There are always those albums that only really open up a year later – and therefore never made it onto one’s end-of-year list. For me this time, it was Stardust, Danny Brown’s latest record. »Every album is a chapter«, he raps on the opener »Book of Daniel«, hitting the nail squarely on the head. His discography does indeed unfold as a gripping narrative, with the previous album Quaranta marking a moment of self-reflection steeped in remorse, loneliness and despair.
Now, however, Danny Brown is back in peak form. He tears through frenetic hyperpop beats, fuses EDM breakdowns with wobbling, sub-heavy synths and even metal screams. Rapping over arrangements this unhinged is something only he can pull off. What makes Stardust truly great, though, is its soft core. Brown often sounds as if he’s rapping with a broad grin on his face, audibly enjoying himself, clearly delighted by his own abilities. »Music my only way out«, he declares.
There is something therapeutic about the record as well. Brown speaks of a newly found pride in his work, of self-acceptance, of finally loving his own life. His earlier struggles with addiction seem largely processed, and on Stardust he achieves something genuinely valuable: being the Danny Brown we want to hear, without destroying himself in the process. It is his best album in almost a decade.
