Father’s early music was defined by sharp contrast. Over minimal, bass-heavy beats, he spearheaded Awful Records’ raunchy, misanthropic take on Atlanta’s nightlife and sounds, constantly juxtaposing the turn up with the flame out. Key to his style was his groggy voice, which sounded permanently hungover yet clear. He honed that style on 2018’s polished Awful Swim, which showcased his cheeky writing. On subsequent EPs Hu$band and Tha Thingz I Do 4 Money, Father started trading his syncopated rapping for a syrupy singing voice that turns syllables into slurry. Come outside moves further in that direction, every song awash in melody.
The turn is conscious. “Back in the day it was just like, “let me say some wild shit, put some bass over it, and let that shit blow the fuck up,” he’s said of his old approach to songwriting. “Now I wanna make chill, contemporary, calming-ass records.” His reference points for that shift are what he calls “old R&B” and Drake, influences audible in the production. On “Backbreaker,” produced by trio Bankroll Got It, he croons over crisp finger snaps and a dreamy Spanish guitar loop reminiscent of mid-’00 beats by producers like The-Dream, T-Pain, and Bryan-Michael Cox. And the dulled drums and lithe, slow-moving chords on the title track and “Spell Book” recall T-Minus and Noah “40” Shebib’s atmospheric work on Take Care. These production choices work well with Father’s singing, smoothing his coarse bangers into catchy, almost cutesy lullabies.
Father is no less brash and outrageous over these calmer backdrops. “Came through front door so slick/Niggas thought I was the locksmith/Fuck blue lives, fuck them coppers/Them boys can’t stop this,” he says on “Brighton Beach Flow,” floating over a spare drill beat. “Bought baby mama that brand new Rihanna/Her makeup don’t run when I’m dickin her down,” he sings on the anime-referencing “Fist of the North Star,” his Auto-Tune-slathered voice somehow generating a slant rhyme between “Rihanna” and “dickin her down.” Like Lil Wayne (who, coincidentally, Father interpolates on “Fist of the North Star”), Father uses melody more to mutate sounds and flows than to emote, an approach that produces verses that feel loose and stream-of-conscious despite being tightly metered. He’s always been a dexterous rapper; his embrace of melody highlights his precision.
The downside to Father’s singing is that it sometimes feels too reserved. As outlandish and detailed as his writing continues to be, his performances are often controlled, avoiding schmaltz or passion. The exceptions are “Backbreaker,” where he goes full heartthrob and laces his verse with squeaks and purrs, and album closer “Uncut,” where he completely lets loose. On the latter, swinging betweens coos, mumbles, and whines, he issues brazen threats, an earnest marriage proposal, and horny come-ons. It doesn’t feel like a coincidence that in these more unhinged moments, his writing turns more personal, referencing parenthood (he became an actual father in 2020) and relationships alongside debauchery.
It’s overly even keel aside, Come outside, we not gon jump you is a breakthrough for Father, bringing out the color in his writing and forging a new direction for his music. In internet years and in rap years, there’s enough distance between now and Awful Record’s emergence for Father to coast on legacy and influence or pivot to empire-building, but he continues to prioritize fun and adventure. Though his new music is more suited to slow-dancing than moshing, the party continues.
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