of both Project Pat and Schoolboy Q’s voice. There’s also “all my friends,” which is really a showcase for Post Malone, as if it could follow “rockstar” straight to the top of the charts.
i am > i was shatters the notion of 21 Savage as a specialist with a narrow purview and audience, and recasts him as a star in waiting, all without forcing him into unflattering contortions. It also cements him as a far more original stylist than other hopefuls from Atlanta, like Lil Baby and Gunna, who appear here together and sound simply like Young Thug disciples. At its best, the album is still weird, like when 21 raps earnestly over Santana, or when he ends with a Young Nudy duet that sounds for all the world like the third act of a Morricone western. That’s the song where 21 sneers at rappers who “drop a mixtape, then they tattoo their face.” It gets at the core idea of his work: You can’t fool people into thinking you’re someone you’re not.
