Danny Brown – XXX
Fool’s Gold: 2011
As I write this, I am closing in on the finishing stretch of my twenties. I’m 29 ¾, and the way I see it, I have exactly three months to get all of my shit together and find my direction in life. See, in my mind, 30 is this mystical signpost in life where you’re supposed to have zeroed in on some kind of rubric for how to live your life, and at present time I can’t say that I have. It has made me the very picture of trembling dread as I look into the future with absolutely no fucking clue what’s in store for me. It is with that ear that I absorb Danny Brown’s latest opus, XXX, which is, among other things, a giant monolith to settling on getting fucked up when you know you have a higher calling in life. AKA my life in song.
The record is full of celebratory lines and crushing regrets in equal measure, and you really get a sense of the bittersweet, two-faced nature of any mind-altering substance; you feel like a million bucks until you’ve had too much. You’ve got tracks like the aggro drinking anthem “Bruiser Brigade”, which is essentially a laundry list of cheapie chuggable piss-beers, and “Lie4”, where “that income tax swag” facilitates stunting above and beyond one’s normal means. “Adderall Admiral” finds Brown mixing substances and scheming on other dudes’ girls, while “Blunt after Blunt” switches the chemical muse for another round of rock star partying and hilarious sexcapades.
XXX starts to get reflective as it winds down, and Brown starts to explore the causes and ramifications of overindulgence rather than spinning tales about wild nights out. The back third of the album is like the weekend warrior’s hangover diary. “DNA” catalogues its consumption like it’s homework, with a heavy heart and a hint of regret. “DNA” is chased by “Nosebleeds” and “Party All the Time”, a pair of third-person cautionary tales that show the disastrous consequences of getting too close to drugs and drink. XXX closes out on a series of (ostensibly) autobiographical joints that detail a life less ordinary. “30” is XXX’s update on The Hybrid’s “Greatest Rapper Ever”, a booth-scorching state of the union address that finds Brown determined to shake the demons and reclaim the stardom he deserves.
If that all sounds deadly serious, be advised that Brown has the bars, personality, and crack team of producers to pull it off without being a drag. Danny Brown really shows his artistic range on the mic here. One minute he’s kicking the absurdly raunchy shit talk of “Detroit 187” and “Outer Space”. The next, he’s on to the muted story rap of “Scrap or Die” and “Fields”. He can also kick the pared down, Flocka-esque flow evidenced on “Bruiser Brigade” and the earnest desperation of album closer “30”, which sounds half like a written verse and half like a freestyled outpouring of raw emotion. Brown combines a limber flow with an alchemical knack for wordplay and a refreshingly unconventional voice. If anyone was unsure of his skills on the mic, iis bound to bring them onboard.
On the production end, XXX’s producers blessed it with breakneck boom bap. One-time Odd Future affiliate Brandun DeShay brings twinkling keys to “Pac Blood” and “Party All the Time”. Crown Nation’s Quelle brings the sinister, rockist “Monopoly” and “EWNESW”, the latter of which finds a fresh way to attack an oft-flipped soul standard. British producer Paul White brings his sampling wizardry and knack for chopping obscure records to “Adderall Admiral”, “Fields”, and “Scrap or Die”. Squadda B, of Main Attrakionz, supplies the simple, hypnotic instrumental for “I Will”. Respect is due to Detroit producer Skywlkr, who is responsible for six of XXX’s 19 beats. His clattering, buzzsaw synths and otherworldly sonics give XXX much of its futuristic intrigue.
XXX is a trip into the world of hard partying, and recreational drug use that’s sequenced like an epic night out, reckless spending and fun-loving partying augmented with recreational drug use, ill-advised and drug-addled over-consumption on the front end, and then the pain, exhaustion and regret of the morning after creeping in at the end of the album. It’s a sobering look at excess from all different angles, from the endorphin rush of a first hit or drink on through the clouded judgment continued use brings about and even the repercussions no one wants to think about when they’re just out for a good time: self-destruction and even death. XXX is damn near the album of the year.
PS here are five ratchet ass one-liners from XXX, cause if you’re anything like us, you’ll be quoting the living daylights outta this thing for the next six months, easy:
5. “Bitch I’m Frankie Lymon, Heath Ledger/ hyped up in the Jacuzzi doin’ that John Belushi” (“Die Like a Rock Star”)
4. “You still fuckin’ with them freak hoes/ Stank pussy smellin’ like Cool Ranch Doritos” (“Monopoly”)
3. “I’m higher than Swizz Beatz hairline” (Dopehead on “Bruiser Brigade”)
2. “Your bitch say the dick taste like Tropical Fruit Skittles” (“Outer Space”)
1. “I fuck bad bitches to Stacy Lattisaw/ While you n*ggas got blue balls like an Avatar” (“Adderall Admiral”)
4.5 out of 5
