In July 2015, at the height of the Black Lives Matter movement, British singer/composer Dev Hynes released “Do You See My Skin Through the Flames?”, an 11-minute assessment of race and self-worth at a time of intense struggle between blacks and law enforcement. “This is not from my forthcoming album,” Hynes asserted, “just some things on my mind.” The cover art depicted an elegant black figure—his back straight, his fingers clutched deep into his own flesh. The image showed strength; on the song, Hynes unpacked the yin and yang of everyday life as a black person: “I’m proud of my name, I’m proud of my dad, I’m proud of my family, but it’s very strange to have to carry that… we all carry that, every black person carries that.” To live black is to live conflicted. There’s the urge to live freely and be accepted, even if the world at large is still uncomfortable with people of color. We feel an innate sense to protect our own kind and hold each other close. We are prisoners of perception; our culture pillaged, our style and vernacular mocked and imitated, only to be told we’re not good enough to be equal.

Freetown Sound, Hynes’ third album as Blood Orange, arrives days after Baltimore police officer Caesar Goodson Jr., who drove the van in which 25-year-old Freddie Gray was fatally injured, was found not guilty on all charges against him. That same day, a grand jury in Collin County, Texas, decided there wasn’t enough evidence to indict former McKinney police officer Eric Casebolt for slamming a black teenage girl to the ground at a pool party. June 25th would’ve been Tamir Rice’s 14th birthday, but he—a black preteen—was shot by a Cleveland police officer who thought Rice pulled a handgun from his waistband. Earlier this month, 49 people died in what’s being called the deadliest mass shooting in U.S. history, after a gunman walked into a gay Orlando nightclub and opened fire. And just last week, the United Kingdom—where Hynes is from—voted to leave the European Union, sparking chants of racism from liberals.

Freetown feels shaded by all these events, even if public outcry over racial injustice has dissipated slightly over the last year. Hynes offers a broad view of black culture, using vocal clips and spoken-word poetry to craft a multifaceted narrative of historically underserved people. “Black can get you over, black can sit you down,” says a sampled voice toward the end of “With Him,” from Marlon Riggs’ 1994 documentary, Black is...Black Ain’t. On “Love Ya,” we hear author Ta-Nehisi Coates outline a very real conflict facing most minorities: figuring out what to wear—and how to wear it—as to not intimidate others. “How was I gonna wear my pants?” he recalled. “What shoes was I gonna wear? Who was I gonna walk with to school?” Most people take these things for granted, but as a minority, your fashion sense can be seen as a threat. “Hands Up” references the 2012 killing of Trayvon Martin in Florida, where George Zimmerman—a neighborhood watch volunteer—shot the unarmed teenager and claimed self-defense. “Keep your hood off when you’re walking…” Hynes warns. “Sure enough, they’re gonna take your body.” Throughout Freetown, he speaks directly to those who look like him—the overlooked and under-appreciated, the persecuted and misunderstood—consoling his community while highlighting our collective grace. “Chance” treads the same ground as D’Angelo’s “The Charade,” using self-hurt to dissect racial inequality. “All I ever wanted was a chance for myself,” Hynes moans through a voice steeped in sadness.

Formerly known as Lightspeed Champion, Hynes used to play in punk-rock band Test Icicles before moving on to create folk/pop hybrids. 2011’s Coastal Grooves—Hynes’ first album as Blood Orange—combined new wave and electro-soul, even if the results just barely scratched the surface of what we hear from him now. Freetown is more expansive than 2013’s stellar Cupid Deluxe, but it moves quicker, packing funk and ‘80s R&B into a coherent set. Between his nuanced baritone and creative approach, the album resembles a Saul Williams release, as something overtly political and complex while pulling in many different genres. Songs like “Desirée” and “Best to You” are especially nostalgic, employing festive soul grooves and tropical dance. “Juicy 1-4,” “But You,” and “Thank You” take tonal cues from Michael Jackson, mimicking the optimistic glow of ballads like “Human Nature” and “Man in the Mirror.” In a good way, Hynes is able to pull from these musicians while crafting an aesthetic that’s uniquely his. He takes on a director’s role at times, stepping aside vocally and allowing his features to shine. Hynes mostly sings with and writes for women, which adds another layer of dignity to his art. Nelly Furtado takes the lead on “Hadron Collider” and Blondie frontwoman Deborah Harry sounds perfectly at home on “E.V.P.,” a rubbery funk instrumental seemingly plucked from that band's discography.

The album title pays homage to Freetown, Sierra Leone, the country’s capital city and hometown to Hynes’ father. The recording feels communal despite its political themes, whether he’s sampling particular African dialect, or giving poet Ashlee Haze space on “By Ourselves” to salute femininity. On these and other songs, the words are searing and soothing, almost always at the same time. My in-laws—also from Freetown—speak reverently of the villages and family and friends who still live there. They reminisce about the beach and the sense of togetherness they felt. They acknowledge the extreme poverty and the 2014 Ebola outbreak, but say it’s still a land of true beauty, holding a deep spiritual connection you have to feel for yourself. You sense that warmth throughout Freetown Sound, even if the music doesn’t pull directly from the sounds of the area.

Freetown scans as a capital-B Black record, hitting the same social chords as Kendrick Lamar’s To Pimp a Butterfly, D’Angelo’s Black Messiah, and Kamasi Washington’s The Epic. Like those albums, Freetown resonates with everyone sagging under the weight of systemic oppression. “My album is for everyone told they’re not black enough, too black, too queer, not queer the right way … it’s a clapback,” Hynes told Entertainment Weekly in a recent interview. Freetown represents the innermost workings of a man wading through his own insecurities, holding his flaws and weaknesses up to the light for everyone to see. He’s trying to make sense of himself, his race and sexuality, while taking a hard look at what this world has become. The future isn’t so hopeless, but we won’t make it if we don’t forge the path together.