Ember Duke | layout editor

In his new album “Chromakopia,” Tyler, The Creator blends a mix of musical sounds which act as a vehicle to transport the audience across a range of complex lyrical content.

On Oct. 28 Tyler, The Creator, also known as Tyler Okonma, released his seventh studio album, rolling out with it a new aesthetic and narrative era, which will undoubtedly influence fashion, music and entertainment, as is his pop culture signature.

“Chromakopia” is a meditation on domesticity, aging, love and family, his journey in the public eye and finding identity.

The opening track, “St. Chroma,” shows us a condensed view of the whole album. The alternation of rhythmic stomping and singing set up the creative freedom he has with the sound throughout the rest of the piece.

Though it’s easy to skim the meaning in this song, Okonma prepares us to contemplate with lines like “gratitude sits under the hubris that’s on my sleeve,” and “mirror got me thinking about my bookend.”

Because Okonma bases each album as a narrative around a character, this one being St. Chroma, this track acts as an introduction to a new world and suspends reality in a way that allows the audience to digest the album as poetry. Okonma has grown comfortable subverting expectations throughout his discography and “Chromakopia” is no exception.

At the foreground lyrically he is contemplating “the family,” and what implications that has on romance and individuality. “Hey Jane” is the crux of this argument, detailing a pregnancy scare that he experienced with an older woman.

The isolated vibe of this song shows the loneliness and fear of such an experience. Okonma is uncertain but supportive in this song, looking constantly for the right thing to say. His narrative is mirrored by the woman’s, also sung by Okonma, which allows the experience to be dictated by a female perspective.

The whole album is arguing against convention, especially when it relates to romance.

“Darling, I” presents a soft and open minded declaration of love, not for one individual, but for the act of loving itself. The androgyny of who he is addressing aligns with previous albums where he blurs the line of heteronormativity and the traditional, socially accepted paths that relationships often take.

The figure of the mother is prominent, with audio from Okonma’s own mother, Bonita Smith, appearing on eight of the 14 tracks. Her presence comes to a head in songs like “Tomorrow,” where Okonma bears the weight of his mother’s aging and “Like Him,” which offers a confessional from his mother.

In “Like Him,” Okonma contemplates his relationship with his father and the position of the father in the family unit.

“Mama I’m chasin’ a ghost / Do I look like him,” he asks, possibly considering whether he would be a good father.

The search for domestic meaning turns to devastation in this track as he contemplates the meaning of family, playing listeners’ heartstrings much like the distorted guitar which backs the track.

The project acts as a tonal bridge between Okonma’s past albums and a new, eclectic sound he’s developing in this album. Several songs hold similar energetic qualities to previous works and his backing tracks offer a masterful juxtaposition to the main track, much like they have in all his projects.

This album draws to mind his 2019 album “Igor,” which in my opinion may be one of the single best musical works to exist. “Chromakopia” exists as an entity of sorts, making decisions and arguments about itself and each song’s content as the album progresses, much like “Igor” does.

Both albums function as almost capstone pieces for Okonma’s art by subverting expectation as a method of contextualizing a hyper specific emotional state and time the artist is in life — “Igor” specifically encapsulating the musical works before it and acting as a turning point for Okonma’s art. It will be interesting to see how “Chromakopia” stands the test of time in this respect.

The project’s studies on sex are more prominent than in his previous work — not explicit or grotesque, rather a thoughtful acknowledgement of the functions of sex in finding meaning and identity. This is most notable in the track “Sticky,” with dominating vocals by artist GloRilla.

The final track, “I hope you find your way home,” acts as a thesis for the album. The heavy breathing and “ruffing” in the back wrap up the snappy, rich tone which is experimented with over the album. He wraps up the themes by pushing us forward and saying he’s not done contemplating questions asked in the project.

The absence of a double track makes the album’s intentional break in tradition palpable, possibly solidifying a shift in Okonma’s life and a declaration of personhood in the face of audience expectations and fame. He further defied expectations by not releasing the album according to his usual release schedule of every other year on a Friday.

In a November 2023 interview with Nardwuar The Human Serviette, a popular music journalist, Okonma said the industry standard of releasing music on a Friday promotes passive listening, so music should come out earlier in the week.

“I think if you put it out during the week … that commute to work, and really have that hour or thirty minutes to really dive in and really listen,” he said.