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ALBUMS

Igor
Tyler, the Creator
2019

8.0

By Matthew Strauss

GENRE: Rap

LABEL: Columbia

REVIEWED: May 20, 2019

Tyler, the Creator’s sixth album is

impressionistic and emotionally charged,
the result of an auteur refining his style
and baring more of his soul than ever
before.

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The moods of Tyler, the Creator’s albums have

largely been defined by absence—of his father,

of critical acclaim, of love. He responded to what

was missing with antagonism, album after

album, until 2017 when he looked back at his life

with a sunny lens and twinge of nostalgia to

deliver his best work, Flower Boy. That Grammy-

nominated album is eminently pleasing, the

sound of an iconoclast succumbing to his better

judgment. Igor, the 28-year-old’s sixth full-

length, is Tyler finally content in the face of all

that agony.

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Igor sounds like the work of a perfectionist

giving shape to his more radical ideas. Tyler,

who proudly produced, wrote, and arranged the

album, is singing more but he’s not worrying

whether his tracks have a traditional pop arc.

Songs don’t build to a crescendo, they often

begin there. The opening “Igor’s Theme” serves

less as a guiding force and more like a recurring

motif of doom that hides in the shadows and

pops its head in at select moments, like on “New

Magic Wand” where spooky synths erupt below

Tyler’s thought process: “I saw a photo, you

looked joyous,” goes one of the more poignant

lines. Atop this budding dread, Tyler layers

candied keys and harmonizing vocals. The

brightness is defiant, as Tyler processes the loss

of someone he loves.

The first we hear of Tyler’s vanishing

relationship is on “Earfquake”: “Don’t leave, it’s

my fault.” First pitched-up and later untreated,

Tyler’s voice is pleading but not cloying. He

doesn’t sound like he’s lying to quickly repair

deep damage, as his words may suggest, he’s just

being sincere. Igor becomes a gracious and

giving breakup album whose narrative is fleshed

out more clearly later in the record: Tyler seems

to have fallen for a man (“You’re my favorite

garçon,” he sings at one point) who wants to

return to his female partner. “I hope you know

she can’t compete with me,” he first sings on

“Gone, Gone / Thank You,” before shifting his

tone: “Thank you for the love/Thank you for the

joy.”

As the album progresses, Tyler goes through his

undulations of denial and acceptance, but

spends considerable energy hoping to help his

beloved find satisfaction, even if that means a

future without him. “Take your mask off,” he

advises on “Running Out of Time,” “Stop lyin’ to

yourself, I know the real you.” It’s an empathetic

turn from an artist previously allergic to other

people’s perspectives. The parting ultimately

leads to self-discovery: “You never lived in your

truth,” he tells his ex. “But I finally found peace,

so peace.”

There’s a run at Igor’s center where each song’s

momentum seems to propel him forward

emotionally. It’s during this stretch that Tyler is

at his most creatively fluid, as on “A Boy Is a

Gun,” where he flattens his voice to sing “gun,”

sounding like a laser cutting across the track and

maybe also through his own psyche. Combined

with the Kanye West–assisted “Puppet,” these

tracks in their varied tone and tempo reflect the

volatility of Tyler’s emotions across Igor. Most

songs don’t even have a natural ending, they just

snap off, like someone pulled the aux cord

abruptly.

Igor may be unsettled but it never feels restless.

As Tyler grapples with uncertainty and

unfulfillment, he delivers an album that feels

like it is suspended in midair. It reminds me of

Solange’s When I Get Home or King Krule’s The

Ooz, albums that succeed in communicating

mood as their own sense of logic. Tyler’s

interpretation of this sort of stream-of-

consciousness feels weightless. The whole

album is sustained by mutating, colorful chords,

impressionistic cracks in tonality. On top of that,

Tyler’s synthetic falsetto singing adds a surreal

element to Igor. The lines between desire and

reality and internal monologue and human

conversation all become blurred.

Tyler, the Creator never shied away from sharing

what he thought his life was missing. “I ain’t got

no fucking money,” he yelled simply enough on

the inimitable “Radicals,” an early Odd Future

anthem. And when he got what he thought he

wanted, he flaunted it: “Also stuck with a

beautiful home with a case of stairs,” he taunted

his father on “Answer.” Igor is the first time

Tyler has not been motivated by some absence

because he lost a bit of himself in someone else.

“Are We Still Friends?,” the album’s rough and

honeyed send-off, is Tyler’s final attempt at

salvaging his relationship. He’s finally without

his beau and asks for the compromise of

friendship. The track, as with many on Igor, ends

sharply with a synth never resolving its buzz.

There’s nothing left to say when you’ve given all

of yourself away.

All products featured on Pitchfork are

independently selected by our editors. However,

when you buy something through our retail links,

we may earn an affiliate commission.

Tyler, the Creator:

Igor

$ 3 3 AT R O U G H
TRADE

$ 2 6 AT A M A ZO N

$ 2 5 AT TA R G E T

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