I, too, have worn the name.

Maybe not out loud, maybe not on wax, but in the quiet corners of memory—where ego speaks louder than reason, where apologies arrive too late or never at all—I’ve lived this album. For me, the alter ego went by Taz, a conductor of chaos disguised as charm. He was the ringleader of my reckless days, the mouthpiece for my insecurities, the one who taught me how to love only after learning how to destroy.

So when Duckwrth dropped All American F*ckBoy, it didn’t land like just another album—it felt like someone cracked open my old journals and set them to drums, distortion, and confession.

This isn’t just a sonic experience. It’s a canvas, frayed at the edges and smoothed over in strokes of radical vulnerability. It’s the textured duality of healing—a portrait painted in both blood and balm. And somewhere between the skits narrated by LaKeith Stanfield and the basslines that pulse like emotional tremors, we witness a man wrestling himself into awareness.

There’s a temptation to dissect every track. To walk you through the chapters—from the performative chaos of “Ken Doll” to the ghostly detachment in “Fell Off the Earth,” the generational ache of “Permanent Vacation,” and the soul-cleansing storm that is “Hurricane J.I.M.” But this record isn’t a guided tour. It’s a mirror. And each song asks you to decide what you see staring back.

“Hoe Phase” is a timestamp of now—an indictment of digital lust, algorithmic attention spans, and the collapse of real intimacy in an age of infinite access. Duckwrth’s critique isn’t sanctimonious—it’s lived. That’s what makes it hit.

But the song that grips me most is “Had Enough.” There’s a thread of G-funk woven into its bones, but beneath the groove is a sobering realization: that growth doesn’t mean forgetting the hurt—it means knowing it intimately, carrying it wisely. The track doesn’t sound like closure. It sounds like readiness. A quiet rebellion against numbness. A soft nod to self-respect.

Then comes the breath.

“I’m Really Changing” floats in like a window cracked open after a long night. It’s self-aware, a little ironic, but also undeniably sincere. It doesn’t promise transformation—it whispers the possibility of it. It’s the sound of driving with the windows down, sunlight bleeding through the windshield, trees bending in rhythm, blue skies reminding you that no matter how heavy yesterday was, you’ve still got today. And maybe even tmrw.

And then there’s the sonic architecture—crafted, shaped, and soulfully scorched by BLK ODYSSY and Two Fresh. The production never tries to outshine Duckwrth’s emotional nakedness. Instead, it holds space for it. Each beat feels intentional, like it was built to hold confession in its palms without judgment. That’s rare.

All American F*ckBoy is messy. Beautifully so. And necessary. It doesn’t aim for redemption—it demands reflection. It’s for those of us who have loved poorly and want to do better. Who have broken others and still believe we’re worthy of healing.

It’s not just a record. It’s a reckoning.

And for those of us still learning how to love—we hear you, Duckwrth.

Loud and clear.

Be sure to follow Duckwrth on Instagram.