It’s pretty much impossible for a posthumous album—usually an unwieldy approximation of a musician’s style assembled from leftover scraps and second-choice stems —to stand apart from the passing of the artist. This is especially true for Lil Peep. Revisiting the work recorded in his lifetime is already a particularly vulnerable experience; listening to words like “Took her to the crib and I show her how I die…/Lord why, Lord why, do I gotta wake up?” is made harder when you know the person saying them got what they asked for.
This compilation, released to accompany the documentary of the same name, collects recordings from various points in Peep’s career, from unheard collaborations with Rich the Kid and Diplo, to earlier tracks never formally released on streaming services, as well as all three songs from the recent GOTH ANGEL SINNER EP. As someone who blasted “Beamer Boy” for weeks after Peep died, last year’s Come Over When You’re Sober, Pt. 2 hardly left an impression; this compilation makes up for the sanitization and sanded-down edges of that album by leaving everything mostly untouched. Few polished pop flourishes are found here, mostly just the looped guitars, trap drums, and aching vocal fry that made Peep an angel to so many.
What EVERYBODY’S EVERYTHING shows is an artist beyond his sadness; more than a portrait of Peep alone, it tells his story in collaborations. Featured here are most of the regular producers who helped shape his polarizing blend of genres, like Nedarb, Fish Narc, Bighead, Smokeasac, and fellow GothBoiClique member Cold Hart. Though Peep obviously wrote and recorded “Moving On” before he passed, it’s hard not to hear that song’s role call of the GBC roster as shout-outs sent to old friends from beyond.
Three tracks—“Fangirl,” “LA to London,” “Rockstarz”—feature Gab3, formerly of the duo Uzi (whose Eiffel 65-flipping, rave-inflected raps are highlights of the SoundCloud rap era), maybe better known as the lo-fi cameraman behind Kanye’s “Famous” video. These songs, apparently intended for a “summer EP,” are considerably brighter than most of Peep’s work, more pop-punk than emo thanks to upbeat guitars and Gab3’s nasally flow.
The weakest song is unsurprisingly the oldest: “Keep My Coo,” posted to SoundCloud in 2014 but deleted at some point after. It’s one of Peep’s few straight-up rap songs, with bars about blowing gas and playing Madden, more indistinct than bad. Peep’s monotone ad-libs sound so clearly influenced by BONES, whose hazy, haunting raps were all the rage online around the time “Keep My Coo” would have been recorded. It is the work of a kid still determining his creative identity, and the best part of EVERYBODY’S EVERYTHING is how it shows him figuring himself out through his work with others.
Most essentially, this album writes a key collaborator back into Peep’s narrative: Lil Tracy, his self-described “twin” and a vocal critic of the appropriation of his legacy. The album concludes with four of their most iconic duets: “white tee,” “cobain,” “witchblades,” and an unreleased acoustic version of “walk away as the door slams.” Their songs together belong as much to Tracy as they do to Peep; on “witchblades,” Tracy sets up the shot—“Cocaine, all night long/When I die bury me with all my ice on”—and Peep brings it all the way home—“When I die bury me with all my ice on/When I die bury me with all the lights on.” There’s a deep feeling of brotherly love in the agony they share together in song, two spirits brought together by shared illnesses and anguish.
Tracy and Peep recorded “white tee” on the first day they met, back when Tracy went by Yung Bruh. That “Such Great Heights” flip is maybe the most obvious sample in Peep’s catalogue, but there’s something in the Postal Service’s practice of recording Give Up—Jimmy Tamborello and Ben Gibbard sending demos back and forth through the mail—that speaks to Peep’s life and legacy. A boy in Long Island becoming a star by retreating into his bedroom, linking with like-minded artists in Seattle and California on Soundcloud, his most devoted fanbase in countries he’d never dreamed of going to, his spirit given life again online by his loved ones and acolytes.
