Nourished By Time speaks to something bigger on The Passionate Ones

On his second album, Marcus Brown makes the case for dedicating yourself to something difficult.

By Drew Gillis | August 23, 2025 | 11:00am

Image: XL Records

Music Reviews Nourished By Time

Nourished By Time speaks to something bigger on The Passionate Ones

Marcus Brown was angry when he made his first album under the moniker Nourished By Time. After a stint at Berklee College Of Music, the musician moved to Los Angeles, where he worked at Whole Foods, in a barber shop, and in construction before moving back in with his parents in Baltimore. Brown had come face-to-face with the reality that it’s near-impossible to even be a struggling artist these days; our social safety net has been shredded, the federal minimum wage hasn’t risen since 2009, and the rent is too damn high. Forgoing most friends and romance and big city life, Brown dedicated himself to his craft, writing and self-producing Erotic Probiotic 2 in the studio he salvaged from his parents’ basement. It paid off.

In the 28 months since that first Nourished By Time album, Brown’s life changed significantly. His music brought critical acclaim, which brought major label attention, which brought international tours, a Late Show performance, and a recent move to New York, which Brown has expressed ambivalence about. Even with the success, it still makes the most sense to have a roommate. Even with a record deal, the rent is still too damn high. But Brown has other things on his mind on The Passionate Ones, his second album, out this week. There is still righteous anger, but he has further honed his impressionistic lyricism and kaleidoscopic production and applied it to a spectrum of passions: love, religion, political outrage, art.

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This context has to be destabilizing, but Brown also realizes that, in a substantial way, he has made it. In interviews ahead of The Passionate Ones‘ release, Brown cited both Jay-Z’s The Blueprint and Kanye West’s The College Dropout as reference points, describing them as “a map for how to succeed.” Inviting comparisons to two of the most critically acclaimed albums of the past quarter-century expresses an earned confidence in the skills and taste Brown spent years perfecting. He may not explicitly shout out making five beats a day for three summers as West did, but his commitment to the craft is obvious.

From its opening moments, The Passionate Ones soars. Real passion requires some drama, and opening track “Automatic Love” spends only 42 seconds with table-setting chords and beat before exploding into worship. But this relationship is reciprocal: “I fall down to praise you baby / ‘Cause I know you’ll praise me too.” Brown’s voice is unlike any other in the contemporary pop landscape, emitting guttural yelps and beatific howls mixed in harmony. The effect is both singular and consciously choral, a whole community in a single body, a continuous conversation with himself. It asks, “Do you want to feel life again?”

Of course, what some call reflection may well look alarming to others. Brown accepts this quickly; lead single “Max Potential” makes the risk of losing control into a stadium-sized chorus (“If I’m gonna go insane / At least I’m loved by you,” he sings). Standout track “Crazy People” injects 808s And Heartbreaks‘ iciness with the organic piano chords of house music. “Crazy people / Don’t have to tell you / That they’re crazy,” Brown sings in call and response. Perhaps he’s trying to calm himself down, but it’s no use—as soon as he’s done, the track breaks down. On “It’s Time,” Brown assumes the role of evangelist, dispensing tough love like, “We don’t have to be so average / And I say that with love.” He’s speaking to himself as much as he is to anyone listening.

The handful of other voices on The Passionate Ones, some sampled, tend toward the album’s more explicitly political cuts. “Cult Interlude” makes the album’s political subtext explicit, stating that there are political cults and asking how to get someone out. “9 2 5,” the album’s extended statement on labor, features a chopped-up vocal sample that could be Brown, but it’s depersonalized and alienated to the point that it’s hard to tell; a similar device punctuates consumer escapism critique “Baby Baby.” Tony Botana, who provides the album’s sole guest verse, joins “Jojo” to speak to the importance of making art precisely because the time and space to create it were so hard-fought. Security is required to reach your max potential.

That freedom is perhaps the most distinguishing factor from the previous Nourished By Time releases. Brown’s financial and career security hasn’t made him any less hungry, but it has brought a new fullness to his work nonetheless. If this album is a map, it leads to “The Passionate Ones,” an ecstatic offering over an orgy of new wave Neptunes-esque gospel. Brown relishes in his own vulnerability, cracked open but whole. It’s a recommittal to something higher, painful as the effort may be.