Danny Brown Talks Sobriety, Creative Resurrection, 6-7, and Hip-Hop’s State of ‘Cleansing’

Sitting with Danny Brown in a cornered-off workspace in Brooklyn, the veteran rapper tells me he’s still surprised by how surprised people are when he pushes some boundaries with his music.

In a few hours, the venue we’re at, The Lighthouse, will be filled with rabid supporters eager to hear his new album Stardust — a non-stop sonic blast of high-octane hyperpop and rap fusion. The explosive electronic backdrops — crafted by a bevy of the subgenre’s most potent stars, including Frost Children, 8485, Underscores and Jane Remover — fit Danny Brown’s rambunctious and maximalist flow like a glove. His voice somehow towers above the chaos of “Starburst” and “1L0v3myL1f3!.” But as he takes a hit of his weed pen, he says even at this point in his decade-plus career, he’s nervous about how people will handle the change of pace.

“To be honest, I’ve been doing everything I possibly can to ignore it,” Brown says of his new album, which drops on Friday (Nov. 7). “But today was the first day where I had that anxiety attack of, ‘Oh s—t, it’s time.’ When you work so much on something, and after being creative for such a long period of time, you just want it to be appreciated the right way. I just want them to respect the work.”

While that anxiety may be palpable in the room, it’s nowhere to be found on Stardust. The 14-track offering is stuffed to the brim with joy and hope, inspired by Brown’s much-discussed journey to sobriety. “Well, I’m smoking weed now,” Brown clarifies as he sits back on the couch, playfully wiggling the vape in his hand, “but no drinking.”

Brown entered rehab in 2023, a life-changing choice that seemed destined to forever shelve the rap character he’d played for over 10 years — one of a drug-devouring, sex-crazed lunatic who rocked missing teeth, unkempt hair and made songs like “Adderall Admiral” and “Dope Fiend Rental.” As he worked the program, Brown had access to his phone for a mere 30 minutes a day, where he smoked cigarettes and became obsessed with 100 Gecs. “I was like, ‘Oh, I could rap on that s—t. That s—t is fire,’” Brown says.

A deep appreciation for hyperpop and all its lore soon followed, and after clearing his throat with the emotional catharsis of 2023’s Quaranta, Brown became hellbent on having the time of his life with whatever came next.

Below, Danny Brown talks about his creative rejuvenation, his thoughts on the state of hip-hop, and whether he and JPEGMafia will ever make Scaring the Hoes 2.

First off, tell me about the title Stardust.

It literally means nothing, I swear to God. I went to see U2 at The Sphere with my girl in Vegas, and we were driving on the freeway and they got that Stardust [billboard]. I took a picture of it, and I would go through my phone pictures sometimes and one day I was looking at it. But then I Googled it and Bowie got a Stardust, Yung Lean got an album called Stardust, and I was like, “Eh, I can’t do that.”

What changed your mind?

That was another story, in the sense of that I wanted to work with SOPHIE — but then I saw Vince Staples had already worked with her on [2017’s Big Fish Theory]. And I was like, “I can’t do it now” — ‘coz, you know, hip-hop originality! I’m bitin’ now. But now I’m over that. I wish I had just worked with SOPHIE. So that made me think about that, and based off that, I was like, “The name of the album is Stardust.” Someone told me Stardust means cocaine, and I was like, “I didn’t know that, and that is not what I’m sayin’!” So I hope people don’t think that!

What was it like getting back into music after rehab? I imagine creatively it must have been hard to tap back in without substances.

For this album, I started reading a book called The Artist’s Way by Julian Cameron.

I know it well, my wife worked through it during COVID lockdown.

Yeah! I started doing all the f—king things. When you read the book, you find out that she wrote it from the perspective of being an alcoholic and came from her getting sober. So I was doing all the exercises, going on artist dates and doing all this s—t. Eventually, I started looking at it as: No matter what, I gotta go in from nine to five. No matter what. Like a normal job type s—t.

When did you begin roping in hyperpop acts to help out with the album?

I mean, I started off working on [the music] first, before I started reaching out to work with other people. I wanted to have a bulk of music to play for them, to show them where I can go with it. To show ’em that it works! Because I could tell a lot of ’em weren’t too hip on my music. I’m 20 years older than a lot of them.

Was there any hesitation or gate-keeping when you brought up the idea of a hyperpop rap album?

I can’t say hesitant, because I met Jesse [Taconelli] from deadAir [Records], and he introduced me to everybody. Jesse’s like an OG to everybody, so he was co-signing me, plugging me in, connecting me with everybody. We was doing group chats and s—t. If they weren’t open to it, once they heard the music that I had, they was like, “All right I gotta get in on this.” Every time someone would come [to the studio], I would play them everything I had and just be like, “Yo, what do you wanna do? What do you think? What is this song for you?”

It seems like a natural place for you all to co-exist in, especially with you coming off of Scaring the Hoes.

And it was pulling from there! Cause [Scaring the Hoes] was the first time I heard [Leroy’s] Dariacore. I didn’t even know that was Jane Remover for a long time. Jane was the only one working on the album almost the entire time with me… But a lot of ’em felt like, you know, it didn’t matter what type of music they made, just the fact that they were trans people, they was calling it hyperpop. So a lot of ’em was doing their best to get away from that label.

How do you feel about the label hyperpop?

I mean, I do feel like I understand why that label exists for it, but to me it’s just experimental pop. Man, to be honest, I don’t even know where the pop come from — besides the fact that they started off with, like, those bubble gum songs. Like if you look at a song like Uffie’s “Pop The Glock,” that’s f—king hyperpop, and that was way before there was a term for it.

I feel like allowing these acts such creative freedom on your album is a testament to where you’re at in your career. You don’t feel super precious about what is and isn’t a Danny Brown album at this point.

Because I feel like when you’re younger, you have more time on your hands. You just listen to music and have fun — and like, me living at home, that’s a job in itself, just taking care of the house! I can’t sit on f—king Spotify all day looking for s—t.

When you’re working with people that young, they’re still — I don’t wanna call ’em green, but they got that youthful, ready-to-take-over-the-world type s—t. When you’re at my age, you’re like, “Man, I know I can’t take over the world. I’m defeated with that mission statement. But I can coexist!” I’ve also been making music way before all this dog s—t was like this, where you got all these plug-ins. All the s—t they got now that you can make beats with, it’s seems like it makes it so f—king easy — compared to when we were using drum machines and s—t like that.

It was more limiting.

And I do believe that limitations breed creativity! But with them, it’s like they got the world in their hands. You can’t tell them no. They’re gonna figure it out, they got that, “I can do anything!” Where me and music sometimes are like, “Eh, I can’t find that other part. Just keep it, just loop it.”

And they do put a lot of work in. I feel like people look down on electronic music because it’s not song-written lyrics, but the work they put in? The beats they make in one day? They’re doing post-s—t on those for months before you hear it. I’ve seen it with my own eyes. That song “All4U” I did with Jane, I’ve seen that song change 20 times before it came out. The beat I rapped to was not [what’s on the album].

In full transparency, what has the reception been like to your latest pivot on Stardust?

I mean, with every album I put out, I know there’s gonna be a certain group that’s not going to like it. But I feel like that’s the fake hip-hop fan, in some sense, the person that only listens to one style of rap. It doesn’t even matter if the rapper is good, just as long as it’s in that world that tickles their funny bone that’s all they want, they don’t wanna go outside.

To me, hip-hop, the tradition of it is rooted in originality. So if we’re looking at what the foundation of hip-hop is supposed to be, this is what it’s supposed to be. I feel like If I were to cosplay East Coast, ’90s rap, I can’t take over the world with that — cause it’s already been taken over. All I can do instead is get influence from it, and put a spin on it that’s never been done before.

On that note, Billboard reported recently that there wasn’t a hip-hop hit in the top 40 for the first time since 1990. It got the internet pretty riled up about hip-hop being dead. What are your thoughts on it?

Hip-hop don’t belong there anyway! The dopest s—t was never on the charts, so that means that there’s a lot of dope s—t around. To me that sounds like a reset is happening, sounds like a cleansing.

So how do you feel about the state of rap at this point?

There’s people doing cold s—t everywhere, like somebody like a Skrilla, what he’s doing is fire. I mean, I hate that damn “6 7” thing, but he’s creative! It’s rooted in him talking about religion and s—t. He humanizes addiction in some sense too, cause you see some of these drug dealer raps and they kinda s—t on the fiends. There’s a video of him giving a fiend NARCAN! I’m rooting for that guy, man. I hate that “6-7” s—t though, man.

Not a fan of the kids’ latest trend?

I love that song, but I hate what it’s become. The fact it’s been on South Park is too far. Cause to be honest, that’s not even the main part of the song! It started as, “Baby shark, doo-doo-doo-doo.” That’s the song that made it blew it up for us! It wasn’t no “6-7,” it was that Baby Shark bar.

I’m curious about your relationship to podcasting and streaming at this point now that you’re sober. Do you look at the Danny Brown Show in a different light now that you’re on this health journey?

Nah, I was having fun. It definitely gave me a lot more respect for what y’all do. I mean to be honest, I don’t expect anything from it, it’s just fun. I liked meeting different people that I would have never been able to meet outside of that context. Like I was kicking it with [comedian] Tom Arnold, and I was like, “Man, Tom Arnold kinda cool!” I never would have thought that. Then there was a couple people that was sent to me where I was like, “Man, I hate this motherf—ker.” It’s definitely a great way for me to meet other creatives on the other side of the spectrum.

You and JPEGMAFIA just dropped off SCARING THE HOES: DIRECTORS CUT. Are we ever gonna get a Scaring the Hoes 2?

It’s up to Peggy! I’ve been ready. I call him all the time, tell him, “Let’s do it.” He tells me, “I’m comin’, I’ll be there on this day.” That day comes, he don’t come. That’s been the process for a while.

So what’s the future of Danny Brown look like now?

With music, I just feel like you’re never done. There’s not a belt. I wish I was a black belt! So I’m on this never-ending quest and journey, even like Bowie with Blackstar, I’m on a quest for that. Doing it till it’s over.