Marlon Craft, the Hip-Hop Artist Learning How to Be His Authentic Self
A deep dive into “SPACE 2," a new and remarkably honest EP
You are reading The Mandate / Hot takes on topics that men don’t like to talk about / Written by LA-Based Writer, Cultural Strategist, and Olympic Medalist Jason Rogers
The word “soft” rarely appears in rap lyrics unless it’s a pejorative hurled at a musical foe. However, it often does on the new EP SPACE 2 by the NYC-based artist Marlon Craft. The fifth song, which is also titled “Soft,” renounces the kind of exterior toughness that typifies the hip-hop arena. But, fundamentally, it’s about Craft’s ability to realign himself (finally!) with the real person that lives beneath the image he’s projected to the world.
I first came across Craft the way many people discover new music these days — on a Spotify playlist. His 2020 single “Mom’s Whiskey1” drew me in with its slick, guitar-led melody and slow, sonorous beat. Craft’s voice is deep and resonant, and he raps (and sometimes sings) in what you might call a New York slur. His words are squashed and slung from the corner of his mouth in a manner that lends a hard edge to the most benign, everyday phrase.
Musically, “Mom’s Whiskey” was right up my alley. I’ve long been drawn to jazz-influenced artists dating back to A Tribe Called Quest to more modern examples like Saba, Anderson .Paak, and Kota the Friend (who accompanies Craft on that track). But I was most impressed by Craft’s lyrics. All rappers comment on themselves in some capacity, but Craft seemed preternaturally self-aware. One bar from the first verse goes: “I've been actin' like my dirty laundry isn't dirty if I fold it right.” He stuck me as a guy you’d want to grab a beer with. Or whiskey, at that.
That’s why I was surprised that I found it difficult to relate to some of his older work. Those mixtapes, albums, and singles somehow lacked that same instinct toward self-reflection. The music felt mimetic of the kinds of rappers who claim their greatness ad nauseam over hard-driving beats. (This would make much more sense after listening to SPACE 2, but more on that later). But as I progressed forward in his backlog, Craft began to draw me with later work. The 2021 EP SPACE (the precursor to SPACE 2) contained honest, revelatory lyrics. Still, I got a sense that Craft was yearning to express something, to unburden himself somehow. And despite his eloquence, he could not yet find the right words.
And so, if Craft’s discography is a long arc toward vulnerability, SPACE 2 is the culmination. It recounts the most fundamental aspect of his journey: the rediscovery of his true self. Many tracks wrestle with a core tension most men face. Society tells them they must hide their emotions, and they must fight — with themselves, with others, with cultural morés — to tell the truth. On this EP, Craft does that. He tells the truth in spades.
Craft’s honesty and deeply emotional themes have not gone unnoticed. In an Instagram post announcing the release, Craft wrote: “I thought it would just be for a small audience who needed it - who deeply related to the vulnerability and struggles wit [sic] anxiety and all my mental health.” He goes on to say that, even though it had only minimal promotion, it’s his widest-reaching streaming project to date. In that post and others, his fans shower him with praise. One man writes about his inspiration “to find a therapist.” Another calls Craft “the unicorn of the hip-hop scene.”
I’m no music critic, but I found the storytelling and artistry in this album moving. And so I thought I’d try to dive into SPACE 2 and unpack Craft’s journey by track by track.
Track 1 — “I Still Don’t Cry”
SPACE 2 begins with “I Still Don’t Cry2,” which paints a picture of an artist who senses a hole in his life that he can’t quite fill. He feels things deeply, but those feelings are somehow stifled. He can’t cry, and thus can’t experience any true release. The chorus goes:
I still don't cry enough
I still be tryin’ be tough
I still tell lies too much to the mirror
I don't look me in the eyes enough
I still fear dying too much
I still don't cry
I still don’t cry
Lord knows I try
I still don't cry
The music video for this track underscores this message in that it juxtaposes close-up shots of Craft, who raps dry-eyed, against vignettes of other men slowly weeping. There’s a sense of longing in the video. However, Craft’s expression displays no less pain than the other men, but it’s clear that pain is stuck inside him. The rigid shell he’s created around himself has calcified into a way of being that, try as he might, he cannot break through.
Track 2 — “Young Man”
The second song, titled “Young Man3,” builds on the theme of emotional subversion. Craft speaks to the tension he’s feeling about his chosen profession. He’s achieved a lot in hip hop, but he’s not yet arrived. He still wants what he came for, but he’s worried about the toll it will take on his “mind” and “soul.”
I just wanna leave here with what's mine
I just wanna leave here with my mind
Wouldn't mind my soul too
Did what I was supposed to
Or at least I thought so
He’s discovering that the rules of the game he thought were true are probably leading him astray. Later in the song, he comments more specifically on his behavior and beliefs:
I run away from peace to survive, that's how I'm wired now, yeah
And
Always let me believe I need to be elite to shine
That my life wouldn't mean shit without some genius prime.
That is, he’s been playing status games for most of his life. And although he’s now starting excel at those games, something’s not right. In the post-chorus of the song, Craft alights on lyrics that will serve as a kind of personal directive for the rest of the EP.
Say what you mean, young man (Young man)
Say what you mean, young man (Young man)
Say what you mean, young man
Make me believe, young man (Young man)
He’s urging himself to no longer layer his words with mistruths.
Track 3 — “Window Cracked”
After tracks one and two, Craft has identified the core problem. He wants a different kind of life but continues hiding something. There’s a veneer he still wants to uphold. The third song, “Window Cracked4,” speaks directly to this overarching sense of ambivalence.
Even with new ideas percolating about a possible new state of being, he’s still entrenched in the misery of the past. Craft has swallowed too much toxic stuff that’s bubbling in his belly and slowly consuming him. His instinct is to isolate himself, which he can sense is the wrong reaction, but he doesn’t know what else to do.
Can't even sit alone and chill now
Am I even equipped to know what's real now?
When I'm alone, I want my friends
When I'm with friends, I want alone
Then he puts his finger on the core reason he’s holding back. It’s not like he’s never tried to work on himself. (We will later learn that he’s been in therapy since he was 10). But he’s never really committed to change because he didn’t truly value himself or that kind of growth.
Spent some time workin' on me, but I'm not splurging
It used to be because I probably thought I was not worthy
Now the habit's so ingrained, it's just all blurry
Yeah, I don't want or need attachment
Guess that's why I always gotta leave the window cracked and
Just let a draft in
But I ain't jumpin' out until I know where I land and I don't got a plan
Fundamentally, he wants to move forward, but he’s also hedging (hence the cracked window metaphor). He’s afraid of the unknown and, undoubtedly, what others will think if he jumps.
Track 4 — “Dear Life”
The fourth track, “Dear Life,5” is a forward-moving meditation on that same fear. Craft begins to examine more explicitly the drawbacks of remaining how he is and urges himself to move ahead.
What do I do when the plan fade?
Who are you really behind all this campaignin'
All this hand shakin', all this damn fakin'?
Show me some damn faith
And trust me with who you are
And later
What good's bein' right if the left hand weak?
Why they never just let man speak?
At this point, he seems to grasp the benefits of changing. But he also worries that he’s waited too long, a fear reflected in the chorus.
I'm just tryna hold on for dear life
I've been fightin' so long, it feel like
I've been writin' my song, my real life
Dear life, dear life
If you readin' this, hope it ain't too late for me
Just before the bridge, Craft plays back a voicemail from his grandmother, which is so sweet it almost hurts. She’s calling to check in because she knows he was feeling low the day before. She says that she, too, wasn’t feeling well because there's a “bug going around.” It’s clear that his grandma is a kind of emotional light for him, someone who’s helping him return to himself. Here’s a lovely clip of Craft playing this song for his Gma for the first time.
Later, in the bridge, Craft repurposes her verbiage, turning a “bug goin’ ‘roud” as a metaphor for the eternal human condition of trying to meet the expectations of others.
Track 5 — “Soft”
Then we arrive at the aforementioned track, “Soft6.” I think this is the album's crux because it’s the moment when Craft steps into a new persona that casts off the veneer of toughness, allowing a softer side surface. This is brought into sharp relief in the chorus.
They told me don't be soft, you should play your part
What's it really mean, really mean to have heart?
Just be really mean, low esteem, keep your thoughts to yourself
What they sell, but I'm tired of bein' hard
These lyrics reminded me of a quote I included in my article about the Belgian film Close. On why young boys distance themselves from their cherished friendships, the filmmaker Lukas Dhont said, “the desire for hardness corrupts the soft.”
It’s the same here for Craft. The hip-hop industry — and the world at large — sold him a bad bill of goods. They told him he had to be a certain way to command respect and excel. He will lay this out more explicitly in the next song, but he’s laying claim to his path forward: becoming his authentic self.
I grinded for whoever was my target demographic
That's why it's takin' me so long to truly draw my inner atlas
But I done made the map now (Oh, oh)
The truest me ain't gonna play the background (No, no)
Track 6 — “Human First”
The sixth and final track, “Human First7,” serves as a functional manifesto. The chorus outlines his intentions to do exactly what the song’s name suggests:
I been healin' since before I knew I was hurt
I been feelin' deeply since before I knew the perks
Short-changin' myself since before I knew my worth
But now I'm puttin' bein' human first
Craft has decided that no matter the consequences, he will shave away the hard edges and expose his most genuine parts to the world. He digs deeper into why and how he was led astray before by the men around him.
Try not to now, but I got this New York pride in me
Got older, realized most my OGs lied to me
Well, they ain't liеd to me, they lied to thеmselves
The truth is with me, they was probably tryin' to help
Or they just lived a certain story they was tryin' to tell
Tryin' validate their trauma, so they put it on another
Like how whiskey ain't all I stole from my—
Yep, that last line referenced “Mom’s Whiskey” in which he examines his relationship with alcohol. Later (in “Human First), Craft touches on this theme again, wondering why he romanticizes drinking and where the line is between “habit and addiction.”
This is a crucial cord to strike, I think, because it reflects the overall message of the song. He’s putting being human first, but he’s also not perfect. It’s always a struggle to change things that have become ingrained. But we must constantly strive for growth, even if it sometimes eludes us. Craft is trying to do that day by day.
Tryna balance findin' peace with the hunger to show 'em, though
Yeah, water choppy, so I row it slow
Thin line between obsessive and focused, though
Lotta days I walk it on the side where I ain't supposed to go
Tryna move fast, but minds always open slow
The best that I could do is just show the growth, yeah
I love that notion of rowing it slow. Even in my best moments, there’s always this urge to get things done faster. But it always takes time, immeasurable time.
However imperfect, Craft’s methods are working. He later raps that, these days, he likes the guy he sees in the mirror. He’s in couples therapy now. He’s finally internalized that he “don’t gotta be like you.”
The album ends with another moment between Craft and his unforgettable grandma. The two are in conversation after having listened, presumably, the entirety of SPACE 2. She says, “There's a sense of security in it. Like…I don't have to make it before you leave.” Craft agrees with her in a thoughtful, solemn way. “Yeah, that's where I feel like I'm at now. And I've been tryin' to, like, be in that.”
Fun fact about this track. “Mom’s Whiskey” is his most successful single, notching, to date, over 10 million streams. As the title suggests, the song is about staying up late drinking pilfered liquor from his mom’s cabinet. After the song took off, Craft launched a limited edition spirit brand with the banging tagline: “Stolen from Mom.”
More Lyrics from “I Still Don’t Cry”
More lyrics from “Window Cracked”
More lyrics from “Human First”