Album Review: Don’t Tap the Glass by Tyler, The Creator

Tyler, The Creator returns unexpectedly eight months after Chromakopia, its tour, and the whispered approach to Don’t Tap the Glass form a continuum of self-examination and showmanship.

Courtesy of Columbia Records.

Expect the unexpected, as they say. Tyler, The Creator’s last album, Chromakopia, arrived in late 2024 with the structure of a handwritten diary. His mother’s voice outlined each entry, piecing together childhood fragments from South Los Angeles against a backdrop that veered between brash brass lines and quiet piano chords. Collaborators, including Childish Gambino, Teezo Touchdown, Doechii, ScHoolboy Q, Daniel Caesar, Lola Young, and Lil Wayne (to name a few), appeared not as guest verses for clout but as characters woven into the narrative. The record blurred the lines between hip-hop, jazz, and neo-soul to such an extent that its messy structure became its strength; everyone responded by sending it straight to the top of the charts across multiple countries. The Chromakopia World Tour mirrored that sense of theatricality and emotional whiplash. Audiences were greeted by green floodlights and a towering shipping container marked with the album’s name; Tyler appeared in a militaristic green suit and horned hair to perform his catalog, accompanied by fireworks timed to each synth blast.

As the tour rolled on, Tyler began leaving cryptic hints about his next chapter. Fans noticed Instagram posts featuring a travel bag, a mannequin head, and a trumpet, each tagged with the date “July 21.” Outside the Brooklyn arena on July 18, 2025, a life‑size figure of Tyler stood encased in a clear box labelled “Don’t Tap the Glass,” inviting concertgoers to peer in but not disturb the scene. Midway through that show, he casually mentioned the title of his ninth album, Don’t Tap the Glass, and said it would arrive the following Monday (which is today). On stage, he told the crowd it was “a new window” into his world and reminded them not to tap. Later that night, his website was updated to include aquatic and isolationist imagery, as well as pre-orders for limited test pressings of the album. However, do not expect anything profound on this album, as the saying ‘don’t judge a book by its cover’ applies here. Thinking it’s a bar-heavy album would be a mistake (you will be disappointed if you didn’t look at Tyler’s tweets), as it’s all about getting your body moving.

“Welcome.
Number one, body movement. (Funky)
No sitting still. (Dance, bro.)
Number two, (Hahahaha) only speak in glory. (Yeah)
Leave your baggage at home. (None of that deep shit.)
Number three, (Nigga) don’t tap the glass.”

The new project arrives less than a year later but feels like it comes from a different universe. This time, the directive is clear before the music even starts: move your body, leave your baggage outside, respect the barrier between performer and audience. He wastes no time setting the stage; “Big Poe” opens with robotic commands that instruct dancers to stay focused on the groove rather than digging for emotional breadcrumbs (and we’re not talking about Legend of Zelda). At once carnal and confrontational, Tyler moves from boundary-pushing car metaphors (“Yellow diamonds, Black skin, I’m taxi”) to explicit sexual dares (“Eat the cream pie in the back of the backseat”), all while leveraging abrasive slang to punctuate his self-assertion: “You on my dick, nigga, get up/Wipe your lips off while I zip up, huh.” As discussed earlier, Pharrell does appear on the track with a sonic shift that remains tethered to the same blitz of bravado, matching his energy. His laid-back flow offsets Tyler’s charisma, although both share an obsession with status markers, whether they be G-sevens or backseat encounters. (“Pass the Courvosier Part II” vocal loop, again, adds the energy.)

Tyler wears his Neptunes/N.E.R.D influences on his sleeve, but you can also hear the influences of DJ Quik and the ‘80s (sometimes the ‘90s) with the uptempo production, so if that’s not what you wanna listen to, then it’s better to expect nothing from him. However, “Tell Me What It Is” sonically differs from any other track by drawing you into a state of restless uncertainty. The steady pulse of the beat that carries this refrain keeps the track grounded even as the words expose a fear of intimacy and an urgent demand for clarity, even if it doesn’t fit with the rest of the album’s sound. The first half of the two-part “Don’t Tap the Glass / Tweakin’” is a West Coast-laden ass-shaking trunk slapper, with some NOLA influence, that creates a scene within which every verse feels both heightened and claustrophobic. In the first verse, braggadocio and vivid imagery collide: “Michael Jordan eyes, neck yellow look like bing, baow” pairs sports royalty with luxury excess, while references to snot in pockets and an F-40 on the floor shift the scene into a world of raw street bravura. By juxtaposing tough-guy boasting with moments of off-kilter confession with one-liners (“You can get a work out, not in the gym, bitch/You ain't gotta lie, we can smell the Ozempic”), Tyler flips the idea of the invulnerable rap persona, leaving us with a track that interrogates its own bravado even as it flaunts it.

On the level of performance and production, “Sucka Free” exhibits a clever economy of sound for those who grew up on Loose Ends and/or Quik’s Rhyhm-al-ism. 808 drum patterns and spacey synth pads give Tyler room to play with vocal tone and cadence, moving from clipped, almost conversational bars to elongated, half-sung ad-libs. “I’ll Take Care of You” employs a frantic drum loop from the Cherry Bomb title track with beautiful chords over Crime Mob’s “Knuck If You Buck” vocal chops that sounds crazy to write, but it helps bring the energy to new heights. However, he’s known to pump fake and play with people’s heads with the “Mommanem” interlude, which you would think would build up to a crazy drop, but instead, it leads into the uptempo bass-heavy “Stop Playing With Me,” mixed with muted percussion, giving Tyler plenty of space to flex his vocal character. “Sugar On Your Tongue” heightens the playful bravado (reminiscent of how Thundercat and Flying Lotus produce these types of records) while also suggesting Tyler’s confidence in causing tongues to wag, as though the object of desire must bear witness publicly to this budding infatuation.

Where the previous album treated discomfort as creative fuel, this one sidesteps introspection in favor of momentum. He assumes the album title as yet another character—an unapologetic provocateur spewing winking profanity over squelchy synth‑rock—and only occasionally cracks the facade. The songs are shorter, the palette more concentrated. He plays with sonic motifs—a dial‑tone turns into a funky refrain (similar to Cherrelle and Alexander O’Neal’s “Saturday Love”) on “Ring Ring Ring,” while “Don’t You Worry Baby” builds a collage of samples and synth pads that float his voice like vapor. Even his usually caustic delivery melts into an ethereal texture on that track. Underneath the grooves, he still sketches out human dynamics: desire, ego, jealousy, and maturity flicker through the verses and hooks, but they’re rendered in sly, economical phrases rather than extended narratives. The entire set nods to early-1980s party records—funk riffs, house-like drum patterns, and retro R&B boogie—but it never feels like imitation; instead, it reads as an attempt to recapture communal joy after a period of heaviness. By keeping the runtime lean and the mood buoyant, there will definitely be debates over the album rankings (give it time); he reinvents his tone without abandoning the disciplined songwriting and layered production that defined his last album.

Great (★★★★☆)

Favorite Track(s): “Sucka Free,” “Ring Ring Ring,” “Don’t Tap the Glass / Tweakin’”