One Album, Infinite Replays: How $uicideboy$ Hijacked My Entire Year

I guess Thy Will Be Done by $uicideboy$ is just going to be the only album I listen to all year.

Not planned.

Not curated.

Not some intentional aesthetic rebrand.

Just me accidentally emotionally relocating into one album like a squatter who found electricity and refuses to leave.

Why am I like this.

Every year I promise myself range.

New genres.

Fresh artists.

Rotation.

And then something drops that crawls into my nervous system and suddenly everything else sounds like background music at a dentist office.

This record did that.

And the funniest part is watching people argue about how parts of the production leaned into AI-assisted sampling and sound generation like it’s some catastrophic moral collapse in music.

Meanwhile, the rest of us are just pressing replay.

Because here’s the thing nobody wants to say out loud.

Good music doesn’t care where it comes from.

Write that down somewhere permanent.

Music has always evolved through new tools.

Tape machines were controversial.

Electric guitars were controversial.

Drum machines were controversial.

Autotune was controversial.

Sampling was controversial.

Now AI shows up and suddenly everyone’s acting like art has been replaced by robots.

No.

Artists are still making decisions.

Still choosing what hits.

Still shaping emotion.

Still bleeding into the work.

Technology didn’t remove soul from music.

It just gave artists new brushes.

And if $uicideboy$ wants to use every tool available to push their sound further into chaos, atmosphere, and raw emotion, that’s not selling out.

That’s evolution.

Meanwhile, the lawsuits keep piling up around them like bonus promotional material nobody ordered.

And honestly, the timing couldn’t be better.

Because nothing complements themes of pressure, paranoia, and grinding through resistance like actual legal paperwork flying around in real time.

The Bloodsweat energy hits different when the industry actually shows up swinging.

You can’t write music about surviving systems and then get mad when the system notices you.

At this point, I’m not even stressed about it.

I’m entertained.

I genuinely hope they get served papers on the Grammy stage.

Imagine it.

Lights blazing.

Camera sweeping.

Category announcement echoing through the room.

And right as they walk toward the mic, some poor courier appears from stage left holding an envelope like the final plot twist of the night.

History sealed forever in meme culture.

Because controversy has always followed artists who disrupt comfort zones.

And disruption has always been confused with danger by people who prefer safe playlists.

But strip all the chaos away and the truth is simple.

The album connected.

With a lot of people.

In a way that’s hard to fake and impossible to manufacture.

Because nobody listens to a record on repeat for months just because of production tricks or controversy.

They listen because something in it feels honest.

Even when it’s dark.

Even when it’s messy.

Even when it’s uncomfortable.

Especially then.

And that’s why, despite my best intentions, I’ll probably still be listening to this record in December while pretending I’m about to switch things up.

Because once music hits that nerve, logic stops mattering.

Algorithms stop mattering.

Debates stop mattering.

You just hit play again.

And honestly, in a year where everything feels loud, chaotic, and exhausting, finding one album that sticks feels less like obsession and more like survival.

So yeah.

Here we are.

Another year.

Another accidental one-album residency.

Another reminder that good music doesn’t ask permission before it lives rent-free in your head.

And apparently, I’m fine with that.