Last we heard from Danny Brown, he was ruining The Avalanches' "Frankie Sinatra," ham-boning fellow guest MF Doom and singlehandedly hijacking the Australian pirates' first single in 16 years. That was in June. In September, Brown — hip-hop's loosest cannon, a self-loathing, paranoid man-droid with the itchiest/scratchiest delivery since Sideshow Bob — launched Atrocity Exhibition (Warp), a locked-doors sleepover at Danny manor, whose open house of horrors begins with our host, teeth still grinding, answering the door in nothing but a bathrobe and a pinky ring, self-medicating with cognac, "chasin' that cilantro" and threatening to "slice your tomato if you owe us for the lettuce." The album's etymological pedigree traces through English post-punk band Joy Division to pre-punk author J.G. Ballard, so it seems appropriate to bite a line from another, Chuckie Dickens: Brown is the best of times and the worst of times. Wisdom, foolishness, belief, incredulity; light and hope, not so much, but an unhealthy dose of darkness and despair. He's got a lot to be proud of, yet he celebrates with blunt mirror berating (boasting about eating rappers like steak, he divulges, "Don't know the last time I ate"). On the candlelit, wax-dripping "Rolling Stone," he throws fortune ("Bought a nightmare, sold a dream / Happiness went upstream") and fame ("Some people say I think too much / I don't think they think enough") under the tour bus. One track later ("Really Doe"), the Adderall admiral is sparring — and beating — Kendrick Lamar, Earl Sweatshirt and Ab-Soul, gleefully mixing up his reefer and penis metaphors: "That ho want my piccolo / Smokin' on that mistletoe." Game, set, match. Maxo Kream and ZelooperZ open. Tickets $22-$85.21.