"A lot changed since triple X came out," Detroit rapper Danny Brown informs us on the title track of his sixth album, Quaranta. He's referring to his 2011 breakthrough XXX (or 30 as it's sometimes known), a record themed in part around what it meant to be a rapper as he entered his thirties, and one that brought his smart, hilarious, and irrepressibly raw style to many listeners for the first time. Twelve years later, Quaranta takes a decidedly different tone from the jump, primarily utilizing slow and moody instrumentals as support for Brown to go deep into regrets, introspection, and the very different feelings he faced surrounding still (and he takes great pains to emphasize the "still" part) rapping as he enters his forties. This emotional weight is established on the title track, with lines about success leading to complete isolation, and continues on the melancholic, synth-led "Down Wit It," which mourns a relationship broken by the irresponsible lifestyle of a musician. Brown's heartbreak is palpable, even when he's rewiring a well-worn lyric from Geto Boys' "Mind Playing Tricks on Me" as his song's chorus. MIKE delivers a crushing verse on the cautiously reflective "Celibate," and tracks like "Bass Jam" and "Shakedown" are slow and mournful as Brown sorts through sad nostalgia, depression, and unsettled family issues. It can be a heavy trip, but these moments of confessional pain are the most gripping parts of the album. Quaranta is peppered with more lively moments like the rambunctious gentrification critique "Jenn's Terrific Vacation" or the headstrong force of "Dark Sword Angel," yet it's the quietly contemplative stretches that feel most authentic and most powerful. Brown's musical daring has never been in question (few other rappers have turned in industrial-toned albums named after Joy Division songs), and the risks he takes by slowing things down and bearing his soul here are a natural continuation of road-less-traveled choices he's been making all along. The sometimes agonizing introspection of the record can read as low-energy at first, but Brown's albums have a tendency to keep their substance a few meters below the surface, rewarding repeat listening with intricate perspectives that take time to untangle. On Quaranta, the deeper impact all stems from Brown's tormented internal world, and he hides none of his searing pain or self-doubt. It's not entirely the same rowdy, lascivious joyriding that made up some of his celebrated early work, but the album's fearless expression of a full emotional spectrum makes it remarkable and at times shatteringly beautiful. ~ Fred Thomas