Last December, rapper Navy Blue graced the stage for a rare live performance at a small venue in Manhattan’s Lower East Side. Gripping the microphone, he paced the stage in snow white Stone Island sweats, rapping over tense, jazz-infused loops with his eyes shut, only opening them to glance over at his friends following along. By the end of his set, I couldn’t tell if he was holding back tears. It felt uncomfortable, like eavesdropping, but that discomfort is integral to Navy Blue’s music.

Born Sage Elsesser, Navy Blue is a former skating phenom turned recording artist who began posting his music to Soundcloud in 2015 without disclosing his identity. This wound up being wise, since his earliest raps were raw, incomplete, and bordered on spoken-word. But through sporadic EPs, guest verses, and producing beats for frequent collaborators, he got to polish his style without the pressure of scrutiny from fans who knew him as their favorite skateboarder or style guru.

Àdá Irin, the 23-year-old’s debut album, is the result of his earnest labors. It’s an honest and optimistic coming-of-age story about overcoming pain with the guidance of loved ones, and there’s a starry-eyed passion ingrained in every line, even the ones that are hard to interpret. Several track titles end in exclamation points (“Crash!” and “22!”), and his urgent need to communicate comes through even when his message is abstract. Compared to his older music, Àdá Irin is more straightforward; he’s less likely to use poetic language, which makes it special when he does: “Plummet in the earth, my body’s underneath/My papa in the wall, my worries in the creek,” he says on “Hari Kari.”

Even when he’s baring his soul, Navy Blue remains elusive. “Trickle-down effect, my mother made a soldier/Shoulders ain’t for crying on, my brother know/Hold ’em close, privately we cope,” he murmurs on “Simultaneously Bleeding.” The snapshots are blurry but their intimacy is clear. Songs will often feature muffled drums and lyrics that stream past, but occasionally something piercing emerges from the fog: “Another face like mine on the news,” he says somberly on “Life’s Riddle,” freezing you in place.

Most songs run under three minutes; if they were any longer they might have sounded like monologues over woozy loops. The exception, the self-produced “Hari Kari,” is a moment when he connects to his roots, as he blends a jazzy piano with funky percussion; it feels like a tribute to his father, who he describes in a 2017 interview as “a rastafarian drummer who’s initiated in Santeria.”

Navy Blue strings a sense of fragile hope through the album, even as he grapples with feelings that would defeat most of us—pain, anxiety, fear. “22!” is the high-energy centerpiece, with rattling hi-hats and a pounding bass. His optimism shines through: “Bleed and I replenish/Demons on my Achilles/I give more than I am given,” he says, realizing that his pain has purpose. “To Give Praise!” ends the project like a fairytale. As the horns blare and a graceful melody settles in, he gives thanks to his family and friends, who guided him so he could grow and make an album like Àdá Irin. “If you got ’em both, you better check your mom and dad/Tell ’em that you love ’em, some would kill for what we have,” he states, breaking through the gloom. It feels like a hand on your shoulder.