The rollout for Chromakopia — a series of dystopian, auteurist videos set to abrasive musical snippets — felt like deceptive advertising. I thought Chromakopia would be a hard-hitting, concept record with an ominous, experimental sound that cast Tyler, the Creator as a wild aggressor figure, given the dictatorial imagery of him ordering marching figures into planes before blowing them up.
There is a disconnect between the album’s industrially-tinged, barren aesthetic framing and its actual lyrical themes. On first listen, I found myself questioning: Why the mask, the military-inspired imagery and the shipping containers?
The actual music is mostly lush and warm, and lyrically, a naked introspection on Tyler, the Creator’s mid-30s crisis — it’s like a grown-up extension of Flower Boy (2017), a realm that feels more reflective than antagonistic.
Much like Kendrick Lamar’s Mr. Morale & the Big Steppers (2022), which focuses on Kendrick’s personal traumas rather than a grandiose statement on wider societal turmoil, Chromakopia turns inward.
Tyler grounds his writing in his own life, exploring ideas that are mostly relatable for burgeoning adults: a fear of fatherhood (“Hey Jane”), paranoia about celebrity worship (“Noid”), learning to love oneself (“Take Your Mask Off”), being free from societal pressures (“I Killed You”) and the lingering absence of his father from his childhood (“Like Him”).
Chromakopia is not a concept album. Unlike the narrative worlds of IGOR (2019) or Call Me If You Get Lost (2021), Tyler no longer requires alter egos or fictional storylines to be introspective. He shows up as himself, Tyler Okonma, simply referred to as "T." The unique hairstyle and mask from the teasers are misdirections. There is no character like Igor, Sir Baudelaire or Wolf Haley, a shift foreshadowed in the “SORRY NOT SORRY” video, where he symbolically kills off his past personas in favor of existing as his true self.
Musically, Chromakopia is not groundbreaking or entirely original, but lyrically, it feels necessary for Tyler. It captures him at his most vulnerable, swapping out DJ Drama’s braggadocious shouts from Call Me If You Get Lost with snippets of Tyler’s mom speaking earnestly to him.
There is a revived confidence in Tyler’s writing and delivery. Unlike IGOR, where he communicates through a proxy of the fictional character Igor, singing into dense layers of vocal filters and pitched-up effects, Chromakopia puts his voice front-and-center. Tyler actually tries to hit the higher notes without digital aid even if it isn’t always pretty, such as on “Judge Judy”.
Tyler’s songwriting is also far more adventurous and inward-facing, and we see a side of him only tangentially touched on in prior works. “Hey Jane” explores the fallout of an unplanned pregnancy that skillfully switches between Tyler’s and Jane’s perspectives. “Judge Judy” has Tyler deliver an emotional twist in the final verse as he shifts the narrative focus from the girl to himself. Likewise, on “Take Your Mask Off,” he calls out various people for being “fake” before pointing the accusing finger at himself.
The idea of unmasking — revealing both the good and the bad sides of oneself — is the main theme throughout Chromakopia.
From a broader perspective, Tyler makes the connection between his reluctance to commit to monogamous family love (“Hey Jane,” “Tomorrow” and “Darling, I”), and the scars left by his own father’s absence (“Like Him”). In order to love himself for who he is, Tyler has to accept that he is his father’s son, resolving the juvenile resentment towards his childhood that defined the early 2010s Bastard era.
The main drawbacks of Chromakopia lie in a few underwhelming moments and, overall, a lack of musical evolution. “Judge Judy” leans into a bit of corniness (it’s about not judging a girl named Judy for her kinks; you get the pun). “Noid” feels like a mishmash of Tyler’s past musical tropes that don’t quite access any depth. “Sticky” is bound to be a hit, but I don’t see the point of having three features (GloRilla, Sexyy Red, Lil Wayne), if each only gets four lines and a handful of ad-libs to slip in.
Chromakopia’s sound palette and production aren’t new territory for Tyler. There are plenty of the usual “Tyler-isms” — expected beat switchups, smooth neo-soul and jazzy chords, plinky electronic textures, buzzy synths, brass arrangements, thick, clunky drum beats and a haze of harmonizing background vocals (occasionally contributed to by Teezo Touchdown and Childish Gambino).
No doubt TikTok pundits will glaze this album as “experimental”, when in reality it is just a sharper version of the collision of R&B, jazz, soul and heavy hip hop that Tyler has been working with for the past seven years. If IGOR’s biggest inspiration is 90s neo-soul and synth-driven hip-hop, Chromakopia’s biggest inspiration comes from Tyler’s earlier works.
Chromakopia still manages to span a wide sonic spectrum, from the beautiful pianos on “Like Him” to the loud, brass-driven hype of “Sticky”. Chromakopia is most interesting when it fully takes on either end of this spectrum, as in either the loudest and most electrifying moments (eg. “St. Chroma”), or the quietest moments (eg. “Tomorrow”). The songs that fall in between lack the same impact and can feel forgettable by comparison.
There’s nothing wrong with revisiting what has worked in the past, but Chromakopia doesn’t push Tyler’s sound forward in the way some might have anticipated. It lacks the risk that might be expected given the album’s enigmatic rollout, hinted at in songs like “St. Chroma” but not fully developed.
Ultimately, Chromakopia falls into an interesting space in Tyler’s discography: it’s not his most innovative work, but it’s his most vulnerable and lyrically essential. In the 2024 climate of rap, where more and more artists are called out for not being authentic or honest (eg. the Kendrick and Drake beef, rappers being accused of being culture vultures), Tyler’s willingness to point out his fears and insecurities himself feels refreshing. While Chromakopia may not push the boundaries of sound, it confirms Tyler’s place as one of the most interesting voices in modern music. Even if it re-treads the existing “Tyler-isms”, very few artists today can claim a four-album run as consistently strong as Flower Boy to Chromakopia.
