Tyler, the Creator – Goblin Review

Artists head through different phases until they land on something which suits them, which becomes them. Goblin is a conversation with a demon and a denouncement of the role model aesthetic levelled at Tyler, the Creator so early into his career. But now he finds himself in the same shoes as before but with an emotional maturity, a better complexity to his skills as an artist and an understanding of himself. More than he had on Goblin, which is understandable given the longevity of this piece, a rejection of previous album Bastard and yet still a league away from the lighter style and emotional embrace heard later. This is as crossroads an album as it gets and yet it has a security to it, a real desire from Tyler, the Creator to unpack the lyrics people listened to and those they chose to ignore.  

In seven minutes of Goblin, Tyler, the Creator, manages to unpack and repackage himself. After that, he toys around with what comes next after a clean break but cannot figure out what to do. He knows a break from his former work is necessary. The wheels come off, and the desire to become part of the old problems comes again with Yonkers. A song which plays around with the perception of sophistication in a genre stripped back to what we perceive as its essentials. Even then the clock-like churning, the heavy beat within, is enjoyable. Such is the state of the culture and what we the listeners are exposed to. Fury to those who made it before him and manage to keep doing it with what Tyler, the Creator perceives as a lack of talent elsewhere, interjections from some unknown voice, make for a well-layered but tricky listen. Breakout song or not it is a piece of music meant to be a mockery of his position. It works well and is one of the better songs found on Goblin.  

His personable attitude continues – the desire to know a family member and to disregard fame as an accessory to the creative process is a powerful angle to take and one Tyler, the Creator has stuck with since. But the likes of Radicals show a lack of faith both in the people listening and his work. Much of it struggles with the articulation of his ideas – which is something Chromakopia would vastly improve on over a decade later, but it is fair to say not everyone can, or even should, stomach the self-obsessed notions of a lyrical radical who repeats the same few bars over an hour. Frank Ocean and Hodgy may feature throughout but do not do anything ultimately different, and, aside from the well-needed lyrical restraint, the beat and instrumental form are pretty consistent. Goblin benefits from this but struggles to mount much courage against its tense or provocative moments.  

As fun as it sounds to write the likes of Transylvania or Bitch Suck Dick, they lack a fundamental interest found in later releases from Tyler, the Creator. Dumb, but in a good way. Goblin was soon refined into the sound we know now and, thankfully, the writing improved from here. It is nothing egregious or awful but the similarities from song to song, the idle violence heard throughout lacks the heart to make it believable or genuine. And yet a few cracks begin to show in this often annoying and erratic image, soon dropped because the flourishes of Nightmare open us up to a delicacy Tyler, the Creator would stop shying away from. The rest is a bit embarrassing, a few putrid lines spoil what is a consistently interesting, if underwhelming, piece of work.