Album Review: The Last Great American Summer by Reggie Becton
Reggie Becton has crafted an album about fear, fire, and freedom that sounds like catharsis—The Last Great American Summer feels like a turning point for the rising R&B singer-songwriter.
After cultivating a “SadBoy” persona through his earlier, moonlit projects, Reggie Becton has decisively stepped out of the shadows and into the sun. The Last Great American Summer feels like a turning point for the rising R&B singer-songwriter. Where songs on 2021’s SadBoy Vol. II wallowed in introspective late-night R&B (he even earned the nickname “Sad Boy”), this 10-track LP sheds those darker tones and embraces something brighter, sharper, and more expansive. It’s a musical reinvention that doubles as a personal renewal—an audible diary of Becton finding freedom and entering a new chapter of life with clarity, fire, and purpose.
Becton’s perspective on happiness and self-discovery has clearly evolved now that he’s entering his 30s. Not long ago, he was writing wrenching breakup ballads like “Call” and “Leaves” and confessing his loneliness; today, he speaks about identity and growth with a newfound conviction. In interviews, specifically Def Pen, he’s described going through an identity crisis around turning 30—realizing he’d spent years living for others and deciding “I want to live it for myself, and live it on my terms.”That sharpened sense of self bleeds into the music. On the rousing single “Die Young,” Becton points out, “Can’t be afraid to step out/Won’t find myself in this house,” determined not to let fear confine him. Even when he sings about mortality—“We might die young, only live for…ever” goes the hook—it comes off not as fatalism but as a carpe diem rallying cry. There’s a perceptible lightness in his voice here, a hard-won optimism replacing the melancholia of his 20s.
Three concepts anchor The Last Great American Summer’s narrative arc—fear, fire, and freedom—and each one left its mark on Becton’s songwriting. In Becton’s own view, “fear” is the metaphorical cage he had to escape, the stifling need for outside validation that once made him wear a mask to please others. “Fire,” by contrast, represents passion—being alive, the crackling energy he felt building inside as he created this album. And “freedom” is the promised land on the other side of that cage: the sense of self liberated from fear that Becton is striving toward. He even frames his career in these stages: SadBoy was the fear stage, The Last Great American Summer is the fire stage, and whatever comes next, he hopes, will deliver freedom. It’s an apt framework for an album that often plays like a chronicle of breaking chains and embracing the heat of new possibilities.
Those themes come through vividly in the songs, each concept finding its voice on a different highlight. The notion of fear, especially the fear of wasting one’s life or conforming to others’ expectations, is confronted head-on in “Die Young,” where Becton quits his dead-end 9-to-5 and sings about “living someone else’s life” at the cost of his own years. Rather than succumb to that fear, he chooses to live boldly, and the song’s exuberant, party-ready chorus (blending R&B melodies with a rock edge) immortalizes that decision. The idea of fire—the burning hunger to experience life—fuels tracks like the uptempo “If I?,” a devil-may-care summer anthem in which Becton owns up to chasing “a good vibe” with zero regrets. Over guitar-laced production and a thumping beat, he toasts wild nights and short-lived joys, accepting that “sometimes it’s short-sighted” but relishing the moment anyway. And in the finale, “R!OT,” Becton turns to freedom, posing a provocative question in the hook: “‘Cause if you lost everything you love/Would you be quiet or would you riot?” It’s a stirring closing statement that urges living life on one’s own terms—raising your voice, even causing a riot, rather than silently losing yourself. You sense that Becton has not only set his old fears ablaze, but is already peering beyond the flames toward true freedom.
This evolution in mindset is matched by an expansion of Becton’s sound. He’s opened his sonic world to trusted collaborators, and their contributions enrich the album’s palette. On “FAKE,” a sleek mid-tempo cut that calls out inauthentic love, rapper D Smoke delivers a sharp, introspective guest verse that adds grit and perspective to Becton’s soulful lament. The contrast between Becton’s airy vocals and D Smoke’s rapid-fire rhymes gives the track extra depth, underscoring the realness Becton craves amid the fakery. Meanwhile, “Simple” recruits singer-songwriter Tiara Thomas for a slow-burning duet about keeping a good thing uncomplicated. Thomas’s honeyed voice intertwines with Becton’s in delicate harmonies, bringing a soft grace to the song. By inviting an R&B veteran like Tiara (a Grammy-winning writer) into his world, Becton gains a complementary female perspective and a touch of classic soul elegance. Both features feel organic, serving the songs rather than stealing the spotlight, and they highlight Becton’s growing confidence in blending styles.
Perhaps the most striking change on The Last Great American Summer is the album’s guitar-driven, subtly rock-tinged production, which imbues Becton’s R&B foundation with a newfound vibrance. The very first track, “Purple Rain OG,” telegraphs its Prince inspiration in the title alone, and it sets the tone with a steady drumbeat and “subtle guitar riffs [that] add warmth and a touch of nostalgia” to the hazy, late-summer atmosphere. There’s a woozy, lovestruck energy to the song—Becton croons about an addictive kind of love (or perhaps a figurative purple haze) over shimmering chords—and that guitar undercurrent hints at the rock influences he folds into the record.
Throughout the album, Becton and his chief producer (Jordan “JV” Jefferson) balance modern R&B textures with live-band instrumentation: crisp percussion, soulful keys, and especially guitars that range from mellow strums to wailing riffs. The single “Die Young” is a prime example, riding an upbeat groove and distorted guitar accents that wouldn’t feel out of place on a Miguel or even early Kanye track—fitting, since Becton cites Kanye West and Miguel as influences on that song’s genre-blurring sound. By the time you reach “R!OT,” with its anthemic chorus and hint of rock rebellion, it’s clear this isn’t the same velvety R&B playground of Becton’s past, but a bigger and bolder landscape. The arrangements still prioritize groove and melody, but the added edge, the squeal of an electric guitar here, the stadium-worthy drum fill there, gives the listener a fresh adrenaline rush. It’s as if Becton dragged his music out into the daylight, letting it soak up the summer heat.
Another refreshing choice is the album’s brevity and focus. Becton opts for just 10 concise songs, each earning its place. This tight list makes the 30-minute expedition breeze by, inviting instant replays rather than exhausting with unworthy songs. That decision was quite intentional, where Becton has mentioned studying classic albums known for their “get in and get out” impact, and he recorded over 30 songs only to whittle the final cut down to the strongest 10; a cohesive narrative that hits its emotional beats without a wasted moment. The Last Great American Summer ultimately lives up to its title: it’s a vibrant, self-assured collection of songs that bottle the feeling of a decisive summer in an artist’s life. Reggie Becton has crafted an album about fear, fire, and freedom that sounds like catharsis—a sunny, guitar-kissed rejoinder to the darkness he used to dwell in. By keeping the tracklist trim and the quality high, he ensures each song leaves an impression, from the Prince-referencing opener to the reflective finale. Most importantly, Becton sings throughout with the conviction of someone who’s found his voice and isn’t afraid to use it.
Great (★★★★☆)
Favorite Track(s): “Die Young,” “Simple,” “R!OT”