Reviewed by: Michael McKinney
Score: 7.5/10
XXX, Danny Brown’s breakout mixtape, was notable for several reasons: its janky and relentless production; its split-record nature, giving equal time to the party and the bad trip; its no-holds-barred approach to lyricism, tackling oral sex, alcoholism, and scrap-metal robberies with equal honesty and straightforwardness. But the thing that stands out the most upon repeated listens is its permeating nihilism: he openly courts death on t¬he tracks that bookend the mixtape and, elsewhere, parties to the point where it’s a problem rather than a pastime. It’s a bleak release, one that immediately caught fire and kickstarted his career.
In 2013, he followed it up with Old, his debut album under Fool’s Gold Records. It had a lot in common with XXX: duality returned, this time in both sound and content; nihilism once again coursed through its veins; his storytelling was just as up-front and honest as ever. But this time, something was different – the B-side, rather than being stark and introspective, was instead tailor-made for live performances. And Brown did this on purpose: in an interview with Pitchfork, he said that “a majority of my income comes from festivals, so I have to look at that as a business… I’m not going to make a radio song, but I’ll make a song that goes off at a festival.” And it worked – many of the tracks there are mainstays at his shows. But just as many left much of the interesting, in-depth, insular work from XXX in the dust, replacing it with a drugged-out delirium that upset as many fans as it attracted.
With Atrocity Exhibition, then, Brown had a lot of heavy lifting to do. As Old had demonstrated, Brown had two personas which informed each other, with the wild partier being the yin to a somber Detroit native’s yang. How does one balance these two ideas? One answer – separating them neatly – lies in his previous releases. But that isn’t honest. It’s too simple, it’s too clean, it’s too cut-and-dry. This new record, on the other hand, sees him merging these two characters together more than ever before, ultimately revealing a complicated person rather than implying one. In formal ways, this is his messiest release yet, one that collides partying and the addiction that fuels it rather than showing them separately. This mix leads to emotional weight, too: whereas XXX and Old had a sense of aimlessness to their celebrations, the stakes are clear this time. Danny knows he’s famous and that people care about him. Each mention of cocaine or molly or pills stings a bit more than before – he’s aware of the consequences but can’t help it.
And this makes it feel like a natural progression for Brown, and, more importantly, a record he’s been long aiming to produce. While speaking with Complex Magazine following the album’s release, he said that it’s important to rap about what you know and to “make sure you tell kids the other side. If you gonna tell them about being high, tell them about the hangover.” Notably, he took his own advice. It’s clear from the start, with Brown opening the record by describing the sweaty, paranoid, delirious comedown from MDMA. It’s clear when he talks about his drug-dealing past, saying he’s in a “never ending race, chasing cash / One lane going wrong way ‘til I crash.” It’s clear when even its boasts come tinged with fear and disposability: needing a ski lift for all the coke he’s snorting, caring more about his jeans than his cash, praying that he won’t suffer the consequences of the lifestyle he can’t quit. It’s clear when drugs are a coping mechanism for a life that’s falling apart; Brown feels trapped, whether it stems from refusing rehab, getting drugs from fans who think they’re doing him a favor, or only enjoying himself when he’s inebriated. Atrocity Exhibition sees Brown dancing with death more than ever before, courting it helplessly with a grin and a sunken heart.
While his subject matter has always been central to Brown’s appeal, so too has his sound; he’s found a niche as one of rap’s leading eccentrics in a time where that’s becoming more and more accepted. The most immediate element of his music is his distinctive yelp, a voice that instantly makes him a polarizing figure. And its use makes sense here, possibly more than it did on Old’s party-starters: its panicked sound lends itself to showing desperation. He doesn’t use it exclusively on the project, with more introspective tracks often seeing Brown in a more subdued, traditional voice – but those are the exception rather than the rule. Ultimately, though, that frequency reveals his voice to be a double-edged sword, one that’s excellent at conveying panic or fear or manic energy but not much else. The result is a record wherein the sonic variation is placed solely upon its beats, with the vocals – for the most part – zooming in on one particular mindset and sound.
Fortunately, they deliver: whereas Brown works within a thin textural range in his vocals, the production allows itself room to stretch out. XXX mainstay Paul White returns as sole producer of two-thirds of the tracks, offering up more beats in the vein of Brown’s 2011 breakout: these are grimy, dank, industrial soundscapes, alternating between eerily calm and disorientingly chaotic. It’s a mess, but everything feels deliberately placed; richly textured synths, chugging guitars, and skeletal drum programming run throughout this thing. It ends up a set of deeply uncomfortable and exciting instrumentals: “When it Rain” accentuates its gristly, bleak, and braggadocios-despite-everything lyrics with a beat made of off-kilter drums, fake-sounding brass lines, and a persistent, droning low-end; “Ain’t it Funny” is driven by blaring, scattered horns that feel as driving as Brown’s performance; “Dance in the Water” makes his stated Talking Heads influence evident, with tribal screams contrasting with a foregrounded bass line and frantic drumming. Elsewhere, it’s more lean and deliberate: “Tell Me What I Don’t Know” patiently builds, waiting a full minute for its drums to stumble in atop a bed of dreamy synths and guitars; “Hell for It” has nothing but a ghostly piano line, a bass drum, and flickering synths; “Lost” gets by with a sample that never settles down, cutting itself short over and over.
For all its uneasiness, it’s worth noting its confidence in itself. This is a claustrophobic, jittery, spastic record, unafraid to revel in its nausea. It’s remarkable, then, that Brown sounds completely at home here – he says that he can “rap over two pots scraping together,” and the number of skittering beats that never settle just goes to prove his point. Furthermore, compared to Old, it’s a much more isolated affair. Brown’s presence, rather than producers or guest vocalists, dominates this time around – only one song has him giving other emcees a verse, and it comes off as an outlier. (It’s an excellent one, though – Earl Sweatshirt, possibly Danny’s most direct parallel, blows everyone else out of the water, but not for lack of competition.) But it’s not just the guests: almost everything on the album skews towards discomfort, fear, and paranoia. He’s in his own world here, for both better and worse. As Ian Curtis said on the album’s namesake: “Asylums with doors open wide / Where people had paid to see inside / For entertainment, they watch his body twist / Behind his eyes he says, ‘I still exist.’”
It’s unfortunate, then, that it seems to lean so heavily upon its – compelling! – atmosphere, to the occasional detriment of its songwriting. A few tracks feel underdeveloped or just unnecessary, saved only by their thematic consistency with the release. The worst offenders, though, are its least interesting numbers: “From the Ground” offers a much-needed comedown from the rush of “Pneumonia” and “Dance in the Water” but not much else; “White Lines” showcases a flow that’s equal parts innovative and grating but, otherwise, doesn’t do anything new thematically, instrumentally, or lyrically; “Get Hi” is completely disposable, despite its above-average second verse – at that point in the record, its subject matter has been treaded upon over and over, with this iteration coming off as redundant.
But for the majority of its runtime, it’s excellent: a compelling and claustrophobic package, one that manages remarkable depth given its limited lyrical range. Brown says that he cares deeply about crafting a legacy, and Atrocity Exhibition may be the best example of that yet: the filth and fear of previous projects, exploded into a forty-six-minute dive into desperation and mania. Who knew a bad trip would sound so good?
FCC: All songs
RIYL: Dopehead, Death Grips, Earl Sweatshirt
Fav Tracks: 2, 4, 6, 12, 15
Listen to the full album on Spotify:
