Equipped with a melody bathed in AutoTune, melancholy piano-backed instrumentals, and a willingness to embrace his vulnerable side, Lil Durk has completed his rebrand as the voice of the voiceless. It’s as if he was chosen by a higher power to speak for everyone who has been through some shit. His stories—sometimes centered on a poverty-stricken upbringing that led to a life full of death and addiction, other times focused on self-inflicted heartbreak—are personal but tend to be universal. Yeah, there are a lot of singing rappers in a similar lane, but Durk stands out because of his bruised wailing and lyrics so specific that they have to be based on some truth.
His latest album, 7220, is more of the same. Working within a framework isn’t necessarily a bad thing, but there are cracks in the formula. Mostly on the production side, which is incredibly played out. Since 2018’s Signed to the Streets 3, Durk has leaned into the trend of mushy keys with a ’90s R&B ballad feel. It’s not that good albums haven’t been made with this production style as the foundation (see: Polo G’s Die a Legend) but there is a uniform cheapness to them that doesn’t work when you use them time after time.
Still, even with the stale sound of the album, Durk is such a complex and colorful writer that it’s worth it to stick it out. The appeal is in his details. My criticism of a few of the other hugely popular rappers who croon about their pain is that they tell us they’re hurting without actually describing why. Durk doesn’t have that issue. He can flesh out an entire scene with one bar. On “Headtaps,” what’s getting him down is more than being in jail, it’s missing out on small moments with his kids like watching Peppa Pig. Or on “Started From,” in which he remembers being so broke that he went over to his neighbors with a water jug to keep the bill manageable.
But unlike, say, a Rod Wave album, Durk’s 7220 isn’t all gut punches. Since 2017’s Love Songs For the Streets, he’s been a part-time toxic relationship guru. It’s a mess every time, but on occasion, the over-the-top melodrama of it all is pretty fun. Just check out “Blocklist” where he’s pretty much on his knees coming up with bullshit reasons for his ex to keep in touch with him: She made him cry once, he gives her an allowance, he answers the phone whenever she calls. Not very convincing! The same can be said for his duet with Summer Walker—which has a few of the album’s more interesting vocal refrains (too often he coasts on one note)—even though I was disturbed by him setting the mood with Justin Bieber’s “Yummy.”
It’s worth it to note that these two tracks aren’t really intended to be fun; conversely, the two sleazy duets that are meant to be fun I find less so. “Petty Too” continues this tiring viral-chasing run of Future features. Then the Morgan Wallen two-hander is forced, with Durk attempting to widen the appeal of his lyrics with references to riding bulls and horses and P!nk and Ed Sheeran name-drops. C’mon now, that’s not him. Lil Durk has become a huge star because of lyrics that focus in, instead of zoom out. For the most part, 7220 gets that.
