Album Review: You Only Die 1nce by Freddie Gibbs
Freddie Gibbs marries declarations of strength and finesse with moments of vulnerability and doubt, ultimately offering a nuanced glimpse into his existence as he contemplates his place in rap.
From day one of his career, you had to count on Freddie Gibbs. That the man can rap like hardly a second and possibly even classic slumbers in him, his first mixtapes already hinted at. But it took the leading instrumental hand of an old master like Madlib to realize this potential fully. The result, Piñata, has long been entitled to the title of a modern classic. Similar things can be said about the successor Bandana or the subsequent collaboration with a specific, no less talented beat alchemist. What is noticeable in retrospect: Gibbs alone may be a formidable rapper, but his music only reached exceptional levels when he worked with a single producer for the length of an entire album. As a result, he has yet to release an actual solo album since Shadow of Doubt was released in 2015. Who can blame him for the success of his undertakings with Madlib or The Alchemist?
For his last album, $oul $old $eparately released two years ago, the rapper from Indiana has now opened the doors again to a whole slew of outside influences, which has caused some skepticism, especially the previously released singles including “Too Much” with Moneybagg Yo. These newcomers in Gibbs’ musical cosmos are accompanied by a breath of fresh wind, which blows the Cohiba hamp of his last albums, which has become predictable in no time. Of course, $$$ still sounds like white lines on polished mirrors, like caviar and lobster and the rattling of counting machines; it is still a Freddie Gibbs album. However, the instrumental vehicles of this lifestyle became far more versatile and varied this time. With his fifth album, Freddie actually manages to surprise us again.
But let’s move beyond the Benny beef or his baby mama drama and give context surrounding his Halloween drop, You Only Die 1nce. Looking at Freddie Gibbs’s narrative, his life unfolded between triumph and struggle, revealing a saga far removed from any archetypal story of sheer survival. In 2017’s redemption album, You Only Live 2wice, the imagery does not liken him to a crucified martyr. Instead, it depicts a Christ-like resurrection, positioning him as a nearly divine figure amidst life’s turmoil. Gibbs, branding himself “20 Karat Jesus,” doesn’t shy away from reflecting on life’s harsher realities, whether it be sleep deprivation symbolized by designer bags under the eyes or existential truths. Freddie confronts life’s haunting specters throughout this eight-track, thirty-two-minute album, pondering past actions and future possibilities.
Seven years later, the sequel is even better and more personal. Actor and comedian Slink Johnson returns as the Devil for this album, only if you remember him playing Jesus on $$$. “Cosmo Freestyle” is an unflinching portrayal of his career through the fraught environment of urban life and the music industry over a boom-bap that he can float on. Gibbs employs a mature, robust lyricism throughout the track to address the complex intersection of crime, fame, and integrity. He vividly criticizes societal and industry pressures that could drive individuals to perpetuate violence in pursuit of public interest (“Niggas will knock you off to get a following”). “Wolverine” continues with the illustration of raw legitimacy and the harsh realities of his personal life, ranging from crime and drug culture to the often overlooked socio-economic issues marginalized communities face.
“Steel Doors” dives into the tumultuous and gritty world that has shaped his experiences and persona. Gibbs navigates the duality of his existence, expressing a longing for legacy while battling the paranoia instilled by his past dealings and betrayals. His ingenious wordplay amplifies the dichotomy of his life as he ruminates on trusting no one (“Why would I touch my pack when I could just steal yours?”), while simultaneously acknowledging the transformative impact he’s had on those around him (“I done made thugs outta these niggas”). This duality is further cemented through the lens of violence and mistrust, illustrating his awareness of the dangers still lurking despite his rise in the ranks. Gibbs reflects on the heavy toll such a lifestyle demands, questioning the cost of genuine affection in a world rife with animosity (“What it really cost to get some love outta these niggas?”).
Through a flurry of hard-hitting lines, “Rabbit Island” has him crafting an allure of fast money and the lurking dangers it brings over a piano-laced smooth beat. He also finally dropped a long-awaited freestyle over Tony! Toni! Tone!’s “Anniversary” (as well as rapping over 112’s “Cupid” on “Ruthless”) wobbles between self-reflection and battle cries, with Gibbs illustrating the dichotomy of his existence. He also comes through with the usual versatility. Gibbs examines the duality of success and its accompanying burdens on the bouncy “Yeah Yeah” and “Walk It Off,” often reflecting on the fleeting nature of life that ties the You Only Die 1nce concept. “Brick Fees” is a certified Gangsta Gibbs essential by opening with betrayal, loyalty, and the ephemeral nature of success.
Picked as the introductory single for the album, “On the Set” ends the record that reflects loss, admiration, and existential reflection within a loop of industry pressures. Gibbs opens with a hook lamenting the casualties of icons he revered, expressing mourning for prominent figures like Pac and Biggie—“I wish them, I wish them niggas in L.A. ain’t never pop Biggie”—and questioning the aftermath of their deaths. Gibbs recounts his experiences, aligning his industry struggles with the chilling reality of mortality, notably contemplating his legacy amidst the flawed music industry that “wasn’t checkin’ for Gary.” He implies an ongoing conversation with peers and predecessors, suggesting a yearning for a deeper connection amidst an inevitably fragmented environment. The thoughtful articulation of sentiment—using lines like “Left a legacy up in this bitch before I left out”—solidifies Gibbs’ contemplation on memory, redemption, and the influence he left in hip-hop.
Freddie Gibbs acknowledges the pressures and decisions he faces daily, reflecting on loyalty and betrayal in personal relationships, thereby offering an introspective glimpse into the relational dynamics of trust and disconnect. Some songs underline his struggle to maintain authenticity while grappling with the pressures to evolve, underscoring the eternal tension between the allure of transformation and the pull of his root identity. As detailed in “Origami,” he transforms personal history into art while focusing on his continued aspiration for financial success and stability. You Only Die 1nce stands out as one of his best accomplishments by marrying assertive declarations of strength and finesse with moments of vulnerability and doubt, ultimately offering a nuanced glimpse into Gibbs’ existence as he contemplates his place in a world that’s as dangerous as it is opulent.
Great (★★★★☆)
Favorite Track(s): “Wolverine,” “Steel Doors,” “Walk It Off”