The first thing that BROCKHAMPTON would like you to know about them is that they are an All-American Boy Band. The patriotic first half of the phrase speaks to their diversity: They include both black and white, queer and straight members. The second half speaks to their lineup. Instead of “the shy one” or “the bad boy,” the L.A.-based collective comprises rappers, producers, singers, directors, designers, and creators. And in place of standard-bearing coolness, BROCKHAMPTON maintain an attractive aesthetic of self-expression. They confidently wear bright outfits, and even all-over blue body paint, in videos. In interviews, they speak often of self-belief. The group attempts to imbue its music with the same reckless, all-caps self-love, yet on their debut album, SATURATION, BROCKHAMPTON are unable to determine the best way to communicate that sentiment. Songs waver in sound and substance: from trap to acoustic, from unfettered declarations of individuality to self-help ballads. On SATURATION, insistence often outweighs execution.

BROCKHAMPTON’s stylishness is their greatest asset. The album’s second track, “GOLD,” isn't about much, yet it is easily the project’s most appealing and assertive outing. It features nearly all of the collective’s vocalists, showcasing them one by one over a futuristic boogie of a beat. Founder Kevin Abstract delivers the hook, in which flaunting a gold chain is akin to godliness. Rappers Matt Champion, Ameer Vann, Merlyn Wood, and Dom McLennon follow suit, each one delivering his strongest flow on the album. “GOLD” is the exemplar of BROCKHAMPTON’s message of self-confidence, where effortless cool is a default setting.

Were they not so insistent about it, it might not be obvious that BROCKHAMPTON are attempting to up-end hip-hop. “I’m just super into redefining things,” Kevin Abstract once told director Spike Jonze. “I want to make people confused, like, ‘Damn, I’ve not heard anybody like this in a rap song—like, ever before,” Wood declared in 2016. The group’s most subversive moments on record, however, come from their production, which is handled entirely in-house, literally; all of BROCKHAMPTON lives together in South Los Angeles. On another standout, “BOYS,” Champion, Vann, and McLennon deadpan over a swirling beat, creating an inviting contrast between the production and their delivery. But as far as what they have to say, Champion’s “Y’all say y’all got bitches/But y’all bitches make my dick soft” does not exactly “change what it means to be a man,” as Abstract said in that same 2016 interview.

Still, on “BOYS” and other beat-driven standouts like “FAKE,” “FACE,” and the horrorcore-adjacent opener “HEAT,” BROCKHAMPTON’s disruption is convincing. They scatter moments of self-deprecation and fear amid the platitudes. “HEAT,” in particular, with its blown-out bass and frantic vocals, explodes with id—a moment of catharsis for both the rappers and the listener. McLennon’s “I hate the way I think, I hate the way it looms” sounds more proud than afraid.

When they shed their aggressiveness, however, SATURATION becomes sappy and the collective’s lyrical weakness reveals itself. Slower tracks like “TRIP,” “MILK,” and “SWIM” closely resemble the naivety of Kevin Abstract’s American Boyfriend. Lamenting the perils of suburban life on “TRIP,” Abstract sings, “Today Imma be whoever I wanna be”; Ameer Vann echoes, “Trapped in the suburbs/We suffocatin’.” On “MILK,” Abstract switches to an uplifting message—“I gotta get better at being me”—but it comes off more like a motivational GIF on Instagram. Throughout, BROCKHAMPTON often mistake honesty for ability, and confession on its own is not necessarily artful.

SATURATION is best when BROCKHAMPTON live the life they preach. No member is a particularly good rapper, but they make up for their weakness when they ride the pristine beats with exuberance. “FACE,” for example, is so clean that a clunker like Champion’s “New times are coming just like a virgin” easily skates by unnoticed amid Vann and McLennon’s superior verses and JOBA’s gentle hook. But when they veer toward more indistinct territory—whether that means vague self-affirmation or songs that sound like Blonde karaoke—their ambitions sound too much like pipe dreams.