One video of a hanging, several pairs of colorful socks and a Jimmy Fallon back-leap/Mos Def “swag!” yelp later, it appears that Tyler, The Creator has risen from the ashes of underground darling and finally etched his own place into hip-hop with his Odd Future collective waving their upside-down crosses into the sunset.
But you only gather about half of that upon first glance at Wolf, his new album: It appears a few hundred thousand in the bank and a four-story house still doesn’t equal a happy Tyler, who is now coping with the drawbacks of his infamy, the sudden passing of his grandmother who was “always bitchin’ about her carpet” on Bastard and the fact that his father still hasn’t called him back. Still, this album is a smooth, depraved ride through the darkest corners of the summertime with a few bigger names on the bill and a few marshmallows to burn.
Tyler stated early in the development stages the production was the primetime focus of this album, and by God he wasn’t exaggerating. His cartoony synth-slap sound has taken a very audible upgrade: bigger chord progressions, more strings and an exercise in all of his influences, from the bare-bones, Missy Elliott-sounding twerkability of “Tamale” to the slow soul Erykah Badu-collab “Treehome95.” Wolf sounds precisely like its setting: a subplot from the original universe found in Bastard and Goblin that finds the characters Wolf and Sam at Camp Flog Gnaw finding love (and hate) for the summer. Tyler’s progression provides a lush cohesion that can accompany the darkest of introspection with a smile and a Sunny D in hand.
Though Tyler trolled online about the album being god-awful, he sold himself short on the lyricism; he has even more moments of gold since finding his comfort zone and focusing more on conventional song structure. “Bimmer” is an astounding melodic exercise with Frank Ocean background vocals making the song drip. “Answer” is a sincere and personal moment for Tyler wanting his father and grandmother back. “48” is about Tyler dealing drugs and I don’t even give a damn because it’s sonically beautiful and well written and has Nas on it, so it’s an automatic win.
Wolf has plenty of ups going for it early, but it also sounds like Tyler’s emulating all his idols throughout, with varying degrees of success. It is this variance that makes the record “IFHY” work so perfectly since Tyler’s gigantic Pharrell influence is perfectly compatible with… well, Pharrell. But this is the same caveat that makes “Colossus” sound like a Tumblr-era take on Eminem’s “Stan,” no matter how much Tyler would probably deny it.
If Tyler’s albums are one thing, they are damn sure long, and Wolf’s 71 minutes follow suit in the same fashion of its predecessoser: some of the songs are in weird places that can kill whatever build-up he was going for. This is initiated by the semi-comeback single “Domo 23,” which ups the ante in energy, but doesn’t truly add to the already-loose narrative other than being a go-dumb song. Also, despite how “Tamale” holds a weird place in my heart, it has no business being the penultimate song before the jarring outro “Lone,” about the last time Tyler saw his grandmother. Also, the “PartyIsn’tOver/Campfire/Bimmer” stitching may work as filler for the campy vibe, but there isn’t much else here to work with for it to be seven minutes long.
The primary problem with Wolf arrives when Tyler decides to abandon the new shades of himself he revealed to revel in critic-bashing and how much fans want to suck his dick. I’d expect nothing more from his abrasiveness at this point, but it can certainly wear on the listener to no end. He unloads several responses to criticism on the somber banger “Rusty,” where he bellows: “The fuck am I saying? Tyler’s not even a violent name/I’m ‘bout as threatening as stained windbreakers in hurricanes/But he rapes women, and spit wrong like he hate dentists/Goddamn menace, 666 and he’s not finished” (it is worth noting that Domo has a show-stealer on this jam and I am proud to see how far he’s come). When Tyler takes too much time to address writers like me as invalid dumbasses who shouldn’t have jobs, it takes away from the awkward gratification he can deliver when he continues to disobey “voices of reason” instead of complaining.
Wolf is neither the Grammy-winner Tyler bleeds for (nor even the nominee), but it demonstrates that he is just as much a work-in-progress as his art. Though he has thankfully shed a majority of the rape and assault content rampant in the previous Odd Future catalog, Tyler is still ricocheting between the beauty of his artistry that can come with his newfound focus and the green-masked-rapist-racist of yesteryear that propelled him to his success. When you hear the tiring “Frank-Ocean-is-my-friend-I’m-not-homophobic-but-you’re-a-fag” quips and the typical displeasure with being famous until he sees his bank account, inflated from cat t-shirts, you can see that Tyler’s maturation has not completed yet. But this summertime opus is definitely a level-up on Wolf Haley’s behalf, and watching his progression is a ride we are undeniably tuned to no matter what ALL CAPS antics occur next.
Grade: B
