Tyler, The Creator – Goblin

Score: 7.3/10
XL Recordings
Tyler, The Creator
Purchase: Amazon

Comparing the music of Odd Future Wolf Gang Kill Them All to that of its hip-hop forebears has become quite fashionable. At this point in the group’s existence, critics have deconstructed the music in terms of rap sub-genre (“It’s horrorcore!”), hip-hop artists that have covered similar lyrical ground (“They’re like Eminem!”), and even through alignment with other genres that may not share rap’s musical aesthetic but find commonality in anarchic spirit (“A new version of punk!”). Comparatives are part and parcel of music journalism, but when they’re relied upon so heavily, as has been the case with Odd Future, the dreaded final analysis is usually that the subject is so derivative that nothing original can possibly be said.

The problem with Odd Future is that most of the comparisons are appropriate. Much to their leader Tyler, The Creator’s chagrin (“We don’t f*cking make horrorcore you f*cking idiots!” he’s insisted), the California crew’s over-the-top violent subject matter shares at least a modicum of the sub-genre’s mutant DNA. Likewise, the Odd Future MC’s rampant tales of murder, violence toward women and homophobia are right up a circa 1999 Eminem’s alley. The riddle of Odd Future is that, as true as the similarities are, the group still manages to defy easy comparison. The horrorcore analogy ends when you consider how pre-meditated that branch of hip-hop’s originators were compared to the often free-associative nature of Odd Future. And of course there is the one glaring chromatic difference between Marshall Mathers and the eight (or so) members of OF, adding a layer of social complexity that immediately transcends the often cursory nature of standard music criticism. So where exactly then does Odd Future exist contextually in hip-hop? The frustrating answer is that it doesn’t. At least not yet.

Enter Tyler, The Creator’s second full-length album, Goblin, Odd Future’s inaugural foray into major label territory. It shares a home (XL Recordings) with the likes of Vampire Weekend, M.I.A., Gil Scott-Heron, and Radiohead, which automatically grants it that weird and dubious credibility in the mythical world of the Underground Mainstream. In other words, XL was the absolute perfect place for Goblin to land if Tyler’s wish was to achieve some level of industry accessibility while still remaining partially shaded by hip-hop’s underground realms. The album itself is a messy explosion of pure id, the unfortunate by-product of when out-of-control hormonal teenage angst meets unjust racial marginalization. Whether there’s also a measure of acute mental illness at play is another matter — though, where there exists a diagnosed disorder inside a musician’s mind, the unquantifiable marvel of true artistic acumen usually follows which is certainly the case here. It’s much too early to start throwing the “genius” word around, but Tyler, The Creator’s calculated minimalism in his production and his strobe-lit clarity of self-awareness, suggests a greater mind at work.

Or does it? Behaving badly is Odd Future’s modus operandi and it’s gotten them noticed like the goofball kid in the back of the classroom. That this group of teenagers (Tyler just recently graduated into his twenties) is better at acting out than their peers doesn’t necessarily mean they have more to say about the state of America’s youth, however, they might be considerably better at saying it. To Tyler’s credit, for every declaration of anarchy or suggestion of violence, there’s often a counter-point being made, or at least considered. “Radicals,” with its unambiguous command to “Kill people / Burn sh*t / F*ck school!” is accompanied by pre- and post-track disclaimers in which Tyler categorizes the anthem as allegory for standing “up for what the f*ck you believe in.” What that means to him personally is never specified but in the still-developing mind of a teenager the raw principle is enough.

Even in the cases where heinous acts of violence are directed at women, there are conflicting moments of vulnerability, like on “She” (featuring Frank Ocean, OF’s resident R&B crooner) where a desire to “drag (her) lifeless body into the forest and fornicate with it” is expressed in the same verse with tender declarations of love for the victim. A generous analysis of an otherwise horrific duality would have something to say about the paradoxical co-existence of romance and possession in male-female relationships, especially as it exists in this country’s system of institutionalized gender discrimination. Then again, when rape and necrophilia are referred to in such a casual manner and in music consumed widely by kids under the age of 18, you’ll have to forgive the majority of folks who find stretching for that generosity too far to reach.

Thankfully, in Tyler’s world, no one is immune to his violent acting out. On “Window” the album’s guide and moral compass (a deep-voiced therapist who appears throughout the record and sounds suspiciously like Tyler) stages an intervention by inviting four other members of Odd Future to spit a few bars of concern for their leader’s mental state. Tyler’s reaction? He guns them all down, stopping just short of putting rounds in the therapist. Shades of another Tyler appear (Durden) and it becomes clear the therapist and Tyler (The Creator) are one and the same — the MC is at war with his conscience! This is the type of armchair psychology that Goblin loves for the listener to consider and the reason critics have been heaping praise on the album since it leaked a week ago.

Tyler himself spells it out pretty clearly on “Yonkers,” the album’s advanced single and still its best track: “I’m a f*ckin’ walking paradox / No I’m not” he spits in the opening bars. All of Goblin’s best ideas are condensed into the track’s four tense minutes, including the musicianship that has earned Tyler a studio session with his idol, Pharell Williams of the Neptunes. The song carries a thick, weighty bassline unlike the airy 808 thumps Tyler uses on the rest of the album’s tracks. Horror movie synths filter in between verses. A distressing high-pitched grind that sounds like an out-of-alignment circular handsaw cuts through both of those. And a relaxed jazzy keyboard interlude makes a surprise appearance, just in time for Tyler to self-medicate on Xanax, put on a pair of his mom’s panties and dance around the house to Marvin Gaye. If that description doesn’t sound like a candidate for one of the best (and most polarizing) hip-hop moments of the year, then the rap gods are defied to find a better one. “Yonkers” stands apart from the 14 other tracks on Goblin, where Tyler uses heavy Cali bass and varying degrees of cheap synth to achieve remarkable emotional affect. From the downright sexy tone of “She” to the frantic pacing of “Sandwitches,” Tyler takes the synthesizer, the most tired and employed tool in Top 40 rap and R&B production, and whacks every mainstream beatmaker over the head with it. It’s a welcome and refreshing flagellation.

And that’s essentially what rap music in general is receiving with Odd Future’s sonorous and hasty appearance in the game. Pop music has been knocked silly by the crew and rap doesn’t fully know what to make of them, which designates Odd Future the most transcendent hip-hop act of recent memory. If the School of Hip-Hop were to hand out letter grades for relevance inside the genre, Goblin certainly deserves an “I” for “Incomplete.” Tyler and company’s brand of offensive rap is unlistenable to some, groundbreaking to others and, at the very least, sickly enthralling to the majority. At this stage in his career, two albums deep but still inside the first two famous minutes of his allotted fifteen, Tyler, The Creator has already shown that he doesn’t play well with others, but that might be because he’s smarter than the rest of the kids around him. There is no current class to place him in and, if that condition endures, it would make for the best possible ending to Odd Future’s still developing story.