Review Summary: This is what the devil plays before he goes to sleep.
You know what pisses me off more than old hacks who talk *** about the modern music scene, when they are obviously hypocrites talking out of their ass against the same things they probably dreamed of yelling at their parents when they were as young and idealistic and ***ing good looking as me, I mean us? young people who do the exact same thing. It's like when you’re in seventh grade and everyone in your class goes around repeating everything their parents said about illegal immigrants because they’re too stupid to realize that Mexicans are dope as ***.
While Tyler the Creator isn't Mexican (yet), the point is, artists like Tyler and his crew of skate rats from L.A. known as OFWGKTA (Odd Future Wolf Gang Kill Them All) are making it easy as *** for the Y Generation to come into their own. They're real, and I don't mean in the ODB "keeping it real" way that every faggot on sputnik is thinking right now. Odd Future is every group of adult swim watching, weed smoking, skate rats that hang out in the skate park (the cool one, not the gay one all the white kids go to) with all the Puerto Ricans and older white kids. Now, that probably makes it seem like differentiating between any of these kids on a track is as hard as doing the same on a Doomtree record. And while they certainly are young enough for this to be somewhat true, some basic blueprints have been laid out; Mike G as the laid back southern sounding dude with tricks up his sleeve, Domo Genesis as the resident stoner (see "Rolling Papers"), Hodgy Beats as the charismatic thug, and Earl Sweatshirt as the young, stuttering, lyrical standout.
But out of everyone in Odd Future (and for all we know there could be way more in the future), no one stands out as much as MCproducer Tyler, the Creator. He's the hyperactive dude with gravelly voice that fucks all the punkish white girls you all have crushes on, the troubled mastermind behind all of the evil *** OF does (on record or not). Apparently he's the oldest one, at nineteen, and pretty much the main spokesman of the up and coming crew, filming all of their promos with the help of OF visual artist and occasional MC, Taco. And on his debut, he proves not only himself, but his crew. Swag.
"Some food for thought, this food for deathGo ahead and ***ing eat," Tyler proclaims on "Bastard", over a simple, yet affecting piano, and it's a good way to summarize Tyler, the Creator. He raps about really whatever he wants, whether it be rape, coke, his father, tae kwon-do, white girls, filming porn, ***ing Goldie Locks and eating porridge with the three Bears, etc. with a serious flow that sounds like a hybrid of MF DOOM and latter day Busta. It's this flow that stops him from coming off like a schmorgasboard kind of rapper, and instead like an established MC whose sometimes randomly placed lyrics (see the Pitchfork approved "Parade") all blend. Like any good rapper, he contradicts himself constantly, mostly about drug use. He proclaims on "Bastard" that he "says no to drugs" but then raps about snorting coke and raping white girls on “Blow”.
“I Like my girls how I like my drugs….white”. While most rappers flinch even thinking about saying that on record, Tyler’s flow is hot enough that it allows him to not give a ***. His beats, on the other hand, are a bit hit and miss. Tracks like the sparse piano-laden “Bastard” prove he’s clever enough not to *** up his most straightforward and emotionally bare track, lyrically, with the cheesy synths he’s capable of. But tracks like “Jack and the Beanstalk” (a “French!” rip) and “Tina” show he’s also not yet mastered the art of cutting filler, as these tracks meander pretty aimlessly in a clout of obnoxious buzzes and synths for around 3 to 4 minutes.
That said, these tracks make up the tail end of the latter half, and this ***’s free so it really doesn’t matter. The rest of the album ***ing slams. “Seven”, with its savage, diss everyone lyrics (“*** everybody here, everybody vanished/ you managed/to hop off my dick and make a ***ing sandwich/everybody listening can suck my dick in Spanish”) and Dr. Drewithakickintheballs-like beat is and easy contender for song of the year. “French!” is distortion laden head banger filled with random lyrics about Goldie Locks and the Three Bears, and an excellent guest verse from Hodgy Beats, who is usually heard over Left-Brain’s spacey, sexy beats. “AssMilk” shows the seeds of future EarlWolf projects, with Earl and Tyler shooting dope rhyme schemes back and forth, Meth & Red style over a jazzy-Madvillainesque beat. “VCRWheels” makes filming porn sound way sexier than it it’s (trust me) with the help of the previously mentioned cheesy synths.
The album ends with “Inglorious”, where Tyler wears his heart out on his sleeve and his middle finger to the world when he raps about his dead beat father. And it’s really hard to be offended by anything the dude says when he raps such tender, yet “*** you” lines like “My father “died” when I came out of my mom’s hole/and left the burden on my soul/until I was old enough to understand that the ***ing faggot didn’t like me much”. The Beat really pops over the chorus (“*** You”) but during the verses, the string-synths and piano definitely tear at your heart when Tyler grumbles “I don’t give a *** eitherLike Father like sonI’m done”.
So there you have it. “Bastard” proves that Tyler and the rest of OFWGKTA aren’t just a fad among strung out skater kids in L.A. Tyler has age beyond his years, evident in his music, and if he’s as smart as he sounds (and I think he is) he’s going to make sure him and the rest of OF blow up like they should. If not, then maybe Bastard’s magic will dry up a bit. But until then I’m going to blast this ***ing noise.
