Detroit rapper Danny Brown wasn’t on my radar until I saw him listed on the 2017 Pitchfork Music Festival lineup. I went online to research him and hear some of his stuff, and I was intrigued by his voice (sort of a high-pitched, nasally punk rock vocal) and flow and stunned by his brutal honesty about himself, his addictions, his neighborhood, fandom, and the music industry.
Starting with “Downward Spiral” (the title of which essentially describes Brown’s journey throughout the record), the album opens with warped beats that somehow mix dub, psychedelia, and industrial doom. Brown openly discusses how his drug use keeps him from getting an erection during a threesome, nearly burning down his house after falling asleep with a lit cigarette in his hand, and how “Your worst nightmare for me is a normal dream.” “Tell Me What I Don’t Know” builds like a Bloc Party track with its electronic beats and dancehall whistles as Brown laments (in a deeper vocal range, no less) how drug dealing is a “Never ending race, chasing cash. One lane going wrong way ’til I crash.” and “Shit is like a cycle. You get out, I go in, this is not the life for us.”
Brown lets us know that fame isn’t all that it’s cracked up to be on “Rolling Stone” (“Bought a nightmare, sold a dream. Happiness went upstream. Blame myself, I had no control. Now I’m living with no soul.” “Really Doe” is a who’s-who of modern day rap stars with Earl Sweatshirt, Kendrick Lamar, and Ab-Soul all contributing verses. “Lost” details how Brown has gone from dealing cocaine just to get by to now using it for fun after being famous enough to afford it.
“Ain’t It Funny” was one of the wildest singles of 2016. In it, Brown raps about how drugs have screwed up his life, the Devil is always whispering in his ear, and how many of his fans love him for having such a screwed up life and secretly hope he never kicks the addictions that he wishes he could ditch. “Golddust” continues this theme (and even brings in some rock guitar) as Brown raps, “Myself I don’t know no more. Numbing up with drugs to suppress these feelings, praying to the heavens, letting these devils get the best of me.” and “Got to the point ain’t gotta buy drugs. Niggas just give ’em to me. Yeah, they think they showing love, and that’s what’s up. Kinda fucked up. Now I do it way more than I used to.” “White Lines” has Brown confronting the real possibility that he’s going to die of a drug overdose any day now. The beats on it stumble around like a drunk and the weird synths reflect his state of mind. “Pneumonia” is a thick bass track about partying in New Orleans, getting laid, and getting high (in no particular order).
Brown keeps partying with “Dance in the Water,” in which he gives directions for a twerking contest. It has the most danceable beats on the record and proves that Brown can write a floor-filler club banger if he wants. Kelela sings in the hook on “From the Ground” while he raps in his mellow low tones about how far he’s come from writing his rhymes on a paper bag to now touring the world. “When It Rain” is one of Brown’s biggest hits off the album, and he’s downright dangerous on it. He raps about the dangerous of inner city living in Detroit, being lucky to be alive, and drawing a line in the sand to challenge lesser MCs. That being said, “Today” has Brown admitting that he knows he can die any time from either his drug use or violence in his hometown.
If you’re not sure what “Get Hi” is about, then you haven’t been paying attention to the rest of the album. Brown openly admits how much he loves weed and uses it to eliminate the stress of money problems, girlfriend problems, landlord problems, or any other problem, really (although the hidden message is how Brown’s love of the herb only contributes more to how screwed up his life is). The addition of Cypress Hill‘s B-Real on the chorus is a nice touch. The album ends on an up note with “Hell for It,” with Brown rapping about how hard he worked to get where he is (“I was hustling, scraping up, and saving just to catch a twelve-hour bus to NY, sleeping on the floor in studios asking God ‘Why?'”) and how he won’t give up despite knowing that fame might kill him.
I don’t want you to read this and think I condone drug use or dealing drugs. I don’t. I do, however, condone honesty and truth. Danny Brown delivers both with unflinching detail on Atrocity Exhibition. Truth is often missing from music in return for a fast buck and a one-hit wonder. Thankfully, we have artists like Brown to keep us real.
Keep your mind open.
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