Review Summary: Oh it's an atrocity alright...
[The following review is a reiteration of a previous review by yours truly, although this time with extra words. Y'all mother***ers wanted more words, so more mother***in' words you'll get.]
Dear Danny Brown,
I tried. I really, really did. There is no shortage of examples in life of things that just take time to "click" whereupon they begin to suit individuals' newfound preferences; acquired tastes. Perhaps one of the most prominent instances in which this phenomenon regularly occurs is in the sonic realm, particularly in regard to more idiosyncratic or experimental types of releases. Brown's preferred vocal delivery is, to say the least, unique. Having been subjected to various songs of his over the years via friends, I honestly couldn't say that he'd ever connected with me on a personal taste level. I could appreciate some of the beats, there were some amusing one-liners interspersed among the otherwise garbage-tier lyrics, and it's always a positive to see someone trying to break the mold and forge new trails.
Well... it's *usually* a positive. Brown prides himself on having created multiple delivery styles, something that in theory could be used to mitigate otherwise monotonous verses and add some extra spice and flavor to assist in fleshing out the varying moods he attempts to convey. However, one of these created styles just so happens to be a... squawk. A frenzied, piercing, high-pitched squawk. And, lucky for this listener, it turns out to be his favorite style of them all, by quite some margin! As a result, whatever positives may exist in his music have always been submerged under layers of unlistenable, nearly incessant screeching. But hey, I'm a reasonable guy. I understand you have to be primed for certain experiences, and the acclaim Brown's newest effort had generated led to my decision to see if, after years gone by, maybe I'd have warmed to the guy.
A few sunken hours subsequent, the answer seems to be a resounding "N-O-P-E." First, the positives: As has become par for the course with Brown, we are treated to some interesting and eccentric beats, flow that alters between decent to even occasional glimpses of excellence, and some of the most grandiloquent and crisp production the genre can offer. The lyrics, while unimpressive, are nonetheless serviceable and inoffensive save for sporadic dips here and there (e.g. "I be on the chemicals, she be on my testicles, poke her with my tentacle then put her out my schedules"). As such, the intermittent spots on the album where we are able to take in these aspects of the release without having to fight through the cawing prove simultaneously pleasurable and disheartening, for they demonstrate what Brown could be capable of were it not for the defining stylistic choice to which he has fully committed.
An anonymous yet wise prophet once said, "Danny Brown sounds like a couple of ghetto black girls imitating a couple of white girls having an argument." Sputnik's treasured ableist user LordePots concurred, "Any rapper can have multiple 'rapping styles' when one of them is doing his best impression of a disabled person... most just realize that this is a terrible idea" [paraphrased for clarity]. While these descriptors may be hurtful and insensitive, I can also think of another word for them: accurate.
I promise to approach your future work with open ears, but please stop being unbearable. Please.
