“The mission remains the same: for my son to grow into a man and live his American dream.” These words close out “american dream,” the opening track of 21 Savage’s latest album, with the poignant spoken introduction delivered by his mother, Heather Joseph. This heartfelt line encapsulates the album’s central theme: how do you repay those who sacrificed everything for your success? Earlier in her monologue, Joseph reflects, “What I wanted was an afterthought. The idea of providing him proper chances kept me moving forward.” This sentiment permeates the entire album, not just in specific lyrics but in the ethos 21 Savage weaves throughout. The streets beckon, friends fall, and hardships mount, yet he pushes on—just as his mother taught him.
21 Savage is at his most compelling when he taps into this emotional core. The bleak nihilism of Savage Mode is almost entirely absent, and the celebratory flair of *i am > i was* is subdued. There’s no need for the gimmicks of Issa Album or Savage Mode II. Instead, *american dream* presents 21 Savage at his most intimate, treating the recording booth as a confessional to reflect on his life and career from a distance. In this album, Savage isn’t bitter but resolute, fully aware of his worth. His family has endured too much for him to falter now. On “letter to my brudda,” against a backdrop of a crisp soul sample and shimmering synths, 21 raps, “I watched everybody turn on my brother like he ain’t have them out here flying jets and fucking bitches.” Later in the song, during the interlude, 21 speaks candidly: “You know, we come from the worst conditions, the worst circumstances. The trenches, the gutter. And sometimes we’re forced to make decisions we don’t even want to make.” This raw honesty is where *american dream* shines. 21 Savage often operates in this reflective mode. On “see the real,” with chiptune voices and a jerky drum groove, he bares his soul, only for the nihilism to creep back in when he raps, “Another body get dropped, I don’t feel different.” In the chorus, he adds, “My dog don’t want nothing out of life but to kill n-ggas, and they wonder why I’m still with them.”
This tension between good and evil, between honoring his mother’s sacrifices and being pulled back into his old life, infuses the album’s strongest moments. The internal struggle is palpable, making the album deeply human and resonant. However, the album has its missteps. “pop ur shit” follows a formulaic Atlanta trap sound but is saved by Metro Boomin’s production and an unusually otherworldly feature from Young Thug. Despite these highlights, some moments leave much to be desired. In “pop ur shit,” 21 raps, “It smell like gas, I think somebody pooped,” a line that falls flat, failing to strike the intended humorous tone. Similarly, “red sky” feels like a missed opportunity, a formulaic pop-rap track that could’ve been more thoughtfully executed. The introduction by Mikky Ekko might have been more impactful if sung by Skylar Grey, and the swelling strings and piano are so heavy-handed that a beginner with GarageBand could likely do better. Once again, 21 raps about feces: “Live on the toilet, I stay on my shit,” a perplexing choice. These low points are frustrating because they’re surrounded by some of 21 Savage’s best work. The album’s tension is thrilling and worth exploring, but when 21 tries too hard for radio hits or lets his media training slip, the record stumbles. In 2019, 21 Savage faced deportation after being detained by ICE—a stark reminder of the fragility of the American dream. *american dream* is triumphant when it grapples with this reality, but when it falters, as 21 himself might put it, it’s full of crap.