![]() It spent more time thumbing its nose at the backpackers, racists, and dismissive women that gouged out the massive chip on Glover’s shoulder than it did, you know, trying to be a good rap album. Gambino seemed to draft Camp, his nerd rage nadir of a debut studio album, as a piss and vinegar shower for his doubters. But as the beloved “Community” awarded Glover’s musical exploits a higher profile, the pridefully uncool sloganeering of songs like Culdesac’s “Different” crystallized into spite. Gambino later linked up with “Community” composer Ludwig Göransson for Culdesac and EP, proudly twee-as-fuck offerings that pondered Glover’s outsider upbringing over increasingly plush instrumental settings. Early Childish Gambino releases like 2008’s Sick Boi carried the playful “Just fucking around, sorry!” vibe of a rap career started on a lark but buckled under too much squeaky voiced Lil Wayne worship.
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