The ominous, world-building rollout for “Blanket” saw Abstract pull from Texas Chainsaw Massacre, unearth internet memories of the Scary Maze game, and reference the unsettling, unexplained deep web video Blank Room Soup. With such spooky promo the album probably should have arrived last Friday, in time for Halloween. The terminally online, nostalgic lore of this record is guaranteed to muster up a cultlike following of fanboy sleuths, unravelling the end-of-the-world concept, especially as the Texan rapper can be seen parading around with Don’t Hug Me I’m Scared-like characters in a Freddy Fazbear’s style kids birthday venue. Unfortunately, I’m no longer drawn into an elusive rollout like I was when I was seventeen, and the album isn’t worth exploring that deeply. Searching for a greater meaning is an exhausting feat when the music isn’t as good as it was before.

“Blanket” is full of loosely structured, strung together creations that all fit a similar sonic palette. Whilst there are glimpses of greatness, Abstract is no Sufjan Stevens; he’s still finding his feet in this sound. Across the LP, fantastic ideas are drowned with annoying, whiny vocals or hindered by uninspired instrumentals with no bite. He struggles to stick the landing with his ideas, or to even stretch a motif into a song. The expletive-free album explores childhood fears and lost innocence, but in all its nostalgia and melancholy, it comes off as mawkish. Eye-rolling lyrics like “today I gave up / today I gave up” show up in a middling indie ballad of the same name, which does in fact sound like it’s giving up.

“When The Rope Post 2 Break” starts the record off strong, channelling his adolescent fears with whispers of “something moved in the bushes” and “grab the blanket / pull it over”, amongst brooding, supernatural keys and strings. It’s very much like Alex G’s “Blessing”, apart from the drum-less backdrop that feels like the score for an imaginary A24 adaptation of Goosebumps. The momentum carries onto lead single “Blanket”, which sounds like a dystopian recording of Blur’s “Song 2”. On repeat listens, it feels like another idea that isn’t explored enough, but it remains a highlight with its crunchy guitars and stadium-ready drums. On these tracks and many others, Abstract sings from a childlike perspective with a youthful, pitched voice narrating – think the underdeveloped “My American Life” off BROCKHAMPTON’s “The Family”, but thankfully not as annoying.

If you take a peek at Abstract’s ‘rubbercore’ playlist, you get a glimpse at his influences going into the record. It adds up that artists like Modest Mouse and Everything But The Girl show up, however, the album often feels a lot more like the kitschy, mushy indie pop of Roy Blair, or BROCKHAMPTON leaks and demos that never saw the light of day. “Madonna” was a fan favourite single, but I can’t see it as more than bored, bland bedroom pop. The distant love song is too sickly and squeaky clean. The chipmunked hooks of classic Abstract tracks like “Georgia” or “Empty” work much more in their favour than this pestering TikTok-targeting chorus. The end result isn’t so much the syrupy, pitched-up sounds of BROCKHAMPTON’s “SUGAR” or “BLEACH” as it is Dominic Fike’s “Chicken Tenders”.

“What Should I Do?” was also initially another irritatingly sentimental song, and it might still be – I can’t work out if it’s grown on me or if the whingy hook is just stuck in my head. The stripped back, cutesy instrumental is in desperate need of those drums that inject life into the song at around the one-minute mark. Maybe it has grown on me, it’s annoyingly catchy, but his adolescent whines of “don’t touch me / it turns me on” feel almost intrusive to listen to. As the instrumental progresses, it’s clear he’s evoking more Alex G influence, but it’s no “Runner”.

The record often feels style over substance, even if that style is very personal to Abstract, but it just comes off more like unrealised potential than passion project. “Running Out” is low-key, moody, and has the grunge-tinged sounds of a Beabadoobee or Deb Never song – it’s pleasant whilst it’s on, but not overly memorable. Things pick up a bit on “The Greys”, with the driving rhythm of a classic Michael Jackson hit, but if the superstar tried to make a transcendent indie pop anthem in 2016. Unfortunately, soon after on “Voyager”, the Justin Vernon-esque indie folk ends up feeling more of a lo-fi, transitional interlude than a fully realised standout, and once again goes nowhere fast.

“Mr Edwards” is a brief moment of chaos in the relatively calm track list, with the following tracks reverting to the records laidback blueprint. It’s a glaringly out of place diversion, where Abstract summons the noisiest, glitchiest, ear-piercing sounds amongst charred, robotic vocals. Kevin’s no stranger to incredible experiments, but this is not one of them. At least the next two songs are laidback late-album highlights. “Scream” is a dreamy, introspective tune that feels like a prolonged build-up into “Real 2 Me”. While the latter is a respectable track, the drum & bass/indie concoction feels a little too much like some of the best moments from Nilüfer Yanya’s last full-length LP.

“Heights, Spiders and The Dark” calls back to lead single “Blanket” but feels more like an acoustic Nirvana, western-horror rework, with unnerving violins and intentionally disturbing lyrics laced into the track like “the things I would do / to keep all of you”. There’s no real respite from the uneasiness, but here it at least feels intentional. On closing track “My Friend”, unadulterated Kevin Abstract vocals, Kara Jackson, and Wednesday vocalist MJ Lendermen are added to the mix, but its just a little too undercooked to leave a lasting impression. The twangy, weeping guitars give the song the feeling of a folkified “SUNNY” by BROCKHAMPTON, but it feels a little more schmaltzy here.

With some tastes of excellence peppered throughout, it’s clear that if Kevin Abstract were to continue in this indie/slacker rock direction it could result in a better project. Credit should be given for evolving his sound, but leaving behind bittersweet tearjerkers for inane indie attempts is a pretty poor trade. However, some of the motifs, melodies, and vocal licks can be addictive and leave you craving more. The playful, childlike wonder of this album is simultaneously corny and comforting, striking a chord from an early love for similar angsty music. This style is clearly a passion of Abstract’s, but besides a few fully fleshed out ideas, the majority of these tracks are devoid of character development and come off as too Matty Healy to be self-examining. The alienated coming-of-age story of “American Boyfriend” was much more thrilling than this lethargic narrative told by a younger, more frightened perspective. It’s not impossible this one won’t grow on me, but I’m not going to condition myself to love it like I may have when I was seventeen.

order Blanket by Kevin Abstract HERE