frank ocean took one for the team
and gave us a masterpiece.
(blonde - the album cover of my dreams)
I was working for Pitchfork at the height of Odd Future.
This was back when the designer-clad Tyler (The Creator) we’ve come to know today was a very young, very angry, entitled little shit. At the time, he was something like a God to many of our readers, so he and the rest of Odd Future were regular fixtures on the site for years. We covered their every move, no matter how insignificant, because they were traffic gold. To give you an idea, the first week of no Odd Future coverage, the editorial staff celebrated the occasion with champagne.
Though make no mistake, we were all very much fans. Myself included.
Many of us on staff, braved the crowd to see them at the now-infamous SXSW 2011 Thrasher magazine showcase at Scoot Inn. There were hundreds of people, so drunk and excited to see OF that they ended up losing their shit and tearing the fences down like it was Woodstock ’99. I remember Tyler being largely unfazed by the event, even gleeful. It was the entitled shit behavior I was referring to earlier, which alot of people are talking about now.
It’s hard to imagine how Frank Ocean managed as long as he did; operating as a living antithesis of what we considered Odd Future (and their bear-poking, nihilist young male fans) to be. To me, he always stuck out like a sore thumb.
(odd future - they were just kids)
I think about him in the “Oldie” video where everyone in OF does a verse, one at at a time. When not rapping, each vied for screen time like children showing off for their parents’ friends.
When it was his turn, Frank eased into frame, Slurpie in hand; and for all the chaos going on in the background, you couldn’t take your eyes off him. I wasn’t expecting he’d rap, but he did. Emerging as a surprising rival to Odd Future’s other prodigy, Earl Sweatshirt.
From that moment on I knew Frank Ocean was something special. When BLONDE dropped, I knew I was right.
It’s easy to dismiss when someone says an album changed their life. It’s damn near impossible not to see it as overdramatic unless you’ve got a tattoo or something.
But BLONDE had that effect on me. And considering the sheer number of think pieces, podcasts and memes that have been published since its release nearly 10 years ago, I know I’m not alone.
People who love BLONDE; I mean really love BLONDE, can come off a bit smug when we talk about it (maybe it’s just me), because we know how lucky we are to be in on something others aren’t.
We witnessed arguably the greatest artist of a generation share the story of his first true love. What a gift to hear someone bare themselves like that with such brazen honesty. It was like that time I ended up on a Fire Island nude beach and I wasn’t sure where to look.
To be allowed that close to his story when heartbreak is often dealt with privately (or at most, among a very select group of sympathetic friends and family), felt like a gift I wasn’t sure I deserved. Particularly, when I consider Frank has avoided the common trappings of fame, by remaining famously private. I wonder if it was easy for him? Did he drag himself through the process of making the album specifically to free himself? Did he have no choice?
(sweet baby frank)
The beauty of this record lies in its pacing. It’s so vivid and unfolds with a sense of calm and vulnerability that if you close your eyes you can watch the movie for yourself. You see billowing weed smoke twisting skyward, as they drove through Ladera Heights. You see the vintage convertible (with the top down) and the hazy dance floors that lead to bedrooms draped in fairy lights, glowing just enough for Frank to catch a flash of glitter on his lover’s cheek.
As “Ivy” became “Solo” and then “White Ferrari”, I watched the rollings hills of Ladera fade into Brooklyn cityscapes, the convertible stretch into a rumbling subway car. It wasn’t Frank on that dancefloor anymore, it was me; wrapped in the arms of the person I’d eventually walk away from. That glitter on their face had rubbed off from mine, a memory scrubbed away by morning.
By the time you arrive at “Godspeed” you feel like you’re intruding; after experiencing the hero’s trial of young passion, the love affair is finally over, Frank has found his way through and discovered peace:
“I will always love you like I do.”
He’s not comparing his love or seeking validation. There’s no exaggeration for effect or color. Just an honest and clear confession.
I’d never heard anyone describe love that way before.
Honestly, the entire album is a testament to Frank’s ability to express emotions that are difficult, if not impossible for many of us to identify. It doesn’t surprise me that he hasn’t released another record.
Even though I (and the rest of the known universe) would give anything for another album from Frank, BLONDE still feels like enough. It’s gotta be.
Those of us who love BLONDE and I mean really love BLONDE, know exactly what he had to go through to give it to us. Almost like he took a bullet by sharing his pain without shame, so we could see ours more clearly.
It’s strange… I knew BLONDE changed my life when I realized there should never be another one.