Morgan Mehring – Staff Illustrator
When an artist like Tyler, the Creator comes around, someone known for his wild, inflammatory lyrics and seething energy, there’s a tendency to predetermine the trajectory of the artist’s career. There’s an assumption that the frenetic, provocative nature of the early days will mature into something totally different, leaving the early work looking wildly different than what comes after it.
If you’re looking for a more reserved, more “mature” Tyler on “Cherry Bomb,” “streaming on Spotify as of this week, then I’m afraid you’re not going to find him. However, you might be a little surprised by what you hear.
The Tyler of yesteryear made his bones rapping about a father who wasn’t there and violent rape/murder fantasies that belied a profound sadness and introspection beyond his years. “Goblin “and “Wolf” were both exercises in highs and lows, shuttling between wise-cracking fun and suicide fantasies, and “Bastard” is a few years away from being considered a classic. Those were the albums of a young rapper, as ambitious as they were unformed, about everything and about nothing in particular. Now, on “Cherry Bomb,” Tyler moves into new lyrical territory.
Fame does funny things to rappers. Some get lazy, others get crazy, and if you’re Drake, you were rapping about being famous before you even got there. Now that Tyler’s started to approach that level, he’s covering the same subjects in his songs.
“‘Cause I’m in first class / But I feel like coach,” he says on the comparatively light “Pilot,” and you get the sense he means it in a lot of different ways.
On the opening track, “Deathcamp” (it’s as abrasive as the title suggests), he raps about cameras that are too bright and people who are too intrusive, interesting territory for someone who’s as active as he is on social media.
However, lyrically speaking, there doesn’t really seem to be a cohesive theme on this album besides the occasional references to fame.
There’s an interesting skit at the end of “2Seater,” but he doesn’t pursue the ideas much further than that.
Sonically, this album sounds like the love child of Death Grips and “Yeezus”-era Kanye with a dose of Stevie Wonder, whom Tyler’s mentioned multiple times as his favorite artist and the primary influence on his musical output. It switches between schmaltzy ‘70s synths and hardcore Chicago drill, thumping and varied. Tyler’s never been a “dance-y” rapper, but on songs like “The Brown Stains of Darkeese Latifah Part 6-12 (Remix)” and “Cherry Bomb,” there’s a little bit more to move to than the slow, word-heavy earlier albums.
Besides those, “Smuckers” employs Kanye and Lil’ Wayne, but even those titans get outshined by Tyler on that track—one gets the feeling that he plays up to his competition, so to speak.
“Okaga, CA,” the closer, sounds like Tyler’s “Pacific Coast Highway,” evocative of a West Coast paranoia/leisure that’s tough to pin down.
Even though Cherry Bomb isn’t quite as well-rounded as his past albums, the production is pretty unique in t-he rap world right now, and one can only hope he builds on that in the future.
Bernstein is a member of the class of 2018.
