Isaiah Rashad: IT’S BEEN AWFUL

The road to Isaiah Rashad’s IT’S BEEN AWFUL began in classic Top Dawg Entertainment fashion: a leaked internal schedule in February 2024, followed by a trail of leaked text messages that October. Yet, after two more years of relative hibernation, the project’s arrival in April 2026 bypassed the label’s usual drawn-out rollout. Instead, Rashad and TDE opted for an abrupt, condensed timeline—the lead single, “SAME SH!T,” dropped mere weeks ahead of the release, while “BOY IN RED” surfaced just 24 hours before the full album drop. It is a sudden prelude to a record where Rashad avoids radical sonic reinvention, choosing instead to retreat into his most potent lane: a raw, unflinching look into his own psyche. Rashad’s maturity is most evident in how he handles these personal depths, shifting away from the club-ready energy of The House is Burning standouts like “Lay With Ya” toward the sluggish, hazy gravity of the opener, “THE NEW SUBLIME.” The production anchors itself on a simple bassline and a muddy kick drum, driven by an indecisive snare that alternates between burying itself in the mix and stepping into the forefront. Muted horns and distant vocal hums add a haunting texture to the arrangement. Over this minimalist backdrop, Rashad delivers a visceral opening salvo: “ I’m cut from a sinful nature and I feel afflicted/ falling over/ ask me who I’m fucking, I’ve been fucking up .” It is a peak of self-deprecation, capturing a desperate search for an antidote to his self-prescribed affliction. His history with substance abuse is well-documented, having noted in a 2021 Fader interview that he used alcohol and Xanax to escape his realities, but here, the anxiety of regression feels immediate. A few bars later, he admits, “ If I romanticize them Percocets/ I might relapse again .” Reflecting on his lowest points, including his sister’s incarceration and his own brief bout with homelessness, Rashad captures the psychological toll of trying to play the invulnerable hero when everything is collapsing. He had to be Superman just to survive, and his mental health suffered drastically for it. Fittingly, this heavy introductory journey closes on a single, haunting command: “pray.” That spiritual fatigue gives way to “M.O.M.,” a vibrant song that hides Rashad’s structural anxieties beneath angelic keys and a crisp, surgical drum kit. Here, he wrestles with the exhausting nuances of late-stage capitalism and the hollow promise of financial security. On his older track “4r Da Squaw,” Rashad famously established a humble baseline for peace of mind: “ if I can pay my bills, I’m good, I’m coming over. ” On “M.O.M.,” those comfortable notions are shattered. He counters his past self with a grim realization: “ Everything for sell, even hell, my n***a/ Soon they’ll be tryna sell the air, my n***a/ Paid my bills and it still don’t work/ Ask my dawg if we still on Earth .” Achieving his financial goals hasn’t saved him; instead, he finds himself in a hyper-monetized world that threatens to price out the air itself, leaving him completely disoriented. Attempting to find a baseline between “ lies, truths, the average between ,” Rashad eventually trails off, unable to define what reality even looks like anymore. Instead, he retreats into the familiar escapism of a substance-fueled bender, instructing the listener “ don’t just dance, go on, get loose .” Later tracks like “SUPAFICIAL” and “SCARED 2 LOOK DOWN” expand on these sensitive themes, packaging heavy, challenging concepts into remarkably accessible sonic formats. The psychological stakes here mirror his 2022 interview with Joe Budden, where Rasahd spoke candidly about his volatile self-worth within the rap industry, describing a pendulum that swung from feeling “invincible” to feeling like “just the worst.” In that same discussion, he addressed his history with self-harm, exposing a deeply private trauma for public consumption. On “SUPAFICIAL,” he reframes the word itself; his original claim that these actions were “superficial” wasn’t an attempt to minimize his pain, but an admission that the coping mechanism was entirely internal. On the record, those injuries are now wrapped in tattoos and double entendres. On “SUPAFICIAL,” Rashad reclaims his basic humanity and agency, rapping, “ Baby, I’m worth more than the rap shit/ Worth more than my rap sheet .” It is an explicit demand to be viewed holistically, far beyond the flattening glare of celebrity. Here, the whole person is presented as a patchwork of scars and lived experience, an identity anchored by his vulnerable admission: “ I know I’m flawed, but stay with me .” When he later notes that “ scars on you never lie ,” they serve as honest evidence of his history rather than marks of shame. It perfectly mirrors his earlier confession that his physical injuries, however superficial they may have seemed, were the outward manifestations of a deep battle with depression. That same transparency carries over to “SCARED 2 LOOK DOWN,” where Rashad addresses both the fallout of his leaked sex tape and his past attempts on his own life. He delivers remarkably level-headed bars about his sexual fluidity—“ fucking her and her and him, fucking on your mama ”—fully embracing the reality that he no longer has any hidden skeletons for anyone to expose. His rapid-fire delivery on lines like “ ’bout 16 carats, I been cutting my wrist/ All the internet hating, give a fuck ‘bout that ” whizzes by, cloaking intense vulnerability in an effortlessly cool, nonchalant attitude. Through this admission of self-harm, the “ 16 carats ” lyric takes on a grim double meaning, operating simultaneously as a standard hip-hop flex about expensive jewelry and a literal, darker reference to physical scars. Ultimately, IT’S BEEN AWFUL is not a flawless album, nor is it an easy one. It is a dense, heavily nuanced project wrapped in layers of subtext that demand both a close familiarity with Rashad’s biography and multiple, active listens to fully parse. The sonic shifts can occasionally feel as erratic as the timeline that birthed them. Yet, these structural imperfections are precisely what make the record feel so authentic. Rashad refuses to offer neat resolutions or artificial triumphs. Instead, IT’S BEEN AWFUL stands as a courageous, deeply human act of survival—proof that even when the armor is completely stripped away, Isaiah Rashad remains one of the most compelling and necessary voices in modern hip-hop.