Album Review: Chromakopia by Tyler, The Creator
Tyler, The Creator strives to reach new pinnacles of creativity with Chromakopia. He dives into the gist of visual identity, foraging the notion of existing obscured behind a facade or mask.
In the late 2000s, Tyler, The Creator burst onto the music scene as a founding member of Odd Future—a collective of fearless teenagers who shook up alternative rap. Their rebellious spirit infiltrated the mainstream, leading to projects like 2009’s Bastard. Tyler’s fingerprints were all over key recordings, such as Earl Sweatshirt’s Earl, Odd Future’s The OF Tape, Vol. 2, and Frank Ocean’s Grammy-winning channel ORANGE. Amid this creative surge, Tyler began crafting his solo work, assembling a discography that danced between the deliberately provocative and the irresistibly charming, often blurring the lines between the two. He continued with a slew of albums every two years, starting with Goblin, Wolf, Cherry Bomb, and Scum Fuck Flower Boy showcased this duality, each debuting within the Top five of the Billboard 200.
The acclaim for the vibrant Flower Boy—a number two hit and Grammy-nominated for Best Rap Album—set the stage for the triumphant releases of Igor and Call Me If You Get Lost, which both won that category. The latter broadened Tyler’s artistic palette, reaffirming his dedication to hip-hop through an unfiltered lyrical style that pushed his artistry to new heights, and it’s no different with his eighth studio effort, Chromakopia. “St. Chroma” introduces us to the album’s fictional protagonist, Saint Chroma, who embodies a liberating yet complex facet of Tyler’s persona as first teased for the album’s rollout. It presents dichotomies of escapism and inner turmoil, merging lyrical introspection with the vibrant aesthetics of the character.
The imagery and the masked persona invite contemplation on identity and freedom, with lines such as “Behind the painted smile, shadows echo the dawn,” implying a concealed emotional conflict. The production and vocal buildup from Daniel Caesar until you get one of the craziest beat drops gives you goosebumps every time you hear it. This flows nicely into a brazen banger, “Rah Tah Tah,” which envelops his characteristic blend of audacity, humor, and introspection, mirroring his unique artistic identity. Tyler’s references to material success and lifestyle differentiate mundane domestic imagery from luxury, underscoring opulence and a satirical self-awareness to question the face value of wealth. Tyler’s playful use of paradox, evident in “Me and crack don’t share daddies, but we really twins,” substantiates the duality of his public persona and personal realities, revealing convolutions beneath his brash exterior.
On the surface, you wouldn’t catch any of these undertones, but once you sit through, this embodies Tyler’s ability to deliver social commentary wrapped in irony and bravado, inviting reflection on the dichotomies of modern celebrity culture. Split into two parts, the album’s first single, “Noid,” sets the tone of celebrity worship and, pun-intended, being paranoid. Tyler’s lifelike articulation of this surveillance vividly brings his ongoing struggles to life. Hearing the song’s hook for the first time, taken from the Ngozi Family, might throw you for a loop. But when you translate it (“When you come at my house, please be respectful. Because I don’t like talking too much. Talking too much breeds gossip.”), then, taking into consideration what Tyler raps about, this falls in line, and one can’t help but think about the similar theme in 2013’s “Colossus,” where it’s based on a real event where he was at Six Flags Magic Mountain, dealing with an unstable stan.
Tyler dedicates considerable effort to gaining a deeper understanding of his mother and an in-depth soul-searching in this project. This dual focus distinguishes the album from his previous works, infusing it with a unique pondering abyss. The opening admonition given by his mother, “Whatever you do, don’t ever tell no bitch you love her if you don’t mean it,” “Darling, I” sets the tone for deeply pondering the sincerity and consequences of romantic declarations. Followed by the hook from Teezo Touchdown and the light-hearted production, the verses reveal Tyler’s internal conflict and resistance to traditional monogamy: “I’m only human, and if it ain’t worth/Things change and let me stay the same.” He further communicates the transient nature of romantic connections with bleak honesty, asserting that “Nobody can fulfill me like this music shit does,” a sentiment that brings out his devotion to music over personal relationships.
Serious topics permeate Chromakopia with “Hey Jane” as he raps about unplanned parenthood and the ripple effects of such a discovery on individual identity and relationships. The storytelling unfolds through two distinct perspectives, Jane’s and T’s, providing a balanced view of fears, regrets, and the nuances of their interpersonal dynamic. In the first verse, Tyler paints a picture of disorientation and self-reproach: “Wow, I’m disappointed in me, this ain’t like me/How can I be reckless, this ain’t my lifestyle.” Jane’s perspective amplifies the internal conflict and societal pressures through her admission of anxiety and trepidation, as she reveals, “I’m dramatic, you see/Pushing people out my life is a habit, I see.” This introspective dialogue becomes a vehicle for exploring themes of love, choice, and the collision between personal freedom and shared commitments, concluding in a stirring realization of support and understanding, as expressed by: “Just know I support it either way, no pressure.”
Within “I Killed You,” Tyler masterfully dissects the complexities of self-image and societal pressures, tackling themes of tradition, self-worth, and legacy. Tyler’s clever wordplay creates visceral imagery, invoking the contrast between vulnerability and pliancy embedded thus in “Oh, you fragile, so you delicate/You the grown baby named a motherfucking elephant,” and ends therein an acceptance of one’s inherent, sometimes painful, beauty, despite external judgment and internalized pressure to conform. One of the more interesting tracks, “Judge Judy,” offers nuances of romance, disquisition, and judgment-free intimacy. The song progresses into vivid descriptions of intimate interactions that are as much physical as they are liberating. In the beautiful “Take Your Mask Off,” Tyler again deals with identity but the often concealed struggles that individuals face behind carefully crafted facades.
He addresses various individuals, ranging from gang members and preachers to suburban housewives and even Tyler himself, each grappling with their masks. Tyler’s lyrics highlight the internal conflict and dissonance between one’s true self and the persona they project to the world. In the first verse, he vividly depicts a young man caught up in gang culture (“Big guns, big guns, what you got, huh?”), ultimately exposing the emptiness beneath bravado and face tattoos, reminding him, “You ain’t a thug, you was in drama club, you’s an actor.” The second verse critiques a preacher, ostensibly righteous but privately battling hypocritical struggles, while the third verse dives into the discontent of a homemaker whose life, though materially full, lacks genuine personal fulfillment. Tyler’s introspective fourth verse directs the spotlight inward, scrutinizing his own insecurities and fear of authenticity, where he challenges himself, “Tell your family why you such a recluse.”
“Tomorrow” details the artist’s complex relationship with aging, familial expectations, and personal freedom. The track opens with spoken-word lines that highlight a familial craving for legacy, expressed through his mother’s plea for grandchildren: “Nigga, I’m gettin’ old and I need a grandchild, please.” This sets up a tension between generational pressures and Tyler’s introspective musings about the passage of time and personal identity. In the first verse, Tyler grapples with visible and existential signs of aging, such as gray hair and weight gain, stating, “My mother’s hands don’t look the same/These jet black strands are turning gray.” He reflects on the latent stress associated with the thought of having children and the overwhelming nature of responsibilities that accompany such a decision. Yet, Tyler maintains a defiant tone, embracing his individuality and freedom: “And any pressure that you’re puttin’ on me, I’ma tear it down.”
The theme continues with “Like Him” as he captures the essence of an individual grappling with inherited legacies and the quest to define oneself amid those replications. Tyler employs these vivid, almost spectral descriptions to unpack complex emotions associated with trying to embody or differentiate from the ‘other,’ capturing the tension between nature and nurture. The song’s soulful underpinning accentuates this quest, infusing it with a heartfelt reflection on identity’s multifaceted nature and the ever-present desire to reconcile past and present. Although it’s built around a Luke’s “I Wanna Rock,” “Balloon” with Doechii exhibits his interrogation of personal desires versus public expectations, which becomes a recurrent theme, suggesting a continuous search for genuine purpose and contentment. It may not be a standout for those wanting consistency, but Tyler’s lyricism reflects an inner dialogue that challenges traditional gender and identity norms, reinforcing his reputation for boundary-pushing honesty and unique viewpoints.
Not everything’s heavy here as Tyler, The Creator continues with his rambunctious style with a bizarre posse cut, “Sticky.” The heavy-horn HBCU-inspired track opens with Tyler’s vivid imagery of high-stakes tension, evoking environments where idle chatter and swagger can lead to swift and harsh consequences—reiterating vigilance and readiness. Contributions from GloRilla, Sexyy Red, and Lil Wayne further layer the texture of the song, each bringing their incisive perspectives to the electrifying atmosphere. Metaphors and clever wordplay flow seamlessly throughout, with Tyler’s cultural and self-referential nods accentuating themes of individuality, power dynamics, and braggadocio. “Thought I Was Dead” reunites with ScHoolboy Q as Tyler grapples with notions of fame, emphasizing the superficiality and emptiness that often accompany it: “That’s big bro, how? When y’all met yesterday?”
As we’re the end of Chromakopia, “I Hope You Find Your Way Home” is a sweet closer to identity, aspirations, and the often conflicting nature of personal desires. In the verse, Tyler uses visceral imagery to illustrate a sense of disequilibrium, “I’m slippin’, I’m slippin’, I’m slippin’, I’m slippin’, I need a hand/Can you squeeze the man?” Here, he metaphorically expresses a psychological state of turmoil, seeking support amidst the chaos. His introspection continues as he grapples with his vices and ambitions, as well as addressing the mysteries of relationships and emotional support systems, candidly acknowledging his “selfish, contradiction,” which he recognizes might isolate him from genuine connections. This revelation speaks to a broader existential struggle as he ponders generational legacy and potential fatherhood with a critical eye on his lifestyle choices. The multifaceted narrative, laced with cultural references such as “No Met Gala, but I’m everybody mood board,” suggests an intricate portrait of a man who, despite tangible success, confronts deeply personal insecurities and desires for acceptance and self-forgiveness.
Chromakopia feels like a bit of a vanquish. Flower Boy and Igor were great and, perhaps, at their best moments, even a little catchier than the songs here. However, with both albums, it was clear that Tyler was on the run—from a version and past of himself whose shadows still loomed over him. This album is a reconciliation of the old and new Tyler; more than that, it is a synthesis. The story arc is from Igor, the musical sensitivity from Flower Boy, the fragmented style from Cherry Bomb, and the flows and bars that plait through the album share the same edgy rap nerd love of his first two records. Tyler’s mother has been an axial influence and unwavering supporter throughout his career. This album draws heavily from the wisdom and guidance she has imparted to him over the years. By incorporating this particular conclusion in “I Hope You Find Your Way Home,” Tyler supports her heartfelt impact on him and acknowledges the crucial role she has played in nurturing and enabling his talent.
Whether Chromakopia could be his best album remains questionable, especially because the so-called “hit”—or at least one or two singles that work well in isolation—seems absent at first glance. As the 2024 album opener, “St. Chroma” establishes a foundation of thematic observation where exuberance clashes with the underlying paranoia of the character, reflecting Tyler’s venture through the nuances of dissertation and revealing masked layers of vulnerability and creativity that challenge the listener to ponder upon the often-hidden knottings of personal transformation. But, goddamn it, this album is bursting with creativity, sensitivity, and love, and it will continue to offer new discoveries with many listens.
Great (★★★★☆)
Favorite Track(s): “St. Chroma,” “Hey Jane,” “Take Your Mask Off”
this review was truly everything 😫be right back I have to listen to it all over again. BRAVO💥