It’s hard to believe that Yung Lean is only 28. It’s even harder to grasp that it’s been over a decade since he recalibrated the hip-hop universe with his effervescent first single, “Ginseng Strip 2002.” The early cloud-rap anthem has stood the test of time, reaching mega-virality on TikTok mid-pandemic. But, as a new generation began engaging with his past, the Swedish-born Jonatan Leandoer evolved into the present. These days, Lean splits his art between two primary projects: Yung Lean and jonatan leandoer96. The difference in sound of these contrasting personas is usually easy to detect.
His recent releases under the former are bolstering and feverish in perspective, while the four projects under the latter are stripped back and delicate in structure, with Lean taking a more contemplative, almost poetic, R&B-minded approach. There are points in his discography where the attributes of jonatan trickle into the image of Yung Lean, the most familiar example being “Agony,” a heart-tearing, off-kilter lullaby inspired by his stay in a psychiatric unit. But on Jonatan, Yung Lean’s fifth and most recent studio album, the rapper fully collides these separate sonic worlds, meshing them into a lasting, material universe. That impressive feat is what makes up the album’s identity: an all-encompassing portrait of the young man and his many overlapping, tenured lives, without dilution or compromise.
Jonatan has a swirling complexion of genres, from eccentric ’80s pop to stadium-sized, 2010s grunge and even orchestral religious hymns, processed through a dreamy malaise of lo-fi caliber. At times, it sounds like a transistor radio dispatch, with Lean riffing off interpolations of ABBA and Bill Withers amid layered harmonies and thoughts of escape. Third track “Forever Yung” is driven by a bouncy, clapping melody, featuring Lean’s echoey mumble sliding up and down as he considers breaking out from “the spiral.” “I love the glory and the pain,” he admits, wrestling with what feels like a career-wide M.O. regarding fame. Here, he opts for singing as opposed to his usual buoyant rap flow, but he still maintains steady control. “Paranoid Paparazzi,” by contrast, has a dark, spoken word energy, with Lean murmuring over drearily indie instrumentals that sound much like a Dean Blunt feature.
Lean is both nostalgic and honest on Jonatan, possibly the most reflective he’s been on either project. The subject matter here isn’t as depressive or morbid as some of his darker content, but rather melancholic with an acceptance of moving forward. On “Horses,” a simplistic guitar riff underscores his desire to leave the world behind: “A wild horse gotta run free,” he laments, not just pining for escapism, but wanting to abandon his old habits altogether. His musings on “Swan Song” about “cruisin’ down the same road” capture that sentiment, as off-beat percussion narrates an ongoing descent. The poppier songs on the album have these realizations too. “I’ve been so cold to everybody that loves me,” Lean repeats before trailing off on “Teenage Symphonies 4 God (God Will Only).” That track and “Changes” possess bits of pre-2010 recession-pop in cool Tumblr riffs and YOLO-esque ad-libs: “Get money or die trying”; “We only live right now.” As the culture starts to regress back into those aesthetics, it feels charming to hear similar sentiments get the Yung Lean treatment.
As the album goes on, the songs start to unravel; their mashups start to become more fantastically surreal. “Terminator Symphony” blends video-game chiptune with a symphonic, opera scale, staggered yet controlled to sound tangible and clean. The final track, “Lessons From Above,” does a 180 yet again, as the vibe shifts to a strumming, acoustic reflection. While most of the music on Jonatan is tightly experimental, not all of the fat seems to be trimmed. The transition of “Paranoid Paparazzi” into “Babyface Maniacs,” songs that sound similar to each other, is groggy, causing the latter track to feel underwhelming. As much as Lean’s rambles are strangely captivating on jonatan leandoer96 tracks, here the incoherency is too long-winded.
But honesty is rarely perfect, and that’s something that must be taken into consideration while listening to a project as intimate as Jonatan. After all, an album titled with the artist’s first name is likely going to be extremely self-identifying and all-bearing. If you’ve followed Yung Lean through it all—from “Ginseng”’s levels of viral fame to the tragic conclusions of his 2020 doc In My Head—you understand the levels of adversity he’s overcome and has been so transparent about in his art. As a longtime Lean fan, a question I’ve always had is, “What determines the difference between a Yung Lean and jonatan leandoer project?” Jonatan offers a striking answer: “Does it really matter?” Either way, Lean is coming straight from the heart, both dreamy and real in all his forms.
Alli Dempsey is a freelance music and culture writer based in Staten Island, NYC. She interned for Paste’s music section in the fall of 2024 and is a graduate of NYU’s Arthur L. Carter School of Journalism.
