Quaranta

Album review

Danny Brown has referred to Quaranta as a sequel to XXX—a pandemic-delayed age-40 milestone that nods back to the one he dropped in 2011 as he weighed hedonism versus reflection after turning 30. But where XXX set him off on a decade-long run both indulging in and interrogating the self-destructive side of his art (and his life), Quaranta stands out like a moment of clarity—one last confrontation with the party abyss before embarking on the kind of rehab stint that could literally save his life. The opening title cut kicks off with his acknowledgement that he used to turn to his music for that, only to realize that it was also the thing that jeopardized his life in the first place. The bulk of Quaranta's brief but emotionally devastating 11 tracks faces that struggle in depths even the frequently-harrowing Atrocity Exhibition didn't go. The hyperactive yawp that made his trippier excursions feel like a wild ride through bat country has receded, and when he does return to it, it's to reel from the alienating gentrification of a Detroit he's since left ("Jenn's Terrific Vacation") as much as it is to try and recapture the magic of his pure punchline mode ("Dark Sword Angel"). Quaranta favors his heavier, more measured flow, and we hear it at its harshest and most downtrodden and defeated—including the shamed, self-loathing post-breakup regret of Geto Boys-quoting "Down Wit It" and the scowling "Hanami," where he relays all his doubts over whether he still has the heart to even rap anymore. You'd think this would make Quaranta sound burned out, but his openness and vulnerability are every bit as vital to Brown's art as his outrageousness; that he can trace it back to his own childhood trauma ("Y.B.P.") just attests to the fact that he's skilled at really interrogating why he feels the way he does. And while it's not always an easy listen, Brown's fatigue on Quaranta is offset by an ugly-beautiful production slate from peak prog-mode Alchemist, jazz hybridist Kassa Overall, and Detroit-scene friends Paul White and Quelle Chris (the latter with Innocent Country co-producer Chris Keys in tow). It could be a transitional album, but Quaranta should hopefully provide some crucial context in the long term: that even at his lowest point, Danny Brown could still be capable of, to paraphrase music-as-salvation closer "Bass Jam," have 'em shedding tears before he gets to the chorus. © Nate Patrin/Qobuz