Content Warning
This page contains the unedited version of the Sanguine cover art. Proceed at your own risk.
It follows Black, and the depression doesn't lift. It mutates. What was numb turns volatile, and the album lives in that red-phase state: heat, pressure, and confrontation. Across six tracks, Sanguine comes out sharper and louder, like Jinx is done narrating the pain and ready to weaponize it. From "Sollomon" onward, the writing is direct and aggressive, but not random. It's focused, purposeful anger, the kind that shows up when you've been carrying something too long and your body finally decides it's going to speak for you.
This record doesn't feel like someone "acting hard." It feels like someone finally admitting they're furious, and refusing to translate it into something polite. The energy is confrontational, but it's also controlled, like every bar is meant to land exactly where it lands. Sanguine is the blood-red middle of the trilogy, the part where the story stops drifting and starts fighting back.
By the time it reaches the closer, "War," the album becomes a dramatic, full-body exhale. Not a victory lap, more like a final escalation. A statement that whatever's happening inside him is no longer quiet, and it's not going back in the box.
Even the visuals match the era: the original Sanguine cover art was banned from streaming services, but it lives here in its uncut form, the way it was meant to be seen.
As the first entry in the trilogy, Black is raw, direct, and haunting in the way it sticks to you after it's over. It lays the emotional groundwork that carries through, setting the stakes early: the Book of Colors isn't a concept album trilogy in the cute way people use that phrase. It's a personal record of survival, written from the inside. The trilogy concludes with Gold, where everything finally comes to rest.
