Logic sure is good at absorbing the ideas of others. Well, at least he'd like to be. To be fair, the young rapper isn't without presence, he simply seems completely unsure of what do with it. Unless, of course he's, perhaps subconsciously, leeching away. When Freddie Gibbs leveled accusations at the cover art of Everybody, for borrowing off his own You Only Live 2wice, for once Logic seemed, perhaps, in the right: it felt like a bit of a reach. It's ironic that the one time he's been called out for his page-ripping – and the one time it was probably unfair – directly preceded his most overblown, misguided statement to date.

It certainly wants to sound important, filled to the brim with serious interludes-within-songs, from a recurring, clumsy view into the afterlife complete with a cheesy 'God' character ascribed to a Killer Mike speech deceptively marketed as a feature (we still want that verse, Logic). Let's not forget, this album was originally titled AfricaAryan. Thankfully, this was changed after an outcry, but the final track still stubbornly bears the same name. The general conceit of the album indeed seems to follow the rapper's deeply misguided opinion that his bi-racial identity hasn't much changed his experience with racism, and that we all just need to move on and get along, m'kay? The titles track’s chorus, and essentially the album's mission statement, can be boiled down to "Everybody people." Nearly childish, it sounds especially deaf and empty in the era of Trump, and the message misfires limply.

To be sure, there's nothing wrong in principle with Logic delving into his heritage, and certainly nothing this (decidedly white) writer would levy against him, were it not both so, frankly, obnoxiously present and self-indulgent. The best political rap albums have revolved around their speaker's skin as a device to delve into wider racial or societal truths, or simply to release righteous anger, but Logic's absurd obsession here bares little more intent than to insist he deserves the same place as anyone else.

Not that he doesn't put on airs. Beware: there is a lot of talk going on. That afterlife skit? It only gets worse, blabbering along for an entire track, nearly 5 minutes in length, as the deceased black man is told he'll be reincarnated in the past – as a slave owner. Yep, this indeed happens, and it's essentially played off as humorous. The listener is lectured about some general mixture of Eastern philosophies that Logic seems to think were his own brainchild. It'd all be dully laughable if it weren't so painful. It all comes back to his 'everyone is everyone' argument, and... no, just no.

In general, the album feels like a grab-bag of 'button issues', others' ideas, and content truly desperate to bear high-minded importance, but proves little more than Logic has clearly heard some Kendrick. More simply put, its tactic of sticking to simple broad-strokes – and constantly beating his listener over the head with them – reads like BuzzFeed: The Album.

What's more, none of this really says much at all about the man himself. The songs come off as portraits for what he thinks the listener needs to hear to see him as an 'artist', whatever his misconception of the word may be. In fact, in one of the only moments he actually takes time to simply say something coming from himself, on ‘Anziety’, is easily one of the album's highlights, despite it simply being him chatting between raps. Recalling a panic attack, he questions, "How could anxiety make me physically feel off balance? How could anxiety make me feel as though I was fading from this world and on the brink of death?” The listener can feel his fear, and it's one of the only moments here that rings true. It's too bad he doesn't let himself out to play more often.