The growing pains of late adolescence can be conflicting. Do you remember that deep yearning for cheap thrills and total autonomy? For the freedom to fall flat on your face? This is what Leaving Home means to FearDorian: growing up so quickly you forget you’re also mourning your loss of innocence. “It’s Leaving Home in the sense of how you were raised, the routines you’re used to, your mentality,” he said in a recent interview. “I’m breaking away from those things and becoming my own person.” The 18-year-old rapper-producer has made a lot of moves in the past year: a self-titled debut, a jubilant full-length with Polo Perks and AyooLii, a low-key EP with By Storm’s RiTchie. He’s also spent time away from his hometown of Atlanta, performing in New York bars and Milwaukee clubs, wandering in Dublin and riding around London. The result is his second solo album, Leaving Home, which recounts angst and triumph through claustrophobic beats and diaristic deadpan. After years of turning obscure samples into ear candy for other rappers, FearDorian crafts something more insular to make sense of his own growth.
If the songwriting makes one thing clear, it’s that Dorian is still settling into his skin. Every boastful step forward is offset by future uncertainty. On “Gotta Be,” as his sandpaper melody passes through wistful streams of synthesizer, FearDorian fixates on mortality. If he weren’t cut off by Klein’s processed vocals, the lilt at the end of his verse could’ve rendered the track a delicate, sullen lullaby: “This shit get so real, I be fightin’ for my life … I done fucked up so many times tryna get it right.” Like any teenager would, he relishes getting paid to go overseas and see his face on flyers. On “I.V.,” he pokes fun at the Rick Owens kicks he’s buying for his sister. But he can’t help but probe beneath this shiny exterior. In an ode to Earl Sweatshirt later on, Dorian reprises a sample from Feet of Clay and reworks the desolate refrain from “Shattered Dreams”: “They ain’t say I could leave/They ain’t say I was bleeding,” he spits over Jersey club percussion. His vulnerability is at the forefront, but he’s never sounded this confident as a rapper before.
If it weren’t for the pulsating, head-knocking rhythms, Leaving Home would feel considerably more forlorn. The record starts out pretty brightly: “In Turn For?” kicks it off with elastic 808s over lambent dream pop, and the one-two punch of “Aspen” and “Every Time” feels like hitting a slipstream on Mario Kart. These lighthearted textures reflect the childlike wonder of visiting landmarks you’d only seen on TV growing up; despite Dorian’s internal tug-of-war, he’s trying to enjoy the moment. When that giddy feeling fades, some of the grimiest production in his catalog rises to the top: The thumping kick drums of “Floor Tom” turn a post-punk loop into a speaker knocker, “Las Vegas” flips a dreamy Cocteau Twins staple into something sludgy, and standouts “I.V.” and “Gotta Be” are equal parts bleak and intoxicating.
At FearDorian’s Brooklyn listening party the night of Leaving Home’s release, I stood at the back of the crowd, watching as the faces featured on the record joined him onstage: quinn, Polo Perks, Klein, RiTchie. In a live setting, it doesn’t sound like music by a kid who’s at odds with himself; Dorian is raucous and exuberant. He’s hitting Lil Uzi eyerolls and spitting every bar, even diving into outstretched arms when Polo grabs a mic for “Floor Tom.” On record, “Not Just Yet” with RiTchie is chilling—the type of song you nod along to screw-faced in solitude—but pouring from the speakers, it feels like something you could dance to. Even when Dorian’s lyrics mourn a failed relationship, the energy in the room is rejoiceful. The contrasts breathe life into Leaving Home: excitement in the face of dread, optimism shielded by regret, shadows looming over greener pastures. This is what it’s like to grapple with adulthood.
