by Evan Welsh (@evanswelsh15)
The phrase “I need you, need something new,” is interwoven through the entirety of BRAT, the latest album from Chicago multi-instrumentalist NNAMDÏ (fka Nnamdi Ogbonnaya). It is a mantra that signifies the central tension explored through the album’s colorful 42 minutes—the question of what was and what will be and the difficult decision of accepting change and growth. NNAMDÏ’s exploration of this push and pull within himself and in his relationships to others expands and contracts from track to track as he wanders through different musical styles, paces, and tones.
It would be a disservice to solely look at the wonderful depth of BRAT without acknowledging just how fun, exhilarating the experience of the album is. In a year that has felt increasingly depressing and grey, BRAT shines through the malaise. “Flowers To My Demons” is an emo-influenced track that begins quietly with just guitar and vocals before concluding with a multi-layered explosion of drums, synths, bass, and the previously discussed recurring lyric. What follows is the loud and assured trap song, “Gimme Gimme,” in a shift that showcases the broader unpredictability and range of the album. For as much as the core musical elements on BRAT change and jump around from track to track to track, the whole album flows remarkably well. So even in transitions that out of context seem like they wouldn’t work, everything moves naturally. Movements from the crisp and jazzy, “Everyone I Loved,” to the also trap-tinged, airy single, “Wasted,” to the atmospheric dream-pop of “Glass Casket” express the manic patterns of mind in contention with itself. On an album with a less clear thesis, the constant shifting might feel scattered and unfocused in a manner that detracts from the purpose of the whole, but BRAT’s form masterfully meets and highlights its function.
The last couple of tracks on BRAT are ones of uplifting, powerful acceptance. “It’s OK” directly responds to its dark and depressed predecessor, “Really Don’t,” with a shimmering pop anthem. The album closes with the inspiring, pastoral math-rock of “Salut,” on which NNAMDÏ seems to accept the rocky nature of growth in a rewarding embrace of forgiveness and self-awareness that culminates everything that came before it. Its variability and freshness make for an album that’s easy to endlessly return to and think about. Pieced together in a manner that feels wholly unique to NNAMDÏ’s savant-level command of versatile expression, BRAT is an astoundingly vibrant introspection.