Entering July, it’s time to accept one thing: 2025 is over halfway over. And just like that, in the blink of an eye, we’re quickly approaching August with reckless abandon and the final stretch of months that define the passage of another year. Something I’ve noticed in recent weeks is people sharing their picks for art that they think represents the best so far. For me, it’s a great chance to fill up a to-do list and attempt to find something even greater than the two dozen records that have defined this era. It’s also inspired me to try and answer my own question… what record should people consider?
I’m choosing to emphasize a dark horse, and a recent one at that, which started at the ubiquitous “fine” and has week by week become something I’ve revisited constantly. Maybe it won’t make my Top 10, but every year I find one project that sneaks up on me and realize that, yes, I’ve secretly vibed with it this entire time. Last year it was the sleepyheaded Faye Webster, and this time it’s one that feels held together by duct tape and performers less concerned by fulfilling the laws of hot girl summer than really digging into the potential of pop with a creative mix of bombast and heart-on-sleeve emotions.
Kevin Abstract, and Brockhampton as a larger contingent, is someone that I’m not familiar with. Before pressing play on “Blush,” I didn’t have much enthusiasm for his career. He felt like a Porter Robinson type, where I could recognize his talent, but he was just that many years younger than me, so the technique didn’t connect. For as much as I love performers who indulge in throwback melodies from when I was a teenager, I’m also keen on evolution and really challenging the medium. I want something that feels radical and honest, or reflective of a voice starting to take shape within the confines of their influences. For example, Blondshell has quickly become a favorite new-ish artist despite indulging in 90s grunge motifs because there is a raw honesty that is complemented, not buried, within the artistry.
What makes “Blush” an exciting record is something that has made me curious to discover the back catalog of Brockhampton. I love when a music group feels like a community, and nowhere has that been truer than The Wu-Tang Clan in the 90s and Odd Future not too long ago. To press play on their records (solo or posse) is to notice the unbridled potential of an insulated group going for broke. You slowly begin to understand what everyone brings to the table and suddenly you’re in awe of how they throw ratchets into the gears and redefine the form. There’s this sense of friends hanging around in a living room just spit-balling ideas until something breaks through. You can almost hear people outside the recording booth going crazy when creativity reaches a truly inspired moment. If you love music, you live for those moments, and I think it’s a major reason that collaboration will always be the ideal form.
The way that I’ve heard “Blush” described is that Kevin Abstract curated the experience. At one point, he forgoes an appearance altogether to allow Danny Brown to rap for 52 seconds. When pressing play, there is this wonderful mix of artists wanting to challenge the medium not by sanding down the edges, but creating something that is profoundly shaggy. The mix of audio clips and incoherent conversations creates the feeling of gathering at a summer house party and discovering what everyone has been up to. It’s a showcase for everyone to get a microphone for three minutes and express what’s been on their mind. That means it often jumps around tonally, but collectively it reminds you why you love hanging out with these guys.
Then again, it must be a mighty big house. To look at the contributor sheet is to notice how many people Abstract has invited on the record. While figures like Quadeca, Ameer Vann, and Love Spells appear on a significant portion, there’s an endless array of names who show up for a track and leave the listener in a dizzying headlock. For example, JPEGMafia appears midway through “NOLA” and delivers a traditional verse that effectively hits the bass-bumping aggression of the track. Elsewhere, you got Dominic Fike on “Geezer” creating the closest to a 90s throwback by mythologizing his father being “old for his age” and reminiscing on how he almost missed his first handjob. It’s a goofy tell-all, but the sincerity with which it’s sung makes it sound like bros hanging out and thinking of days gone by, somewhat relieved that they’ve gotten this far in life.
Part of it is because Abstract starts from a dark standpoint. The album cover depicts a man bent over, consumed by his hoodie and a busy background. While the viewer can’t see his face, there is a sense of being overwhelmed by everything around him. There is no focus in part because everything blends together as a mesh of objects. If one were to make a commentary on the pajama-clad man, it’s a sense of depression trying to use art to escape. Even then, with all of the resources, where does one start to find answers?
This creates a fun contrast for the larger sound by reflecting Abstract’s insular struggles. “Blush” fixates on a mix of topics that include a heavy dose of heartache. “H-Town” opens with the line, “Too much wasted time,” before beginning an album-long study of a relationship that fell apart. He frequently questions whether the intimacy was genuine or if he had fallen for shallow sex and manipulative romance. In lesser (or younger) hands, this read would come across as whiny, lacking a push for catharsis, and instead make “Blush” a place to divulge every insecurity. Everyone has that one person who inspires uncomfortable emotions. Thankfully, Abstract has developed enough craft to turn the discomfort into introspective art.
As predicted, any break-up would be difficult to handle alone. Had this been a solo record, there’s a chance that the pain would be too overwhelming. Instead, this sounds like what happens when Abstract tries to remind himself of a life outside of the failed lover. It’s a chance to hang out with friends and really dig into what each friend brings into his life. Some of them, like Quadeca, serve more of a purposeful function as he reaches clarity towards the back half of the album. Songs like “Geezer” work as much because they tell humorous and nostalgic stories as they do as life lessons. Even on tracks like “97 Jag,” where he reflects on reckless behavior, he uses the revelations to change. There is a moment where he stops and considers what his actions mean. It’s a breakdown of perceived altruism in favor of reality. Abstract is just a man, still naïve to some extent, but at least he still has a great friend group to pick him up when things are rough.
It all builds to the conclusion “Red Light.” After dealing with an array of experiences, he returns to the break-up that started this introspective journey. Whereas there’s been hostility and constant lashing out, Abstract ends on a gentler tone by asking a series of questions. “How many times you made me weep? A hundred times. Pretend you didn’t help me sleep? A hundred times.” He carries on, mixing the harsh acceptance of why things ended with how difficult it is to fully let go of a lover. The nostalgic tone of the larger record has its own beauty that culminates in a greater muted exchange with Quadeca playing the other figure. This creates a mutual acceptance with impressive maturity. It’s also the evidence that Abstract designed this journey as a way to find peace in his real life and provide hope for his audience suffering from their own distress.
The reason I really like “Blush” is how unassuming it is. Even with fantastic production, it lacks a clean package. Some of the transitions can be jarring, and the tonal shifts are even more confrontational. Even then, it’s an album that’s in touch with being young and depressed, of trying to cope with violence and debauchery before realizing that it’s not going to solve the pain deep down. Abstract’s willingness to allow others to take a verse or alter the direction shows the ways that everyone exists both in their own insular space while also having to navigate an ever-changing world. Not everyone will be sad. Some days will be more joyous than others. Even then, the thing I love most about “Blush” is that Abstract paints an optimistic world, where even in these tumultuous times, there will be those who will listen to you. They will help you create art and just reflect on the past in a way that makes you forget your problems.
Something that should be noted is that Abstract isn’t done with this story. While I am still too far at arm’s length to fully know what this record means for fans, there is a promise of “Blush 2” coming in 2026. I choose to imagine that it’s going to be about the breakthrough. We’ve been through the ringer with him and seen his ugliness explored in a fulfilling manner. Now it’s time to see if he can live a truly satisfying life. Maybe that means it’ll be a record with a clearer direction.
If none of that comes to pass, the best that can be said is that this album surprised me. I took a chance on it one afternoon and found myself slowly becoming charmed by its shaggy execution. It reminds me of what’s great about posse albums. Everyone has their own perspective and gets the chance to be the center of attention. I feel like I discovered a whole new world. These are people so confident in their vision that the playfulness becomes addictive. There are so many small decisions that leave you pondering over what the potential for music can ultimately be. Even if it’s still a bit too understated to be a guaranteed favorite for the year, “Blush” still beckons to me more often than not in these summer days. There’s something relaxing about the musical time capsule of remembering all the dumb things your friends did. Some of it may be painful, but it’s still an essential experience. It builds character. It gives us reason to continue stepping forward and see the good in the world. That’s just the way it is.
Comments
Post a Comment