Kevin Abstract just happens to rap; in another era, he would have been an endearing alt-rock frontman. Only 20 years old, Abstract is a member of the self-described “All-American Boy Band” BROCKHAMPTON, and he travelled much of his childhood before recently settling out in Los Angeles. American Boyfriend, his sophomore album, holds onto the theme of constant movement as Abstract situates himself in a nameless high school in an unknown city, where he fantasizes about football players. His lyrical specificity is reserved for people: “Showed me obscure bands he was into/His mom was in the dining room, we’re in his bedroom,” he raps on “Seventeen,” as he describes afternoons spent with an unrequited crush.
He’s almost old enough to drink, but Abstract’s world here is for kids who are barely old enough to drive. His last project MTV1987 teased out tendrils of post-Odd Future Tumblr rap, harsh production, strained parental relationships, and sexually frustrated lyrics; American Boyfriend removes that youthful angst. He no longer chastises past lovers, but rather turns inwards to investigate what he even wants out of romantic relationships. “Can’t tell my family I’m bi/Can’t tell my mother I’m gay/The hardest part of my day/Is wishing I was fucking straight,” he raps on the album’s centerpiece “Papercut.” Where MTV1987 spoke down to women, the boys on American Boyfriend open Abstract’s eyes to new worlds and sides of himself. Only a year between projects, Abstract’s music is now imbued with a freeness and warmth that was previously only hinted at in his music.
Michael Uzowuru, an executive producer on American Boyfriend, who also worked on Frank Ocean’s Blonde (“Nights”) and Endless (“Rushes To”), helped bring Ocean’s genre-blurred vision to Abstract’s work. But, where Frank’s ideas languorously stretched the boundaries of traditional pop songwriting, Abstract’s are more frantic. At 16 tracks long and clocking under under 40 minutes, the album still dips into a few too many ideas. “Suburban Born” and “Runner” meander needlessly, where the wistful acoustic guitar and falsetto of the angelic “Yellow” speak to the same struggle of opposite poles of self-confidence and self-doubt. That moment, along with “American Boyfriend,” inches towards a Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness B-side territory. He doesn’t reach Billy Corgan’s dramatics, but it is encouraging to watch him reach.
Two years ago, Abstract wrote an open letter to Childish Gambino, where he described himself as “too black for the whites and too white for the blacks.” American Boyfriend appears to find Abstract still struggling through those issues of his high school days, as he places himself back inside those hallways and bleachers that made him feel like such an outsider. Even before Glover’s critically beloved TV show “Atlanta” and the surprise funk turn of “Awaken, My Love”, his inward-facing persona offered a direction for black kids like Abstract, who felt too removed from the ego of rap’s biggest stars. Abstract’s myth-building isn’t meant to occupy a stadium tour or a floating stage setup, but instead for the kids alone in class needing something to by another day.
The freedom of abandoning rap’s default confidence stance gives American Boyfriend an almost twee preciousness, Abstract isn’t afraid to swim freely in his emotions. On “Miserable America,” Abstract speaks about his mother’s homophobia and the racism of his boyfriend’s parents, as he mournfully observes, “They love gays, but they hate niggas.” Even in the familial and romantic relationships that should provide comfort, Abstract instead finds irresolvable identity conflicts. American Boyfriend can feel a bit scattered and unsure, but it’s an album seeking love in a world now primed to find new angles for hate. For that reason alone, it feels welcome.
