Music shouldn't always make you feel like a good person. Sometimes, the best songs are the ones that lean into the messiness of being human, or more specifically, the messiness of being a bit of a narcissist. When Brent Faiyaz dropped "Wasting Time" with Drake, or deeper cuts like "Clouded," the internet didn't just listen; they analyzed. They memed. They felt exposed. Because when we talk about lyrics twice as hard, we aren't just talking about technical complexity or fast-paced rapping. We are talking about the emotional gut-punch of hearing someone say the quiet parts out loud.
It’s that specific brand of Maryland R&B—cold, detached, yet strangely soulful.
Most people think "hard" lyrics have to involve aggressive beats or street narratives. But there is a different kind of "hard" found in the unapologetic honesty of modern R&B. Brent Faiyaz has mastered this. It’s the sound of a 3 AM text you know you shouldn't send, backed by production that feels like silk.
The Anatomy of Lyrics Twice as Hard
What makes a line hit differently? It’s usually the juxtaposition. In the world of Brent Faiyaz and the Sonder collective, you have these angelic, melodic vocals singing about things that are, frankly, pretty terrible. On "Price of Fame," he isn't just complaining about being rich; he's dissecting the isolation that comes with it. He says, "I'm not the one you should love," and he means it.
That’s lyrics twice as hard. It’s the rejection of the "nice guy" trope that dominated R&B for decades.
If you look at the 90s, guys like Usher or Joe were always begging for a second chance. They were outside in the rain. Brent is inside, in the dry, wondering why you’re still calling him. This shift in perspective isn't just about being "toxic" for the sake of a hashtag. It represents a deeper, more cynical view of modern dating and fame that resonates with Gen Z and Millennials who are tired of the polished, sanitized version of romance.
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Why "Clouded" Still Hits Three Years Later
Think about the opening of "Clouded." He asks if anybody will give a damn about him when he’s gone. It’s a classic existential crisis packed into less than two minutes. The brevity is part of the power. He doesn't need five verses to explain his headspace. He just gives you the raw nerve.
Honestly, it’s refreshing.
In an industry where everything is focus-grouped to death, hearing a line like "I’m not a hero, I’m just a human" feels radical. It’s the lack of pretension that makes the lyrics twice as hard. You aren't being sold a dream; you’re being sold a very specific, very relatable reality of self-doubt and ego.
The Production Paradox
You can't talk about the lyrics without talking about the atmosphere. The "Sonder" sound—pioneered by Faiyaz alongside producers Atu and Dpat—is essential to why these words land. It’s minimalist. It’s heavy on the bass but light on the clutter. This creates a vacuum where the lyrics have no choice but to stand out.
When the beat is stripped back, every word carries more weight.
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- Vocal Layering: Brent often uses his own harmonies to create a choir-like effect. It makes his individualistic lyrics feel grander, almost like a religious experience for the self-absorbed.
- The "Room" Sound: Many of his tracks sound like they were recorded in a bedroom, not a million-dollar studio. This intimacy makes the harshness of the lyrics feel like a secret shared between friends.
This isn't just "vibes." It’s a calculated aesthetic choice. By making the music sound beautiful, he earns the right to be "twice as hard" with the subject matter. It’s the sugar-coated pill method of songwriting.
Beyond the "Toxic" Label
Labeling this movement as just "toxic R&B" is a bit of a lazy take. It’s deeper than that. Critics like Mankaprr Conteh have pointed out that this style of writing is actually a form of radical vulnerability. By admitting to being flawed, selfish, or emotionally unavailable, artists like Brent Faiyaz are actually being more honest than the "I’ll give you the world" singers of the past.
Life is messy. Relationships are complicated. Sometimes you are the villain in someone else's story.
Acknowledging that is what makes the lyrics twice as hard. It requires a level of self-awareness that most people lack. It’s not about bragging; it’s about confession. When he sings on "Gravity" about how he’s "not really good at keeping in touch," he isn't flexing. He’s admitting a failing. The hardness comes from the refusal to apologize for it.
The Influence of 2000s Neo-Soul
We also have to give credit to the foundations. While Brent is the modern face of this, you can hear the echoes of D'Angelo and Maxwell in the vocal textures. However, where D'Angelo was deeply sensual and warm, the modern iteration is colder. It’s Neo-Soul after a long winter. It’s the evolution of a genre that has moved from the bedroom to the smartphone screen.
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How to Write Songs with This Level of Impact
If you’re a songwriter trying to capture this energy, you have to stop trying to be liked. That’s the secret. The second you try to make your protagonist "likable," you lose the edge.
- Start with a specific flaw. Don't write about "love." Write about why you forgot your anniversary because you were too busy looking at your own Instagram mentions.
- Contrast the mood. If the lyrics are dark, make the melody sweet. If the lyrics are arrogant, make the delivery hushed and private.
- Cut the fluff. Use short, declarative sentences. "I don't want you." "I'm bored." "It's my fault." These hit harder than flowery metaphors.
The goal isn't to be a "bad person." The goal is to be a real person. Real people are often contradictory. They are kind one day and cold the next. Capturing that oscillation is how you create lyrics twice as hard.
The Future of the Sound
Where does R&B go from here? We’re seeing a shift toward even more experimental textures. Look at artists like Amaarae or even the way SZA structured SOS. They are taking the "honest-to-a-fault" blueprint and adding layers of genre-bending production.
The "twice as hard" ethos is becoming the industry standard.
People don't want the fairy tale anymore. They want the truth, even if the truth makes them feel a little bit uncomfortable. They want to hear their own insecurities reflected back at them in a high-fidelity recording. As long as people continue to have complicated, messy lives, there will be a market for music that refuses to play nice.
Actionable Takeaways for Music Fans and Creators
To truly appreciate or replicate the "twice as hard" style, you need to change your lens of evaluation.
- Listen for subtext: In tracks like "Dead Man Walking," pay attention to what isn't being said. The silence between the lines is often where the real meaning lives.
- Prioritize Narrative over Rhyme: Don't get bogged down in finding the perfect rhyme scheme. Focus on the "stinging" line—the one that makes the listener pause the track.
- Study the "Anti-Hero": Watch films or read books with unlikable protagonists. Understand how they remain compelling despite their flaws. Apply that to your lyrical perspective.
Ultimately, music that hits twice as hard survives because it’s durable. It doesn't rely on trends; it relies on the permanent human condition of being a little bit broken. Whether you’re listening to Brent Faiyaz in your car at midnight or trying to pen your own masterpiece, remember that the power is in the honesty, not the artifice. Keep it raw. Keep it cold. Keep it real.