They Can't Kill Us Until They Kill Us

by Hanif Abdurraqib

In an age of confusion, fear, and loss, Hanif Abdurraqib's is a voice that matters. Whether he's attending a Bruce Springsteen concert the day after visiting Michael Brown's grave, or discussing public displays of affection at a Carly Rae Jepsen show, he writes with a poignancy and magnetism that resonates profoundly. In the wake of the nightclub attacks in Paris, he recalls how he sought refuge as a teenager in music, at shows, and wonders whether the next generation of young Muslims will not be afforded that opportunity now. While discussing the everyday threat to the lives of black Americans, Abdurraqib recounts the first time he was ordered to the ground by police officers: for attempting to enter his own car. In essays that have been published by the New York Times, MTV, and Pitchfork, among others'along with original, previously unreleased essays'Abdurraqib uses music and culture as a lens through which to view our world, so that we might better understand ourselves, and in so doing proves himself a bellwether for our times.

Genres: Nonfiction, Essays, Music, Poetry, Memoir, Race, Audiobook

236 pages, Kindle Edition

First published November 14, 2017

About the author

Hanif Abdurraqib is a poet, essayist, and cultural critic from Columbus, Ohio. His poetry has been published in Muzzle, Vinyl, PEN American, and various other journals. His essays and music criticism have been published in The FADER, Pitchfork, The New Yorker, and The New York Times. His first full length poetry collection, The Crown Ain't Worth Much, was released in June 2016 from Button Poetry. It was named a finalist for the Eric Hoffer Book Prize, and was nominated for a Hurston-Wright Legacy Award. With Big Lucks, he released a limited edition chapbook, Vintage Sadness, in summer 2017 (you cannot get it anymore and he is very sorry.) His first collection of essays, They Can't Kill Us Until They Kill Us, was released in winter 2017 by Two Dollar Radio and was named a book of the year by Buzzfeed, Esquire, NPR, Oprah Magazine, Paste, CBC, The Los Angeles Review, Pitchfork, and The Chicago Tribune, among others. He released Go Ahead In The Rain: Notes To A Tribe Called Quest with University of Texas press in February 2019. The book became a New York Times Bestseller, and was met with critical acclaim. His second collection of poems, A Fortune For Your Disaster, was released in 2019 by Tin House. He is a graduate of Beechcroft High School.

Reviews

[Pat · Rating 5 out of 5]

I'd never cried while reading an essay about fall out boy before, so that was new

[Lucy Dacus · Rating 5 out of 5]

One of those books where you read 20 pages, grab a pen and restart to take notes, and then abandon the pen at page 50 because you're underlining everything and making a mess of ink.

[Samantha Irby · Rating 5 out of 5]

CRACKED MY HEART WIDE OPEN

[Nathan Shuherk · Rating 5 out of 5]

This is an absolute must read

[emma]

i didn't know i needed hanif abdurraqib in my life until i'd read hanif abdurraqib. now i'm like how did i live without hanif abdurraqib

[Maxwell · Rating 5 out of 5]

if you're not reading Hanif Abdurraqib, what are you doing???

[Madeline · Rating 5 out of 5]

I had never heard of Hanif Abdurraqib (although I don’t read a lot of essay collections, so he might be more well-known in those circles), so it was by pure coincidence that I was in a local bookstore looking for Christmas presents and saw his book on the shelf of Staff Picks. If you want the short review, here it is: this is one of the best books I’ve ever read. Not one of the best essay collections – best books, full stop.

Even though I read and enjoyed [title] by Chuck Klosterman, there was definitely a generational divide that kept me from getting really immersed in his essays. Klosterman’s main focus is the music of the 1980’s, which I just don’t know very much about. It feels unoriginal (and a little reductive) to call Abdurraqib the Chuck Klosterman for Millennials, but if you were to ask me for my elevator pitch for They Can’t Kill Us Until They Kill Us, that would be it. Abdurraqib writes about music that I have a much more personal relationship with, so I enjoyed his essays a lot more than Klosterman’s.

But to reduce Abduraqib to just a music or pop culture critic is to undersell the brilliance of his writing. Abdurraqib isn’t just writing about music; he’s writing about how music seeps into every aspect of our lives, and how it can shape and change our experiences. Abdurraqib doesn’t just write about concerts he attended; he writes about how it feels to be one of the few black kids at a punk concert. He writes about Fleetwood Mac and how artists commidify heartbreak (“At some point, a person figured out that the performance of sadness was a currency, and art has bowed at its altar ever since. Sometimes it’s a game we play: if I can convince you that I am falling apart, in need of love, perhaps I can draw you close enough to tell you what I really need.”). He writes about the concert he was at when the news came out about Trayvon Martin, and how nobody could get cell service inside the venue so when the show ended everyone was standing in the parking lot, staring at their phones as they read the news. He writes about the history of Fall Out Boy, and it becomes an exploration of ego and fame and then Abdurraqib makes it circle back to the beginning of the essay, when he wrote about an old friend who committed suicide.

“Patrick [Stump] once said, ‘I sang because Pete [Wentz] saw, in me, a singer,” and I think what he meant is that Pete saw, in him, a vehicle. This was the band’s great fascinating pull. That they were a bit of a mutation: a shy and otherwise silent frontman with a voice like a soul singer, belting out the confessional emo lyrics of a neurotic narcissist. Pete, who wanted the attention, but not enough to sing the words himself. I’m thinking about this again in a bar in Austin, Texas. Wearing a patch taken from my dead friend’s old bedroom, and considering the things we saw in each other that kept us whole for our brief window of time together. Tyler fought kids who fucked with us at punk shows because I saw, in him, a fighter. Until he stopped getting out of bed some mornings and I told myself that I saw, in him, a burden. Until the dirt was shoveled over the black casket and I saw, in him, nothing but a collection of memories.”

Music is so much more than just music.

Hopefully I’ve raved about this book enough to convince you to go out and buy a copy, but just in case, I’m going to quote the end of Abdurraqib’s (fucking transcendent) essay on Prince’s performance at the 2007 SuperBowl halftime show. If you’re not familiar with it, please watch this video and then come back to the review.

“There is no moment like this one in any other halftime show, before it or since. Prince, only a shadow, putting his hands to an instrument and coaxing out a song within a song. And of course there was still rain, beads of it covering the camera lens from every angle, drops of it covering the faces of the people in the front row, and still none of it visible on Prince himself. And of course there were two doves scattering themselves above Prince’s head when the sheet came down and he was whole, in front of us again, walking to the mic and asking, ‘Y’all wanna sing tonight?’

Yes, Prince. This is the one we know all of the words to. Throw the microphone to the ground and walk away. We don’t need you now like we did in that moment, but we will remember it always. Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to get through this thing called Life. Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to cast away another hero on the face of a flood that began on a Miami night in 2007 and never stopped. Dearly beloved, when the sky opens up, anywhere, I will think of how Prince made a storm bend to his will. How the rain never touches those who it knows were sent into it for a higher purpose. Dearly beloved, I will walk into the next storm and leave my umbrella hanging on the door. Please join me.”

[chantel nouseforaname · Rating 5 out of 5]

I’ve never read anything like this. This is everything I never knew that music writing could be. I’ve never read this type of music writing in say, the pages of the rolling stone or anywhere else that’s popular. Our particular experiences as young black music writers, purveyors and absorbers of the culture, are not given the space to take shape and breathe like this and I love that Hanif Abdurraqib just lets loose what was in his soul on so many different fronts.

As a metalhead, hip-hop fan and a young black woman growing up in a variety of scenes — every essay in this book hit me on levels. The pairing of different styles of music, to different life and coming of age experiences — in relation to race, interpersonal relationships, and his personal familial life experiences is again, the best I’ve ever read. I don’t mind stating that over and over. There are highs and lows here story wise, but no filler.

I love the continuous Marvin Gaye thread throughout the book.

The juxtaposition of pop culture and his own history is expertly and ingeniously crafted. Johnny Cash as seen in relation to Migos!?? Who would pair these stories together? A genius would! I’m here for it! Fall Out Boy as a retrospective of suicide and death - the insight is powerful.

This book really just hit me so hard and Hanif Abdurraqib is a talented writer with an exceptional intellectual ability to merge experiences and music in a way that’s viscerally astute.

[liv ❁ · Rating 5 out of 5]

There is very little I can say about this one except read it. This collection of essays blends pop culture (usually music, sometimes sports) with Hanif's experience as a Black man in America. It feels especially hard to review this because of how absolutely perfect it is. I have no notes and I have so many lines that I want to share that I’d just end up quoting the whole book. Hanif Abdurraqib is one of the best and this book was filled to the brim of essays about love, music, sports, pain, racism, suicide, and everything combined and he uses the juxtaposition between enjoying music and experiencing very real racism or seeing another black person unjustly killed so well. Every single essay is 5/5 stars and this is one of the most emotional books I have ever read. I would highly recommend checking out the audiobook as Abdurraqib reads the essays himself which adds another layer of emotions (and insights as it was recorded years after it was written). If you take any recommendation from me, please let it be this one. I will leave you with a list of my favorites, some of which you can find early versions of if you search them.

Favorites (in order of appearance):
“A Night In Bruce Springsteen’s America”
“I Wasn’t Brought Here, I Was Born: Surviving Punk Rock Long Enough To Find Afropunk”
“Brief Notes On Staying // No One Is Making Their Best Work When They Want To Die”
“Death Becomes You: My Chemical Romance And Ten Years Of The Black Parade”
“Fall Out Boy Forever”
“Tell ’Em All To Come And Get Me”
“February 26, 2012”
“In The Summer Of 1997, Everyone Took To The Streets In Shiny Suits”
“August 9, 2014”
“Fear In Two Winters”
“My First Police Stop”
“They Will Speak Loudest Of You After You’re Gone”
“Nov 22, 2014”
“On Summer Crushing”

[Lauren · Rating 4 out of 5]

"I'm not as invested in things getting better as I am in things getting honest."
▫️▫️▫️

Hanif Abdurraqib's essay collection 'They Can't Kill Us Until They Kill Us' was a stunner. Many pieces are about popular music and musicians - Chance the Rapper, Fall Out Boy, Bruce Springsteen, The Migos, and Johnny Cash - relating certain songs or memories of a live show to larger life subjects like death and grief, race, religion, and growing up.

Abdurraqib is a poet, and his essays show this background. Beautiful quotes and such care with word choice. Can't wait to see what he does next.

Also, best cover for my 2018 reads 🐺 brilliant design.

4/5

[Scottsdale Public Library]

A beautiful body of work, They Can’t Kill Us Until They Kill Us is a collection of essays about music, race, and life in modern America. Hanif Abdurraqib has an incredible voice and weaves personal stories with pop culture and the difficult to discuss realities of America. Even if you are not interested in the pop culture aspect, the essays are about much more than what is on the surface. My personal favorite essay is Fall Out Boy Forever. -Jenny L.

[Chelsea Chapman · Rating 5 out of 5]

I have read hundreds of books over the years but i have never been stopped in my tracks and absolutely shattered by a single paragraph like this before.

“When people in America are faced with confronting and accepting the evolving landscape of human gender and sexuality, one of the earliest cries often heard is “how will I explain this to my children?” People become so caught up in a child’s understanding of a world much larger than their own, one that, I imagine, they are in no great rush to understand. I think of these people, eager to burden their children with their own discomforts, every time there is a mass shooting. Their question is often posed as “How will I explain this person in the bathroom to my child?” Or “How will I explain those two people kissing to my child?” but rarely, How will I explain to my child that people die and we do nothing? How do we explain to a child that children have been buried and we were sad but could not let go of our principles and our history and the violence that is born and reborn from it - that we cling to our guns, those small deadly gods, more tightly than our neighbors?���

[Amina · Rating 5 out of 5]

To summarize this book is to fully grasp Kendrick Lamar’s halftime show. It’s an honest exploration of our world through pop culture.

There is no moment in America when I do not feel like I am fighting. When I do not feel like I’m pushing back against a machine that asks me to prove that I belong here

This quote is enough to bring me to tears^^


This is a collection of essays translating music and pop culture through the lens of author Hanif Abdurraqib’s life experiences.

In the most pivotal moments, music shapes us in ways we don't realize—politically, socially, and emotionally—in every facet of our lives.

The soundtrack to grief isn't always as dark as grief itself. Sometimes what we need is something to make the grief seem small even when we know it is a lie

Hanif Aburraqib recalled once in a lifetime experiences like attending a Bruce Springsteen concert or punk rock shows as one of the only black kids. He follows the mental health of the Fall Out Boys, and how much it affected his future understanding of protecting your own emotional quotient. There was even a tiny essay on Prince that was quite emotional.

To watch Bruce Springsteen step onto a stage in New Jersey is to watch Moses walk to the edge of the Red Sea

There were also moments of humor, like his experience at The Weekend show and how the performance made many parents cringe (unnecessary at best).

There were so many moving and unforgettable quotes.

The truth is, if we don’t write our own stories, there is someone else waiting to do it for us. And those people, waiting with their pens, often don’t look like we do and don’t have our best interests in mind /b>

Abdurrabqib's book can easily be a college case study in humanity, social justice, or a literature course.

5/5 stars

[Sally · Rating 5 out of 5]

Y’all know I don’t rate books on here, because I sometimes feel like it doesn’t allow me to have nuanced thoughts about something and also numbers to quantify someone else’s life work when maybe it just ~wasn’t for me~ feels weird to me! (I overthink everything even goodreads star reviews!)

But this is an easy 5 stars. Hanif Abdurraqib’s voice has been one I have admired and loved and drowned in (in the best way) since finding his spoken word on YouTube in middle school and this book of incredible essays tackling music, sports, culture, and the personal: grief, friendship, fear, being Black in America, etc. is another addition to his growing collection of culture-honoring and culture-shifting work.

If I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a million times: I am incredibly grateful to live in a world where I get to experience his work.

GodDAMN, this was good.

[Bonnie G. · Rating 5 out of 5]

I struggled to decide if this was a 4 or 5-star read for me. Abdurraqib is brilliant. The two books of his that I read before this one were absolutely 5-star reads . Part of my problem is the comparison with Go Ahead in the Rain and A Little Devil in America. Both of those books are so consistently exceptional, so surefooted, it creates a really high bar. This book is also brilliant but less surefooted than those I read before (but which were written and published after this book.) There are some pieces in here that are among the best I have read of his. While all of Abdurraqib's work is personal, there are essays in this collection that are astonishingly intimate and which really touched me. The story toward the end of seeing himself on the front of his hometown paper and weeping in an airport store while thinking about the fact he could not show the article to his late mother on this, her birthday broke me. Here he was weeping about how proud she would be and no one saw his tears, they just saw a Black man lingering; the story was infuriating and beautiful all at once. The essay about processing the loss of a friend to suicide, a friend who apologized on Facebook for letting the sadness win, reached inside of me and made me think about a similar loss from years ago. So much was great. Actually my biggest issue was with Abduraib's comments on the stories. (This might only exist on the audio.). He disclaims or reframes a lot of what he wrote just a few years earlier based upon the stories' subjects later revealed activities and his evolving knowledge. It weakened every point he was trying to make. He needs to worry less about what other's think of him and allow his words to shine in their own time capsules.

In the end, there were enough 5-star essays and poems, many where he lays bare his soul, that I had to go for the 5-star. But I have to qualify that by noting that it is a weaker 5 than the other two books I have read. Still, even if I actively resisted feeling empathy, these essays created understanding where there was none. They are masterfully crafted irresistible forces for empathy, and today that gets him a 5.

[Vivek · Rating 5 out of 5]

There are some books, man. Some books that just make you stop every few minutes and stare and close your eyes and let the unpunctuated words echo around a bit in your head and where every few chapters you've gotta steel yourself when you feel the feels. Prose as poetry, and when you're done you'll feel like you know Hanif Willis-Abdurraqib like you know your closest friends. This is one that sticks with you.

[Jackie · Rating 2 out of 5]

Ok. This is going to be a long one. I fully expected to love this book, and in certain spots I really did, so I felt like it deserved an honest explanation of why i only gave it two stars.

For starters, I was disappointed Abdurraqib picked mostly music I didn’t know. In and of itself, this should not have presented much of a problem, as a good critique will often give me an understanding of what makes the item being appraised important, and will also make me want to experience that item myself. This did not happen in They Can’t Kill Us Until They Kill Us. Throughout the book, I felt apathetic toward the vast majority of the music, even that which I already knew. This took on less importance as the book progressed into talking about icons of pop culture.

The thing that dragged me, time and again, out of listening to what Abdurraqib had to say was, perhaps surprisingly, his own voice. Abdurraqib is certainly capable of stringing words together prettily, but when one actually examines his sentences rather than skimming through them, they are revealed far too often to be vague, unclear, or sometimes, unfortunately, just vacuous nonsense. Abdurraqib seemed to be trying so hard to write something beautiful that his point frequently got lost in the wordy and stylistic excess.

For example, I jotted down the following sentence toward the end of the book: “Real power, I am reminded, doesn’t need a new reason to stop pretending to be what it actually is underneath.” At first glance what he’s saying seems clear, but if one were to remove the double negative and unnecessary modifiers, the sentence would read, “Real power will always pretend to be what it is.” What? It’s not a pretense if it’s showing itself as what it is. Vague and convoluted sentences like this litter the pages of this book. They sound nice, but when I actually read them more carefully, I realized, in most cases, they weren’t actually saying anything.

The thing that frustrates me is there is some good stuff in here. When Abdurraqib forgets about trying to be profound and talks about a formative or enlightening event, either in his own life or in the lives of the icons he is examining, that writing is extremely good. However, less than a page after relating an experience that broadened my worldview, Abdurraqib would often draw a conclusion or make a point about it that would dull its impact or limit its interpretation. The thing I really enjoyed about his writing was the smattering of disjointed observations, when he trusted the strength of the experiences to make his point for him, instead of relying on several paragraphs of verbose exhibition to make the moral of the story explicit.

Clearly Abdurraqib does not need my affirmation; this essay collection has done extremely well. I only wish the gems of his wisdom were not obscured by needless artistic effects and interjections; if the writing were slightly simplified, this could have been a profound work of incomparable beauty.

[perusewithjess · Rating 5 out of 5]

Undoubtedly one of the best things I’ve ever read. Hanif Abdurraqib’s essay collection uses music as a vehicle to explore culture, class, race and other facets of society. If the words “essay collection” are scaring you off, I’m begging you to give this one a shot - the audiobook quite literally feels like going on a road trip with your endlessly talkative but utterly insightful best mate. 5/5 stars, perfection, no notes.

[Allison Hurd · Rating 5 out of 5]

I think this work is generation-defining. While the author and I have little in common socio-economically, what we do have in common is a set of years into which we arrived at adulthood, and a series of events that create markers in my memory. He speaks so beautifully on so much of the culture we share. I instantly bought this as a gift and listened again to it.

[Book Riot Community]

Poet, writer, and critic Willis-Abdurraqib has written a series of smart essays about music and his thoughts and feelings about it in relation to current events and culture, including the Springsteen concert he attended the day after visiting Michael Brown’s grave and seeing PDA at a Carly Rae Jepsen show. AND THAT COVER. W-o-w!

– Liberty Hardy

------------

Tune in to our weekly podcast dedicated to all things new books, All The Books: https://bookriot.com/listen/shows/all...

[Sally · Rating 5 out of 5]

5 stars plus infinity. I laughed, cried, reflected, raged, felt both massive guilt and massive pride. I have never read something so emotionally raw and truthful. I do not have the gift for words that Hanif does, so it is absolutely impossible for me to review this. All I can say is that I am grateful that this beautiful man shared his soul. I will read this book over and over.

[cameron · Rating 5 out of 5]

his tone is such a comforting sadness. one of my favorite books ever probably and i can not wait to read the rest of his work wow wow

[Kelly]

An outstanding collection of essays about music, race, and life in contemporary America. Hanif is a black Muslim who grew up in Columbus, Ohio, and his writing on being who he is in that Midwest space is out of this world good.

All of the essays have a connection to pop culture, and most to music, and it doesn't matter whether you know or like any of the thematic threadings of the pieces. They're about much, much more.

(And that Carly Rae Jepson piece!)

Those who love and laud Roxane Gay would do really well to pick this up, too.

[Brad · Rating 5 out of 5]

I can't adequately describe how much or just why I love this book so much. Hanif Abdurraqib writes so powerfully and with such insight about all the things we as a nation are grappling with right now.

[A note to potential readers: I loved this book out of the gate but a few essays about emo bands about 80 or so pages in gave me a bit of a stumble near the middle of the book, and I almost didn't finish. What a tremendous mistake that would have been. Perhaps I have been watching too much Olympic downhill skiing, but this book just gains power as it moves forward.]

The density of insight, observation, and challenges to do better beg for multiple readings. I kept wanting to read the next essay but knew I wasn't taking adequate time to synthesize all the knowledge getting dropped on me at every turn.

Read this now!

[nathan · Rating 5 out of 5]

"𝘈𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘷𝘰𝘭𝘶𝘮𝘦, 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘦, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘰𝘳, 𝘥𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘸 𝘣𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘱𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘴𝘦 𝘰𝘳 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘴𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨?
𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘣𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘮𝘶𝘴𝘪𝘤 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘣𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘷𝘪𝘷𝘢𝘭 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘸𝘴 𝘶𝘱 𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘶𝘳𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘵. 𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘐 𝘴𝘢𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘮𝘶𝘴𝘪𝘤 𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘣𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘨𝘰𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘯 𝘧𝘳𝘦𝘦, 𝘐 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯 𝘏𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘵 𝘛𝘶𝘣𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘦𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘜𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘙𝘢𝘪𝘭𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘥 𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘢𝘨𝘦."

Necessary. Mandatory reading. If you ever wondered how top 40 rap or pop songs have an impact on our daily lives, here it is laid sharp and beautiful in Hanif’s prose. From Chance the Rapper to Carly Rae Jepson with Nina Simone and Prince and Whitney Houston in between, a fine collection that writes about the black experience through passion and power that brings us closer to compassion.

Love.

Race.

Death.

Class.

All written here. All so beautiful.

[Renée Morris · Rating 3 out of 5]

Imma need Hanif to update the audiobook with a chapter on the current diss track discourse

[Trisha · Rating 5 out of 5]

Do yourself a favour and READ THIS BOOK, or LISTEN TO IT which is even better. Hanif Abdurraqib has put his heart and soul into these essays, making this book an instant hit for readers like me who crave honesty and emotions. This collection of essays is rich in American music, African American culture, and the grief of an entire suppressed race. The writing makes you feel so many emotions at the same time - anger and joy, and especially despair and hope. Listening to Abdurraqib narrate his experiences felt so pure. I know I should stop because I'm overdoing adjectives, but I'm feeling a cyclone of emotions whirling inside me. Please don't let my inability to express my love for this book overshadow this review, and for heaven's sake, grab this audiobook.

Thanks to OrangeSky Audio and NetGalley for the ALC.
Publication Date: November 15th, 2022.

TW: Racism, Injustice, Death, Grief, and Heartbreak.

[Hannah]

I really enjoyed the lyricism of There's Always This Year: On Basketball and Ascension. This book held up in the same way, but mainstream radio music has never been something that clicked with me. While I too love Springsteen and massively respect Prince, I found myself not caring enough to make through to the end. DNFd at page 25.

[Hannah · Rating 4 out of 5]

I adored the essays where I was interested in the subject matters a whole lot.

[Darryl Suite · Rating 5 out of 5]

“Sometimes it isn't what we're battling that takes us, but simply the battle itself.”
.
More of a reaction piece // ONE OF THE BEST BOOKS I’VE EVER HAD THE PLEASURE OF READING. This essay collection is made up of arresting and powerful insights into social issues juxtaposed against the backdrop of popular music (Chance the Rapper, Fall Out Boy, Bruce Springsteen, Migos, My Chemical Romance, Carly Rae Jepsen, etc.) Themes: Abdurraqib talks about being a black kid going to punk rock shows, he talks about addiction and romance and death, he talks about Trump America and xenophobia and the fear of Muslims, he talks about suicide and about getting older, he talks about toxic masculinity, he talks about blackness and whiteness and othering, he talks about childhood, he talks about police brutality and gun violence, he talks about the future. He talks about hope.
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Reading this was like finally feeling completely understood and heard. EMOTIONS ALERT: I related to observations of being a black kid in spaces where no one else looked like me or having people decide what music I should strictly like or having people look at me like why is he here? I am angry at watching the news and seeing how black bodies are being treated and then forgotten. Frustrated over certain individuals telling us how we should feel and when we should feel it. Tired of being seen in a threatening manner even though I’m the furthest thing from a threat. I know the feeling of losing a friend to suicide and feeling the guilt of not doing more. Then the moment of realizing that it is not about me. I am not explaining this right, and that’s all right. If any of this piqued your interest, check out this book. But there is one other surprise: these essays are all gorgeously written. Lyrical, beautiful, observant, scathing, contemplative, and brave. But this is not the kind of beautiful writing with the trappings of empty meaning. Every essay will make you sigh and then say, hmm. Maybe because he hit the nail on the head or he said something you hadn’t thought about before or maybe he said it a whole lot better than you ever could. Hmmm.