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Thursday, July 27, 2017
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com ARTS
Columbia Records
Tyler, the Creator awkwardly gazing
Tyler gets serious
What’s coming of age really
about, anyway? Is it when you finally
actualize that vision of “cool” you’ve
had since you were 13? Is it supposed
to happen right when you turn old
enough to rent a car? Or maybe
it’s when you realize that the only
person thinking critically about your
life is you.
It’s no secret that most of the
conversations surrounding Tyler,
the Creator’s latest effort, Flower Boy
(unofficially Scum Fuck Flower Boy,
which is obviously way cooler), have
been around his apparent “coming
out.” As in, he likes guys.
Despite
Tyler’s
long
history
of homophobia, he’s hinted (or
even been quite explicit about)
his orientation for a while now.
Over two years ago, Ernest Baker
wrote a classic profile on Tyler for
Rolling Stone magazine where he
might have been the first to ask
the question, but Tyler’s public
demeanor is so hilariously blunt that
it’s often hard to take him seriously.
Tyler wants us to take him
seriously now. No more Hopsin-
esque album cuts that feel like
deadpan parodies of (sigh) New Rap,
or bullshit “I’m a rapper that doesn’t
listen to rap music” music. Instead of
hiding behind absurdist humor or his
Cool New Friends (see: “Smuckers”),
Tyler fleshes out a lot of his musical
influences into something he can
call uniquely his own, while also
growing the courage to say “serious
things,” well, seriously.
Flower Boy is also masterfully
sequenced. Some of Tyler’s earlier
projects were so scattered that it
almost exaggerated runtime, where
this album just seems to melt away,
like the car rides and afternoons
that surely inspired it. “Where
This Flower Blooms” sees Frank
ghost in and out with a classically
unbothered hook before you even
know it. Tyler raps about various
skin-care treatments and smelling
like Chanel. He’s also found a way to
integrate acoustic elements without
sounding like some sort of Mac
Demarco tribute.
On “Sometimes…,” a gorgeous
interlude placed on the album solely
to set the “Route 66” mise-en-scène,
a “Golf Radio” broadcaster angrily
asks for a song request; quite tellingly,
“the song about me” comes from
the voice of a boy. What follows is
probably the song that Tyler has
been gunning for his entire career.
“See You Again” has the bounce
of Neptunes-era Pharrell, mixed
with arrangements from Late
Registration-era ‘Ye, and finally,
the same keyboard setting Tyler
has been using since his bedroom
production days on Bastard. Kali
Uchis sounds like the vocalist
Tyler has been searching for
since “Treehome 95,” and really,
she’s tailored for the flowery
soundscapes of the album.
The song is also probably
the first time we hear Tyler
seriously flow behind the mic; I
can think of one Harlem Pretty
Boy who’s probably responsible
for this. That “Glitter” twists and
turns so uncontrollably, and yet
Tyler matches it beat for beat, is
definitely a sign that he’s been
working on his pen game.
Speaking of Rocky, the latter
half of “Glitter” even has Tyler
screwing his own voice down as
if this were some sort of UGK
record. It’s hard to listen without
seeing him dance in specifically
green high water pants and
whatever shoe he’s been working
on. It’s the perfect Tyler song.
Wolf and Cherry Bomb also had
these spurts of brilliance, but were
diluted by Tyler’s willingness to
piss on his own albums. Flower
Boy is the first time he really
indulges in his natural talents and
quits trying to recreate N.E.R.D’s
In Search Of… intro. The only bad
patch of the album is a track that
Tyler actually thought would be a
good lead single; “Who Dat Boy”
is another song about Tyler not
shopping at the mall, with wonky
percussion that was probably
played with his fists. It’s a waste of
a Rocky feature, as I’m sure they
had at least 10 tracks together that
would have been a better fit.
“November” has a synth line
that almost slithers from start to
finish, etching an outline for Tyler
to release his manic thoughts all
at once. “What if Clancy fucked
me over? / What if ‘Who Dat Boy’
is rhetorical and this shit is over?
/ What if I’m hustling backwards?
What if my accountant ain’t payin’
my taxes? / Fillin’ his pockets and
IRS show up asking me questions.”
The track is a tribute to those
times where every hour is the
“magic hour” — those times you get
nostalgic for when your favorite song
from 8th grade pops up on shuffle.
“Take me back...” goes the bridge.
CONCERT REVIEW
Los Angeles, CA — As evening
turned to night on Sat., July 22, a
sense of awe set into the crowd at
FYF Festival, with some attendees
still seemingly in disbelief that
Frank Ocean — who had cancelled
on the same gig just two years
prior, plus a few others earlier this
summer — was going to perform at
all. Though I had seen him live once
before, this neither minimized the
mystery nor lessened my excitement
as I stood packed against thousands
of sweaty strangers, calves and
heels splintering from a full day
of standing, awaiting Mr. Ocean’s
starry-skied summer set. Despite
his act’s fabled status and already-
visible staging (a long catwalk
teased its expansion deep into the
crowd), little else was known of
what would come from the cultish
crooner, who had not perfromed
for a North American audience in
nearly five years.
Frank Ocean is prone to silence
and public exile. In 2012, just as
his internet hype began flowering
into real breakout stardom via the
success of his studio debut, Channel
Orange, he paused his career to go
soul-searching in Shanghai, telling
The New York Times of his plans to
write “in remote locations” for about
two years. This patient process
would later inform his stunning
sophomore LP blond with piercingly
potent emotion, earning it wide
acclaim and confirming Ocean’s
status as the hyper-coveted — yet
guarded, often distant — songwriter
of the current decade. With FYF
Festival offering the first chance
to see his new material performed
in America, the anticipation was
nearly fervent.
At 11:00 PM, Ocean walked
onstage with the poise of a seasoned
pastor,
complete
with
noise-
cancelling headphones and a Nike
t-shirt — a vintage collaboration
made with John Lennon and
bearing the phrase: “INSTANT
KARMA.” Surely there was some
irony in his choice to come out to
“Pretty Sweet,” a chaotic collage of
strings and sound effects that almost
intentionally misaligned with the
serenity of the rest of the set. But a
purer paradox came just moments
later, when Ocean was joined by the
roaring masses, right from the very
first syllable, in the recitation of his
chilling ode to independence, “Solo.”
“Hand me a towel, I’m dirty
dancing!”
Ocean sang, standing plainly
at the foot of his stage, rocking an
almost indifferent calm. The stage
featured a set of chairs (built in Tom
Sach’s studio), which would later be
occupied by an orchestral backing,
an inanimate pile of boomboxes and
some instruments, together leaving
just enough room for Ocean to roam
at the lip. In the background, close-
ups of his face and artistic portraits
of the performance were displayed
on stadium-sized screens, looking
something like a concert film made
live. Together, it all worked to create
a feeling of being there, right in the
studio with Frank.
“My guy pretty like a girl!”
“Chanel” was next on the setlist,
the first of three singles recently
released on Frank’s Blonded radio
show, and the intensity with which
the crowd — even its heterosexual
males — screamed out the lyrics is a
true testament to their captivation.
Afterward, Ocean thanked fans for
their participation and promised,
“We gon’ get to some other shit in
a second.” Not quite yet, though:
Before moving on, Ocean would
perform “Lens” and “Biking (Solo),”
two other newer singles, plus “In
Here Somewhere / Comme Des
Garcon,” a bouncy track off his slept-
on visual album, Endless.
When Ocean did finally arrive
at blond though, what proceeded
was a truly breathtaking exercise
in patience and musical expertise.
Kneeling down to play a keyboard
from the floor, he performed an
extended rendition of “Good
Guy” twice because he believed
that he messed up the first one,
hitting high notes that felt truly
spiritual while simultaneously
employing
the
song’s
empty
spaces, their silences proving
contagious. Then, he dove into
a similarly extended cut of “Self
Control,” rapping over its heart-
wrenching guitar riff for nearly a
minute (with lines like, “Bounce
remixes of Aaliyah had the
spinal chord crackin’ / Cups of
‘methazine had ‘em leaning like
Michael Jackson”) before finally
arriving at the song’s beloved
intro (“Poolside convos, about
your summer last night”), which
naturally invited the crowd to
chime in in full force.
SALVATORE DIGIOIA
Daily Arts Editor
SHAYAN SHAFII
Daily Arts Writer
Flower Boy
Tyler, the Creator
Columbia Records
Read more at MichiganDaily.com
Read more at MichiganDaily.com
Frank at FYF fest
MUSIC REVIEW