Tyler, the Creator: Chromakopia review – early midlife crisis triggers wacky psychodrama | Tyler, the Creator

NThe seventh album, “ews of Tyler, the Creator,” came as a bit of a surprise: It came just months after he announced on social media that he wouldn't be releasing any new music this year. The advertising campaign over the last few weeks suggested that Chromakopia would be a conceptual work, the kind of album that would take the listener a long time to fully understand. It was a series of mysterious videos that shifted from the sepia tones of an old TV show to full color and sometimes, but not always, showed the rapper wearing a mask and military uniform, leading a squad of men into a shipping container the album's title was emblazoned on the side, which he then blew up; He makes his way through a crowd before being attacked by a fan, whose enthusiasm turns into a kind of eye-rolling madness and whose phone becomes a weapon. He taps on the roof of a military plane, where his masked alter ego lurks with a scowl in his eyes. Speculation ensued as to what it all meant, which was clearly intentional: one common theory was that the album would feature the debut of a new persona, possibly based on a character from the classic children's novel The Phantom Tollbooth.

But like the announcement that no new music is coming, the mask thing seems like a misdirection, at least as far as an alter ego is concerned. Lyrically, Chromakopia gives the impression of being both prosaic and personal: it feels somehow telling that none of the album's guest artists – including Lil Wayne and Childish Gambino – are listed on streaming services, as if the trumpet of their presence is his Inner distracting-looking mood. It's about the pressures of fame (Noid and Rat Tah Tah tingle with distrust of everyone from Tyler, the creator's accountants, to his fans) and a boastful rejection of his critics on Thought I Was Dead, but the main lyrical themes , which run through the whole thing, are the kind of worries that people in their thirties deal with, when even the most seemingly irresponsible and carefree person becomes fully aware that they are now an adult. Whether your failure to find a lasting relationship means you are destined to spend the rest of your life alone; whether parenthood is something you can embrace; whether you are doomed to repeat the mistakes of your own parents; whether the career you want to pursue is sufficiently rewarding in and of itself.

These questions are rarely easy to answer, which is perhaps why Chromakopia sounds so uncertain. The lyrics return and contradict themselves – moving from boastful self-aggrandizement to paralyzing self-doubt and disgust, sometimes within a single verse. On “Tomorrow” he loudly proclaims his free-spiritedness – “I don't like cages, I'd rather flood” – and now confesses a kind of desperate emptiness: “All I have are photos of my 'Rari and some silly suits.” .”

Elsewhere, titles tend to end up in the last place you expect. Judge Judy opens with a standard sex rhyme – “Body Rubs, Bondage and Cream Pies” – complete with a backing track peppered with orgasmic moans, but ends with a suicide note, while “Like Him” ​​ponders the theme of paternal abandonment before cutting off He hears the voice of Tyler, the Creator's mother, informing him that it is her fault that he never met his father. In “Take Your Mask Off,” he admonishes a range of characters for living a lie, from a homophobe who turns out to be a closeted homosexual to a wealthy but unhappy housewife, before suddenly turning the lyrical focus on himself : “You talk a lot of shit, not even being number one.”

The music is similarly restless. Tracks shift and lose their moorings, fluctuate from one sound to the next and often change completely in the course of a few minutes. Musical ideas bubble out chaotically. “Noid” is based on distorted heavy metal guitars, but the powerful chords they strike keep abruptly short-circuiting, which has a strangely unsettling effect: a prominent sample from '70s Zamrock band Ngozi Family vie for space with Willow Smith's gently cooing backing vocals. Elsewhere, minimalist Neptunes-influenced beats meet lush Beach Boys harmonies, and folky acoustic guitar figures appear alongside lush G-Funk-inspired synths, and the sound of an '80s R&B slow jam is punctuated by machine gun Drum roll disturbed. It's held together by an abundance of gasps, grunts and wild barks that run through the rhythm tracks, giving even the most laid-back tracks a claustrophobic feel.

After an hour it ends with no real resolution: the final track is called “I Hope You Find Your Way Home,” but it doesn’t leave you with much hope. Tyler, the Creator, is still thrashing around – “I'm slipping, I'm slipping… I need a hand” – and constantly contradicting himself with his hopes for the future. Chromakopia, an album that began with the author denying his existence, ultimately seems to manifest a state of confusion where everything is in flux and nothing is quite as it first seems. This succeeds with a captivating and exhausting effect.