Kendrick Lamar, Migos, Nicki Minaj, Future, Rae Sremmurd: these are some of the biggest names in the contemporary rap mainstream. It's an exciting time when hip hop studies is able to engage with what's coming out of everybody's speakers, right now. Postuman Rap does so admirably, focusing on US trap rap in the moment of its mainstream explosion, and Burton hears this music reclaiming a space for those denied humanity in US society. Against a backdrop of anti-blackness, trap artists perform ‘ways of being human that exist outside of the norm’ (p. x). This is the posthumanism under discussion in the book, explored from the angle of alternative, queered expressions of human identity. Readers expecting discourse on human–technology hybridity will be somewhat disappointed, and the image of studio monitors and headphones on the book's cover is rather misleading in this regard. That said, many of the book's arguments about posthuman existence and postwork depend upon the adoption and manipulation of new technologies – consider the trapper's reliance on burner phones – even where not explicitly discussed.

The book's first full chapter is dedicated to defining posthumanism in contrast with neoliberal humanism, the dominant ideology in the USA, which ‘defines the human as one whose very existence funnels capital back to white supremacist cisheteropatriarchy’ (p. 10). The author's own politics are emphasised rhetorically here and throughout the text: this is perhaps the largest criticism that someone ultimately sympathetic to his arguments might level at Posthuman Rap. I have some concern about the emotive language Burton employs, which might overwhelm or repel the reader outside of the radical progressive target audience, the reader who is not already convinced about the ‘fuckedness’ of US politics (p. 27). The two young black men who make up ‘Rae Sremmurd, like all black bodies in the United States, are marked for death’, writes Burton (p. 117). This claim is based upon an assertion of ‘government-sponsored murder of black men and women’ (p. 117), which soon becomes abbreviated to ‘an economy of black death’ (p. 126). Burton views posthumanism through the frames of critical race theory, feminist theory, queer theory and wider cultural studies, and his acute concern for social inequity is certainly appropriate. The occasional phrase simply lacks an epistemic humility which might otherwise help the author's boldest claims be even more persuasive.

When Burton's politicised writing is connected to specific instances of rap music and criticism, his arguments really begin to hit home. For instance, the damage wreaked disproportionately upon people of colour by the American prison industrial complex is particularly well evidenced (p. 59). With the knotty work of defining posthumanism out of the way, Chapter 2 takes a brief detour to outline what trap music is not. Burton picks apart a Washington Post thinkpiece which reads traditional political values in Kendrick Lamar's To Pimp a Butterfly. We eventually get to trap's posthuman performances in Chapters 3 and 4, where Burton's analytical writing is vibrant, exciting and packed full of detailed observations on the relationships between textural layers and the voice. His precise description of trap's percussive and rhythmic norms (p. 85–7) will undoubtedly become a vital resource for analysts of modern rap music. There could have been a slightly clearer explanation of the methodological basis for his textual readings, which span lyric, music and video: Burton has a keen ear for music production, but his account of alternative flows of capital rests primarily upon the visuals of Rae Sremmurd ft. Nicki Minaj's ‘Throw Sum Mo’ music video. Although no guide to reading the tables is provided, Burton's transcriptions of track form – a display of textural layers with time shown vertically (e.g. p. 5) – and rhythmic patterns – placement of percussion in a rhythmic loop, divided into 16ths displayed horizontally (p. 87) – are extremely helpful visual layouts, in the vein of Mark Butler's or Kyle Adams's work.

The book's prose analysis in particular is so readable, the music so beautifully characterised, that I wanted more. Burton is one shrewd hustler for trap music, with some excellently chosen examples. However, we are only treated to extended analyses of four tracks (one in the introduction, Desiigner's ‘Panda’ in Chapter 3, and two Rae Sremmurd tracks in the final chapter). On the whole, Posthuman Rap is a little short (or perhaps I'm being greedy): the pinnacle of the posthuman reading is reached at the end of Chapter 4, not dwelt upon any further besides a three-page epilogue which closes the book. In an online interview with IASPM-US, Burton notes that material on Janelle Monae and Azealia Banks was included in an earlier manuscript, and while the standalone piece he developed on the latter is a great read (Burton Reference Burton2016), the book's main argument would have been richer for the inclusion of these artists. Since the focus is posthumanity performed through sonic blackness and queerness, discussion of these queer women of colour would complement the passages on cismen Kendrick, Desiigner and Rae Sremmurd. If anything, though, this serves as a recommendation for readers to explore Burton's research beyond this book.

Posthuman Rap is engaging, strikingly relevant and provocative. Chapter 2 features some extremely thought-provoking writing on racial politics, noting how journalistic readings of Kendrick Lamar strip the rapper of his radical potential through the interpretation of neoliberal values. I will recommend the chapter to students working on Kendrick without hesitation: despite his phenomenal music, the philosopher king of the rap game can be coopted to rearticulate dominant ideologies more easily than perhaps we thought, as Burton deftly demonstrates. In fact, it is this sharp insight, scattered throughout, which may be Posthuman Rap’s most significant contribution to popular music studies. Furthermore, the book challenges some of the central assumptions of writing on rap. For example, Tricia Rose (Reference Rose2008) bemoans that some newer rap thrives on producing stereotypical images of black criminality for voyeuristic consumers, thereby limiting opportunities for progressive political change across colour lines. Burton acknowledges the apparent sociopolitical inertia of the trap house scenario, but argues that the music's lively commitment to wallowing in the trap is radical precisely through its performance of continual human existence outside of mainstream US society (against all odds). Continuing to exist, loudly, despite social constraints which deny your humanity, has long been a guiding force of hip hop. Posthuman Rap ties together choice references and pertinent case studies to offer a compelling account of the political potential of never stopping the party.