We've romanticized anxiety. How relatable and edgy of us to package paralyzing paranoia and curate it into cute little internet-based nuances that capitalize on the vulnerability of others and the current popularity of mental illness. How thrifty of us to utilize the ability to overshare by using social media profiles to turn instability into a brand. But while the fear of paying off student debts and perturbation of subtweets may be stifling for some who live behind a keyboard, they also pale in comparison to the real-life horrors that nearly took 26-year-old Compton rapper YG's life this past year. For him, paranoia is so much better than the alternative. So here you have it, a little perspective.

Last summer, YG had a daughter and last summer, YG got shot. An unidentified shooter rolled up to his Los Angeles recording studio in the early morning of June 12, 2015, where the West Coast rapper was unsuspecting and busy working on the follow-up to 2014's acclaimed debut album My Krazy Life. He fired shots directly into his hip. Although grateful to be alive, YG still has no idea who pulled the trigger. It could have been anyone. From there, every person in his life became a suspect. Every relationship was questioned - including those in his inner circle. That's the type of unprecedented pain and paranoia unfathomable for those distant from YG's lifestyle in the gangland of LA but the broader relatable thematic exposé tackled on his recently released sophomore album Still Brazy - which is undoubtedly the most urgent rap album of the year thus far.

"I knew karma was gon' catch up with a ni**a. Damn, I ain't know it was gon' happen like this," YG introspectively narrates on the outro of accurately titled album cut 'Who Shot Me?' "But I guess God has some other plans for me, cause that shit ain't stop me." It's the filterless sentiment encapsulating the Bompton artist's 17-track thematic neo G funk opus, where YG's familiar demons inhabit his articulate and authentic storytelling, which thoroughly recount the past two years of his often conflicted life and the darkest side of his success story. Paranoia down in killer California where "brazy" is an understatement.

Though his second major label effort is an expansion for YG - sonically, lyrically and conceptually - the evolution came at yet another price, as early last year, he had a major falling out with Day One collaborator and friend DJ Mustard, who produced most of his notable previous work, particularly on his debut full-length. The newfound independence pushed the LA artist to seek out new producers and sounds, which brought him to beat-mechanics like multi-instrumentalist Terrace Martin, Ty Dolla $ign, Swish and Hit-Boy. Their inclusion resulted in a much more refined and mature nostalgic G-funk swagger this time around, strengthened by abrasive snare and springy bass lines. Here, YG's nostalgic sounds intertwine with current dilemmas, (and yet still leave enough room for party tracks and summer anthems so YG can do his dance. He's still here and that's cause for celebration.)

The album's cinematic narrative starts off by setting the street scene on 'Don't Come To LA,' a gritty crime-ridden confessional that makes it quite clear that despite YG's success, his lifestyle hasn't changed when touring ends and he returns home to his West Coast home. ("Cause ya'll paying for the lifestyle that's watered down. Bompton, that where I'm from, shit is not allowed.") When gunshots ring off leading into 'Who Shot Me?,' there's panic and immediacy in his drawl as he names a number of people in his life who could have easily set up him to get shot. YG is vengeful and scared as he lays his skepticism out in raw form after facing the barrel of a gun and his honesty is sacred. ("Bullets don't just go where the wind blows.") Pain turns to anger on album stand-out 'Gimme Got Shot,' as YG deals with the repercussions of survivor's guilt and the realization that he doesn't have to accept the responsibility of feeding the streets, especially when trust issues have given him a new perspective on the people around him. And there, he's set to welcome his first brush with forgiveness and peace on the funk-infused 'Bool, Balm and Bollective' where YG realizes there's too much to loose with retaliation.

From the paranoid and personal, YG then ends his action-based sonic blockbuster on a political note, offering the first great rap protest of election season with a social trifecta - 'FDT (Fuck Donald Trump),' 'Blacks & Browns' and 'Police Get Away Wit Murder.' Not only is Still Brazy, arguably the most sharply produced rap album of the year, emblazoned with the most pronounced storytelling of 2016, YG has un-apologetically used his gunshot as a metaphor for America in the time of Trump. YG isn't crazy. But he's shown us what kind of crazy America's capable of. From gun violence to institutional racism to Donald Trump. That's something to be anxious of.