Album Review: A Murder of Crows by Mick Jenkins & EMIL

In their collaborative project A Murder of Crows, Mick Jenkins’ poetic, multidisciplinary lyricism meets EMIL’s moody, UK-influenced production in a fusion that feels both understated and cinematic.

Courtesy of Mick Jenkins Inc.

Mick Jenkins has long operated in that space where poetic sensibility and sharp critique meet. He broke through in the 2010s out of the Chicago ecosystem alongside artists like Saba, Chance the Rapper, and Noname—part of a scene that prized intellectual ambition as much as street narratives. His 2014 mixtape, The Water[s], remains a statement of metaphor, a moral interrogation, and water as a symbol of truth. Over time, Jenkins has leaned more confidently into abstraction, concept, and layered meaning. Albums like Pieces of a Man and, more recently, The Patience have shown him refining his economy in his bars, adding melodic and emotional range, while still maintaining a cerebral core. Importantly, Jenkins has also pushed toward more independence in the last few years, reclaiming control over how and where he distributes music and experimenting with nontraditional rollout strategies. (His type shit EP dropped on the platform EVEN, which suggests he’s actively exploring alternate economic paths.)

In contrast, EMIL is relatively new to wider recognition, but it has a distinct voice worth watching. He’s a multi-instrumentalist and self-taught producer out of Southeast London, drawing inspiration from sonic spaces like Soulection, IAMNOBODI, and KAYTRANADA. His production style blends subtle space, sample-forward textures, jazz inflection, and cinematic ambition. In interviews, he has talked about crafting beats from loops, slicing transients, using textures and Foley-like kits, and being drawn to BPM ranges from ~124 to 160. Because he’s younger in his public arc, EMIL still presents as the complementary half of the collaboration; someone less burdened by legacy, freer to stretch in sound, and potentially a rising name that Jenkins’ gravitas helps amplify.

In their collaborative project A Murder of Crows, Jenkins and EMIL construct a riveting 11-track tour through ambition, accountability, strength, and reflection. Jenkins’ poetic, multidisciplinary lyricism meets EMIL’s moody, UK-influenced production in a fusion that feels both understated and cinematic. The focus here is squarely on music and message—no extraneous skits or flashy gimmicks—and the duo’s neutral yet incisive approach cuts deep without ever raising its voice. This is a record that demands close attention because this album is richly layered and thought-provoking, yet accessible in its smooth, head-nodding confidence.

The album opens on an introspective note with “Dream Catchers,” where Jenkins immediately sets the tone of candid self-examination and ambition. Over a laid-back, jazzy beat that feels both dreamy and intentional, he reflects on a strained friendship and even owns up to his side of the fallout: “...our connection was lost, and who accountable, I could say it was me.” In the next breath, he delivers wry social commentary, noting that “ain’t no barrels of gold gon’ go with you when you die in them pyramid schemes”—a sharp takedown of materialistic hustle culture that lands gently thanks to Jenkins’ calm, spoken-word cadence. EMIL’s production here is soulful and subdued (warm vibraphone-like keys, subtle bass), giving these philosophical musings plenty of space to breathe. It’s a reflective, almost ethereal start that immediately pulls the listener into Jenkins’ headspace.

That introspective mood deepens on “Words I Should’ve Said,” a duet that finds Jenkins swapping verses with British rapper ENNY. The track’s moody, string-laced production (plucked melodies over staccato piano chords) sets a contemplative stage for the two MCs to unpack regret and communication breakdowns. Both approach the topic with raw honesty. “Every single should’ve, would’ve, could’ve—hindsight really make a nigga shudder,” ENNY admits in her verse, encapsulating the weight of all the unsaid words between them. Jenkins is equally vulnerable, acknowledging his own failures without melodrama and exploring how pride and distance have corroded a relationship. Their exchange is tense yet intimate—a back-and-forth of unspoken feelings finally voiced—and EMIL’s polished, melancholy score underscores that drama without ever overpowering the vocals. By the end of the song, the silence between the lines says as much as the verses do, hammering home the album’s theme of accountability in personal connections.

A brief “Eating Crow” interlude (aptly titled after the idiom for swallowing one’s pride) gives the listener a breather before Jenkins pivots from inward reflection to outward critique. On “Workers’ Comp,” he sharpens his focus toward those who claim rewards without putting in the work. “Niggas be entitled, where do that shit come from? Whole time you ain’t done nothin’,” he scoffs, cutting down delusions of grandeur with a battle-tested weariness. He then delivers a cold dose of reality: “What you mean you need a meal ticket? We only serve just desserts,” a punchline that lands like a stern lecture. Jenkins’ delivery is cutting but controlled, riding atop EMIL’s mellow, jazz-infused hip-hop beat that carries a sense of steady momentum. The instrumental features smooth keys and subtle horns over laid-back drums, aligning with the song’s theme of slow, honest work versus instant gratification. The subtlety of the production makes Jenkins’ scathing lines hit even harder; he doesn’t need to shout to get his point across.

Though the former addresses grind-culture delusions, “Pundits (YAPPERS)” takes aim at the chatterboxes and armchair experts. Jenkins wastes no breath on idle talkers: “Talkin’ like he know me but he don’t/Talkin’ like we homies but we ain’t,” he deadpans to start, before cutting deeper with, “Talkin’ ‘bout the game, never played the game/Seen it from the side, shit is not the same.” His frustration simmers just beneath the surface, never boiling over into anger—it doesn’t need to. EMIL lays down a fittingly laid-back yet faintly ominous groove, layering lush but eerie jazz samples over a warm, head-nodding bassline. The drum pattern is smooth but punchy, creating a hypnotic loop that lets Jenkins sound unbothered even as he dismantles his critics line by line. The mood here is a hallmark of the album’s tone: moody and introspective rather than explosively angry. Jenkins even sneaks in a clever nod to the album’s title within his bars (declaring that he’s got “crows with me” so “that’s a murder” in one witty aside), cementing the idea of strength in unity amid all the noise.

From here, A Murder of Crows continues to strike a balance between critique and personal resolve. “DeadStock” is Jenkins’ commentary on stagnation in the digital age—a world where people pose online but never truly live offline. “Then I be online and it’s not the same… ain’t been outside, man, these niggas dead stock for real,” he remarks, using the sneakerhead term “dead stock” (unworn, untouched goods) as a biting metaphor for humans stuck in virtual limbo. The cleverness of the wordplay doesn’t blunt its truth: he’s calling out how clout-chasing and isolation have left many people spiritually idle. EMIL’s production mirrors the somber, reflective mood with a warm yet melancholic tone. Gentle electric piano chords, lo-fi drum textures, and a slightly muted horn here or there give a hazy, late-night feel. The beat stays steady and unflashy, which only amplifies the gravity in Jenkins’ voice as he doubles down on the importance of real-world authenticity over performative online existence.

Even when flexing his lyricism on a concept track like “on VHS,” Jenkins stays thematically grounded. The song is rife with film imagery and analog nostalgia, as Jenkins likens his art to an old-school cinematic experience. “Look, when you spit and movin’ pictures they can’t stop motion,” he boasts, implying his creative momentum is unstoppable. In the same verse, he quips, “Funny when you making stock from chicken, how the plot thickens,” tying a cooking metaphor into a punchline about building something from scraps. These lines exemplify Jenkins’ multidisciplinary reference points—one moment he’s invoking animation techniques, the next he’s flipping a culinary idiom—and they invite the listener to unpack multiple layers of meaning. EMIL backs the wordplay with dusty percussion and subtle, cinematic flourishes that indeed recall a vintage VHS vibe. There’s a hint of graininess in the sound and a laid-back tempo that lets each punchline land before the next rolls in. It’s a brief track that serves as both a lyrical showcase and a reinforcement of the album’s reflective atmosphere.

After so much introspection, “Move” injects a gentle push of optimism and momentum. The song plays like a quiet rallying cry for progress. Jenkins admires a companion’s resilience in one breath—noting that she breaks the rules of a hostile environment “simply / existing in [her] magnificence”—and then turns that encouragement on himself. “We gotta move, we can’t be sitting still, we got a mission still,” he repeats over the hook like a personal mantra. His tone remains calm, but the resolve in his words is unmistakable. Fittingly, the production lifts slightly here: EMIL blends a subtle neo-soul groove into the mix, with smooth bass lines and airy background vocals that conjure a sense of forward motion. The beat still stays far from bombastic—A Murder of Crows never abruptly shifts into bangers—yet “Move” stands out for its undercurrent of hope. It’s as if the clouds of the earlier tracks part just enough to let a bit of sunlight through, symbolizing the resilience and determination to keep progressing.

Whereas “Shining” rolls around, the album seems to exhale a bit, allowing itself a moment of earned celebration. This track is a mellow, confident ode to self-worth, as Jenkins basks in a glow that he’s clearly fought for. He piles on creative similes to illustrate how uncontainable his light is: “Shining like you told the truth and that shit set you free,” he proclaims, linking honesty to liberation. There’s playful pride in his delivery when he flips haters’ negativity into fuel, quipping about all the “sodium” (salt) being thrown as he stands on podiums winning. EMIL’s production remains lush and low-key behind him—a bed of shimmering keys, chill bass, and reverb-kissed vocal samples that give this a dreamy, late-night vibe. The beat never intrudes on the vocals; it simply cradles Jenkins’ smooth flow as he and his circle “keep shining through the shade.” The song’s beauty lies in that calm, unbothered confidence—it feels less like bragging and more like reaffirmation that staying true to oneself will eventually radiate outward.

That calm triumph shifts into a more aggressive gear on “Coco Gauff,” one of the album’s boldest moments. Jenkins’ pen is at its most acrobatic, firing off dense wordplay and cultural references as swiftly as a tennis champion’s serve. He references everything from social media apps to fraternity hazing to George Orwell, challenging anyone who doubts his skills. “Niggas feeling froggy, you might get dissected,” he warns jokers, a threat wrapped in a biology-class metaphor that reflects his penchant for clever, cutting humor. In the next breath, he questions music industry leeches: “Thought if I just took my shit off streaming then Spotify get they hands out my pocket,” Jenkins muses, hinting at his independent mindset amid the streaming era’s inequities. EMIL responds with perhaps the most hard-hitting beat on the record—still moody in its dark, minor-key tones, but powered by a taut drum pattern that pushes Jenkins into a more urgent flow. If there’s a point on this album that might overwhelm a casual listener, it’s “Coco Gauff,” simply because Jenkins packs so much into his bars that a rewind feels necessary. Yet that intensity is also what makes the track exhilarating. It’s a bracing jolt of energy near the album that reflects and showcases the elasticity of lyrical showmanship.

For all its measured tone, A Murder of Crows ends on an uplifting note with “Bigger Than Ever.” Over EMIL’s smooth, layered production—a sophisticated blend of jazzy keys, subtle horns, and a steady boom-bap undercurrent—Jenkins and singer Kaylan Arnold deliver a finale that is equal parts reflective and triumphant. Arnold’s hook swells gently, repeating “bigger… bigger than ever” in a soulful refrain that sets a mantra of growth. Jenkins corroborates that theme with some of his most inspiring bars. He recounts making the most of limited means—“We took the paper, made kites... we took them kites and rolled joints, now we got pearls with no clams”—illustrating how creativity and hustle turned humble beginnings into something precious. He stresses perspective over pride (“my perspective’s no Hubble… can’t telescope your lens… we usually do bigger frames,” he notes, ever the poet) and ultimately leaves the listener with a quiet promise: “we goin’ big either way.” It’s a subtle, emotionally resonant closer that ties together the album’s themes of ambition and flexibility, all while maintaining the project’s chilled, jazz-inflected sonic cohesion.

It’s worth noting that A Murder of Crows’ unwavering commitment to its mood and density is a double-edged sword. On one hand, the cohesive, downbeat palette (with its smoky jazz loops and nocturnal vibes) can make the 11 tracks flow together a bit too seamlessly; first-time audiences might not catch every subtle shift in tone. Likewise, Jenkins’s wordplay and layered metaphors demand attentive listening; otherwise, key nuances might slip under the radar. But these are minor quibbles for a project that clearly wants you to lean in. The consistency becomes a virtue on repeat listens. EMIL’s subtle production flourishes start to stand out, and Jenkins’ lines reveal double meanings you might have missed initially. This album doesn’t spoon-feed its rewards, but it makes you work a little, just as Jenkins has, and it’s all the more satisfying for it.

Great (★★★★☆)

Favorite Tracks: “Dream Catchers,” “Shining,” “Bigger Than Ever”