They Can’t Kill Us Until They Kill Us – Hanif Abdurraqib
Hanif Abdurraqib has a gift for weaving together personal narrative, music criticism and cultural commentary in a way that feels both intimate and expansive. His first essay collection, “They Can’t Kill Us Until They Kill Us,” published in 2017, captures a moment in time when hope and disillusionment coexisted uneasily — a time that, in retrospect, almost seems naive.
Having devoured his follow-up “A Little Devil in America” in 2022 while lounging poolside, I purposely selected Abdurraqib’s earlier work to accompany me on yet another tropical vacation (yes, my idea of “beach read” is not the same as most people). While this collection lacks some of the refinement and critical depth of his later writing, it was still a deeply felt meditation on belonging.
Each essay is a snapshot — often framed by a concert, a song or a specific artist — with the structural throughline being short interludes centered on Marvin Gaye’s 1983 Super Bowl performance of the national anthem. This added an almost poetic layer of reflection, grounding the collection in the long arc of Black artistry.
But what stands out most is Abdurraqib’s ability to make the personal universal. He invites us into his experiences as a Black man in America, a Midwesterner, a Muslim and a lifelong lover of music and its subcultures. There are probably few readers who check all those boxes, but I would venture to guess everyone who reads “They” would find something to connect with.
Race, identity and cultural assimilation are present throughout, but never in a way that feels like a lecture. Instead, they are seamlessly integrated into his storytelling, allowing the reader to engage with these themes without shame.
Some essays, nearly a decade later, feel like relics — snapshots of fleeting cultural moments that have either evolved or faded from relevance. Others remain strikingly resonant. “A Night in Bruce Springsteen’s America” dissects the myth of the working-class hero with humor and precision, while “The Night Prince Walked on Water” perfectly captures the magic and legacy of Prince’s legendary Super Bowl halftime performance.
In “Fall Out Boy Forever,” my favorite of the collection, Abdurraqib blends pop culture nostalgia with deeper reflections on grief, death and feeling like an outsider. It’s a testament to his skill that an essay about this better-than-average band made me cry.
Similarly, “The White Rapper Joke” takes what could have been a simple retrospective on mid-2000s hip-hop and turns it into a sharp, necessary discussion of appropriation versus appreciation (side note: when was the last time you thought about Asher Roth?)
There’s an undeniable charm in Abdurraqib’s unabashed fandom. His love for Carly Rae Jepsen, his incisive takedown of The Weeknd and his reflections on emo-pop bands like Cute Is What We Aim For all reveal a writer unafraid to call out mediocrity but equally willing to celebrate joy where he finds it.
His essay “Johnny Cash Never Shot a Man in Reno” — another standout — exemplifies his ability to probe the myths we tell ourselves about musicians and the personas they create. Here, as in much of the collection, he asks readers to think critically about the art and artists they consume, yet never comes across as preachy.
However, “They” is not without its flaws. Some essays feel overly long, and the collection as a whole can be repetitive — likely a result of many pieces being originally published as standalones before being compiled into a book.
Certain connections feel clunky, and while Abdurraqib excels at blending personal reflection with broader cultural commentary, he does this with more precision and confidence in “Devil.” At times, a few essays verge on self-importance, though this is balanced by his genuine curiosity and willingness to engage with things he doesn’t know or understand.
Ultimately, this collection serves as both a time capsule and a stepping stone in Abdurraqib’s evolution as a writer. It lacks the full polish of his later work, but the rawness and energy make it an essential read for those who appreciate music, culture and the ever-shifting landscape of America.
Reading it now, knowing that the “we will overcome” optimism of 2017 has largely faded into deeper disillusionment, adds another layer of poignancy. If only we could go back to when 2016 seemed like the worst year imaginable.
Rating (story): 4/5 stars
Rating (narration): N/A
Format: eBook (library loan)
Dates read: February 21 – February 27, 2025
Multi-tasking: N/A
