The word "mature" is bit of a backhanded compliment for an album, since it tends to imply that what came before was a bit juvenile. That's certainly the case with Tyler, the Creator, who came of age on 2017's Flower Boy and has been refining his raps ever since, leaving behind the edgelord trolling of his early days to muse on his complicated sexuality and offer romantic mea culpas amidst self-produced beats and sophisticated hooks.
And what could be more mature than considering whether to have a child, a matter that provides the thematic through-line of his eighth full-length project, CHROMAKOPIA. It's not a linear narrative, exactly, but Tyler traces a clear emotional arc — there's a pregnancy scare, some very raunchy celebrations of commitment-free sex, and, most crucially, a consideration of Tyler's family lineage and his own absent father. Tyler's mom Bonita Smith, a familiar figure in his music, serves as a narrator of sorts, popping in with interstitial remarks to warn her son to wear a condom, plead for a grandchild, and admit her youthful mistake in pushing Tyler's dad away.
Sex, partnership, parenthood — these are primal urges, and Tyler brings them to life with visceral beats full of grunts, growls and breaths, calling to mind the rhythms of life itself. The album's publicity materials proudly note, "All songs written, produced and arranged by Tyler Okonma," and while his style here isn't too far removed from the melodic pop leanings of 2019's IGOR and the mixtape homage of 2021's CALL ME IF YOU GET LOST, he's continuing to expand his ambitions. There's theatrical Zamrock on "Noid," surprising sentimental softness on the polyamorous "Darling, I" and "Judge Judy," and a towering crescendo in the form of "Balloon" and "I Hope You Find Your Way Home," which end the album with celebratory grandeur. Tyler's arranging has become increasingly complex and refined while still retaining its looseness, and it seems like only a matter of time before he makes a full-blown beat tape or starts producing for other artists.
CHROMAKOPIA solidifies Tyler's place in a rare echelon of artists — where every new album feels like a Big Event, complete with its own thematic concerns, production style, visual aesthetic and even fictional aliases. This time around, Tyler embodies a figure named "St. Chroma," and while I'm still not totally sure what the significance of that character is, it's a question that fans are bound to spend months and even years pouring over.
Even if he ultimately seems to decide not to have a child, Tyler is creating his own sort of progeny, leaving behind a legacy of era-defining albums.