Tyler, the Creator refuses to dim his light on CHROMAKOPIA

The idea of stagnation terrifies Tyler, the Creator. If you’ve been paying attention, it’s obvious that this fear has driven the L.A. rapper/producer’s ambitions since he began his career in the late aughts. Starting with his debut 2009 mixtape Bastard, a revelatory introduction to an angst-ridden artist, Tyler has been fixated on growth and expansion. He’s deathly afraid of unlived potential, of sitting in the muck of indecision or ambivalence, so he aims to make bold, transformative statements through his works. His latest project, CHROMAKOPIA, is a continuation of this concerted effort.

Tyler, the Creator first teased CHROMAKOPIA’s existence on Oct. 16, with a short video that featured the intro of the album, “St. Chroma.” In the black-and-white clip, Tyler marches in a mask and military uniform in a desert-like environment, followed by a line of other Black men. The men eventually march into a shipping container, which Tyler literally blows up, transitioning the visuals into color and thus introducing us to his next artistic adventure. The next day, Tyler announced that CHROMAKOPIA would drop on Oct. 28, the entire project written, produced, and arranged by him.

In order to comprehend Tyler’s positioning on CHROMAKOPIA, we first have to understand his complex past. On his first project, Bastard, Tyler removed the stopper that had forced down his emotions up to that point. While most of the incendiary mixtape centered on imaginary rape, torture, homophobia, and the like, Tyler also used the project to reveal his harsh feelings toward his critics, imagined and eventual—but in more exposed moments, he intimately focused on his relationship with his parents. “Fuck a deal, I just want my father’s email / So I can tell him how much I fucking hate him in detail,” he rapped passionately on the title track, to the point of losing his breath.

The follow-up to Bastard, Tyler’s 2011 studio debut Goblin, saw the MC continuing this theme of familial strife and inevitable disappointment. On the extended version of his breakthrough single “Yonkers,” Tyler raps: “Fuck the fame and all the hype, G / I just wanna know if my father would ever like me / But I don’t give a fuck, so he’s probably just like me.” Throughout his discography, from the abrasively exploratory Cherry Bomb (2015) to the surprisingly candid Flower Boy (2017) to the Grammy-winning Best Rap Albums IGOR (2019) and CALL ME IF YOU GET LOST (2021), Tyler has never shied away from his vulnerability. But he’s grown now. The formerly teenaged provocateur is 33 years old, and it seems he’s experiencing a third-life crisis. CHROMAKOPIA is his self-appointed space to investigate his current state and the anxieties that come with adulthood.

In deeply personal confessions disguised as songs, Tyler reveals areas of his life that he’s been thinking heavily about as a fully developed adult. “The album kind of just turned into me taking a bunch of shit my mom told me as a kid,” he said at his album listening event. “Now that I’m 33, all of that stuff is like, ‘Oh: That’s what the fuck she was talking about!’” Tyler’s mother, Bonita Smith, appears throughout CHROMAKOPIA by way of conversational recordings. At the top of the album, she gives her son salient advice: “You are the light,” she says. “It’s not on you—it’s in you. Don’t you ever in your motherfucking life dim your light for nobody.”

With that, Tyler, the Creator welcomes us into his latest world, and he doesn’t pull punches about his trepidations and concerns as a visible rap star and sought-after creative. On the lead single “Noid,” he peels back the layers of celebrity, revealing the costs of being a very public figure: “I can’t even buy a home in private / Home invasions got my brothers dying,” he raps, likely referencing the targeted 2020 murder of Brooklyn rapper Pop Smoke in the Hollywood Hills.

Tyler’s paranoia is present throughout the album, but it takes on different forms. On the Teezo Touchdown-assisted “Darling, I,” he shares his fears of commitment. “Nobody could fulfill me like this music shit does / So I’ll be lonely with these Grammys when it’s all said and done.” The very next track, “Hey Jane,” is centered on the scenario of an unplanned pregnancy, the title of the song borrowed from the name of the New York City-based healthcare company that provides reproductive and sexual care, including abortion assistance. The song leaps out from the rest of CHROMAKOPIA because of its emotionally unguarded verses rapped from the perspective of both Tyler and a presumably hypothetical expectant mother. Tyler may be grown, but he’s not ready to be a dad. “People are getting older, folks are having kids and families, and all I got is a new Ferrari,” he expounded at the listening event. “I’m gaining weight, I got a gray hair on my chest. Life is life-ing and I just wanted to write about stuff that I think about when I’m dolo.”

Alongside these feelings of indecision and uncertainty are moments of outright joy. “Sticky,” featuring leaders of the new school GloRilla and Sexyy Red and rap giant Lil Wayne, is an early fan favorite. Carried by an infectious looped whistle, the song is a perfect display of the benefits of different generations of hip-hop collaborating. Tyler may not be an OG yet, but he’s a veteran in his own right. His cumulative years spent in the rap game have been more than enough time for him to inspire contemporary artists—and he’s collaborating with them. In addition to working with the alternative newcomer Teezo Touchdown on more than one occasion (see: “RUNITUP”), Tyler also tag teams with TDE’s rising star Doechii, who has previously mentioned Tyler’s influence in interviews. Between the two of them, there isn’t a crumb of modesty to be found on the exuberantly shameless “Balloon.”

With CHROMAKOPIA, Tyler also addresses the complexities of holding space for his mother, who admits that she kept Tyler’s father out of his life intentionally. “Like Him” sees Tyler delicately singing, instead of rapping, about coming to terms with the confession, tender tones lifting his message of forgiveness. “You gave me love and affection / Attention, protection / How could I ever miss something that I never had? / I would nevеr judge ya / ‘Cause evеrything worked out without him.”

Forever his own champion, Tyler also finds the time to talk his shit, most overtly on “Rah Tah Tah” (“The biggest out the city after Kenny, that’s a fact now”) and “Thought I Was Dead” (“White boys mocking this shit and y’all mad at me? Y’all can suck my dick”) with ScHoolboy Q and Santigold. Tyler encourages us to confront and do away with our façades on “Take Your Mask Off” with Daniel Caesar and Latoiya Williams, and “I Hope You Find Your Way Home” sounds like it would slot perfectly on Solange’s introspective, unhurried 2019 album When I Get Home—which makes sense, given the widespread speculation that she’s an uncredited feature on the song.

The production of CHROMAKOPIA reflects the whole of Tyler’s discography, an enviable catalog buoyed by his childlike exuberance, excitement, and experimentation. His music explodes vibrantly off the page, especially compared to his peers and successors. Tyler focuses on larger-than-life, dramatic listening experiences—until he doesn’t. He’s long proven himself capable of expanding out sonically when he’s theatrically expressive, and retracting in during moments of sensitivity.

Ever since his debut, Tyler has been on a never-ending path of coming to grips with people’s expectations of him—or the lack thereof. His creative efforts have largely been shepherded by spite since he started his career, but his more recent albums, including CHROMAKOPIA, feature a Tyler who’s figuring out how to drive himself forward without that emotion as the most propulsive factor. After 15 years of being in the industry, Tyler, the Creator has reached the apex of his life and career. He’s ready to reap the accompanying benefits, and express himself fully, without the ever-present chip on his shoulder.