Ten years ago, Tyler, The Creator was the scandalous leader of an acrimonious rap crew hellbent on shaking up a culture that became too opulent. Alongside would-be luminaries Earl Sweatshirt, Syd and Frank Ocean, and other noted rappers from his native Los Angeles, Tyler and his Odd Future collective took the genre back to darker times, when groups like Mobb Deep and Wu-Tang Clan were canonized for sullen anthems that depicted New York City’s underbelly. Odd Future was different: While it evoked early ‘90s East Coast rap, it also seemed influenced by Three 6 Mafia, the cornerstone Memphis troupe that ushered horrorcore into the canon. No one embodied these aesthetics better than Tyler, the producer and rapper whose IDGAF attitude made him a fan favorite. Almost right away, whether he bit into a cockroach or jumped on Jimmy Fallon’s back, listeners took to his energy, even if they couldn’t quite fathom it. A tall, scrawny teenager in Oxford golf shirts, calf-high tube socks and skater shoes, he came off like the maladjusted nerdy kid who grew up in the suburbs but wanted to be bad. He’d scowl, stomp around and curse excessively, but there was a feeling he was searching for something; that something was anyone’s guess.
As a producer, his beats felt bleak and foreboding, all doom-riddled bass and pounding drum loops meant to convey personal anguish. Lyrically, he could sound bratty, cocky, irate and insecure within the scope of a song; sometimes he’d cross the line into violent, homicidal and homophobic territory, which got him banned in the United Kingdom for at least three years. That’s not to excuse Tyler’s behavior; he should have been reprimanded for the things he said at the time. But it seems he's matured since then, dropping the shock-n-awe motif for one that’s more refined. The albums Flower Boy and IGOR showed he could venture into lush soul and dance; his recent album, the excellent Call Me If You Get Lost, is a slight return to his former ways. Gone are the Fender Rhodes; back are the hard beats and gravel-throated rhymes. Equally inspired by the Wu (to me, the cover takes cues from Ol’ Dirty Bastard’s Return to the 36 Chambers), ‘90s R&B and Lovers rock reggae, Lost salutes a bygone era of music and mixtape culture. It’s also the year’s best rap album, in my opinion.
This time, Tyler wasn’t so navelgazing, even if he still picked at emotional scabs. In various spots across the album, he wanted us to know he’s doing well — just check the bio-reciting interlude “Blessed” — and that doubters were wrong to call him weird. In that way, Tyler embodied early career Kanye West, whose initial narrative centered on his flourishing despite being the underdog in his school and neighborhood. At the beginning of “Runitup,” he ranted about being alienated by other Black people who undermined his nuance and made him feel lesser-than. “I was like, ‘Fuck ‘em,’ I did my own shit,” Tyler said bluntly, his voice hidden beneath piano and synth chords. “I always had confidence, I ain’t never been nervous, I ain’t never had anxiety, I ain’t never second-guess myself.” On “Lumberjack,” a ‘90s-leaning track with vigorous record scratches and spirited vocal prodding (courtesy of the noted mixtape promoter DJ Drama), Tyler recalled skeptics who’d listen to his music “with their ears closed.”
Then, on the brooding “Massa,” he unpacked his evolution following his first wave of fame, and how a subsequent pep talk from superstar producer Pharrell Williams encouraged his recent output. “I was shiftin,’ that’s really why Cherry Bomb sounded so shifty,” he raps about his much-maligned third album. “My taste started changin’ from what it was when they met me.” Those were light touches compared with the haunting “Manifesto,” on which Tyler chided cancel culture while defending his past. “Internet bringing old lyrics up like I hide the shit,” he said. “I was canceled before canceled was with Twitter fingers / Protestin’ outside my shows, I gave ‘em the middle finger.” These lines sum up the breadth of Tyler’s talent and give his career its proper context. Perhaps he didn’t know how to navigate his sudden fame a decade ago. Now, even as a fully realized artiste, he still has a palpable edge that arises on Lost. Nowadays, the middle finger comes with a smile, extended from the sleeve of a designer suit.
By the time “Wilshire” — the album’s clear-cut centerpiece — rolled around, Tyler calmly waded through the ups and downs of a failed relationship, using spellbinding drums and a melodic cadence to craft one of his best songs ever. Conceptually, the premise aligned with IGOR, his Grammy-winning, dance-driven heartbreak album from 2019. But where that record ended on a sad note, with the mournful “Are We Still Friends?,” “Wilshire” has a positive ending: Though the romance ended, the two are still cool. The song showed that Tyler has finally grown up. In the end, Call Me If You Get Lost is a masterful album that wholly imparts his vision as a rapper, singer and producer. After years of kicking and screaming for respect and acceptance, he’s finally getting the widespread credit he deserves. He’s one of a kind and the world is finally seeing that.
