With a name like Some Rap Songs, Earl Sweatshirt is very obviously over rap industry artifice. This is authentic, no gimmicks, but in a way that isn’t trying to call attention to its authenticity. Earl called his last album, 2015’s I Don’t Like Shit, I Don’t Go Outside, his dissertation on himself, but he clearly isn’t trying to place a similar burden on this record. Labeling it in the simplest terms hedges against the hype surrounding it without compromising its seriousness. To really put it in its simplest terms: He’s deep in his bag.

In the three years since I Don’t Like Shit, I Don’t Go Outside, plenty has happened in Earl’s life: his father died earlier this year, prompting a visit to Johannesburg and reconnection with family; he lost his longtime collaborator and friend Mac Miller, and fostered connections with a new community of MCs. The album reflects not only an ongoing maturation but a recalibration: a newfound commitment to discovering personal and universal truths, and a reaffirmation of his joy for songs in search of comfort. The record is by far Earl’s most dense to date, but it’s laced with quick-cutting, hard-looping samples that keep it feeling succinct. Here are five things to listen for on your first few spins of Some Rap Songs.

“I Be With MIKE and Med”

Ever the collective member, Earl Sweatshirt has forged collaborative relationships and meaningful friendships with a new class of like-minded musicians. He name-drops several of these players throughout Some Rap Songs, and that isn’t a coincidence. Rubbing shoulders and rolling spliffs with these guys—New Yorkers, mostly—has had a noticeable impact on his music. The cast of characters includes genre-benders and classicists alike.

There’s Navy Blue (or Sage Elsesser), a pro skater turned rapper credited with art direction on I Don’t Like Shit, I Don’t Go Outside, who was once Earl’s roommate (Sage has a verse on this record); MIKE, the introspective teen from the Bronx, who became something of an Earl mentee after the OF alum bought one of his early mixtapes online and received a personal thank you back; Medhane, the Brooklyn rapper who’s one half of the duo Medslaus with producer Slauson Malone aka Jasper Marsalis; Mach-Hommy, the enigmatic Jersey rapper for whom Earl has produced beats; Gio Escobar, who, as the frontman of Standing on the Corner, makes music that spans the entirety of the black and brown diasporas. Some are guests, others were simply in his thoughts or around during its creation, but these artists all clearly had a profound influence on Some Rap Songs. You can hear it in his disposition: in some songs, he’s as cold and calculating as Mach is, nearly analytical in his precision; in others, he’s as emotional and self-effacing as MIKE. This gives his singular perspective a new dimension.

Earl Pushes Toward a New Sound

To that end, the sonic palette on Some Rap Songs is also heavily indebted to those Earl has surrounded himself with in recent years: Denmark Vessey, Standing on the Corner, Black Noi$e, Booliemane, and Adé Hakim all contributed music to the album. Some of the production isn’t a far cry from the kind Earl did for Mach. Overall, the record seems to borrow its musical cues from SoTC’s post-genre Red Burns project, MIKE’s fragmenting May God Bless Your Hustle, and Knxwledge’s glitchy yet earthy beat tape catalog. The beats are tightly looped, which Earl described to Vulture as “the snake eating its tail.” Most invoke a somewhat vintage hip-hop feel. Unlike the dank soundscapes of IDLS, IDGO, which at times seemed nearly devoid of light, Some Rap Songs is variety in bursts, an experience not unlike clicking through different images in a View-Master. The sort of snippet-style structure and twitchy motion, collecting snapshots into a long-playing piece, was born of bonds.

Cut to the Chase

Short songs have taken over many rap albums this year, mostly due to lazy writing and a streaming economy that rewards long albums. But Earl is no stranger to keeping it short and sweet: brevity and concision were strengths of 2015’s I Don’t Like Shit, I Don’t Go Outside. He once said, “Flexing is being able to say the most with the least amount of words.” He applies his philosophy of efficiency to this 15-track, 25-minute album by keeping many of the tracks under the two-minute mark. It’s the product of an album-focused musician who still values the time of his listeners. The minute-long, aptly named “Loosie” is packed from front to back with raps, seemingly dropping in on Earl mid-thought. By the end of “The Veins,” he’s nearly unraveled the entire Earl Sweatshirt mythos.

Family Ties

Most of the cuts on Some Rap Songs were written before the death of Earl’s father Keorapetse Kgositsile, but even those that aren’t working through grief are reflective on his family. On “Playing Possum,” clips of both of his parents speaking publicly are overlaid on top of one another. His mom is a presence throughout the record, often in some sort of supportive capacity. “I only get better with time, that’s what my mom say,” he raps on “Azucar,” later adding, “My momma said she used to see my father in me.”