This entire review could be spent ruminating over whether or not, after much speculation,
Flower Boy truly served as the proverbial closet from which Tyler
came out as a gay man, but there are arguably even more revelations worth applauding. What we witnessed was an evolution. Gone on this album is the Tyler who used shock as a vehicle and gloom as a mouthpiece, and what emerged instead was an introspective student of life. Even its soundscape is softer. There are swelling synths and strings, fuzzy keyboard chords, blurts of horn blows, guitars both acoustic and distorted, and many an inspired spark of soul-jazz and psychedelic funk. It’s a sun-soaked sonic pillow for Tyler’s juxtaposing rumbling vocal, and the platform for his reflective admissions. Countering the machismo and materialism that tends to populate rap, Tyler leads with emotion. He seeks out happiness, laments loneliness, fears disloyalty, questions longevity, looks down, and looks up. Make no mistake, there
are the tally-mark mentions of luxury whips but, lo and behold, they’re not a panacea: “Crashed the McLaren, bought me a Tesla / I know you sick of me talkin' ‘bout cars / But what the fuck else do you want from me? / That is the only thing keepin’ me company.” While some assumed the coming-out implications were an in-character, attention-seeking antic, it’d be even more devastating (and thus, unlikely) to learn that Tyler’s sincerity was, too. Especially when he’s out here dealing hope: “Tell these black kids they could be who they are / Dye your hair blue, shit; I'll do it too.”
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Danielle Cheesman