TC” in Wolf, only popping up as a camp counselor in the introductory title track, for one sentence in “Cowboy” to remind us that “Hey, I’m right here,” and once again at the very end. Perhaps symbolic of this trend is the conspicuous absence of “Dr.
And though Tyler continues his depressive streak throughout Wolf, my reaction isn’t a sincere “I feel you, Tyler,” but an exasperated “Ugh. As someone who’s been through severe depression, I could relate to Goblin on a sympathetic level. It was, or at least sounded like it was, an honest-to-god unfiltered account of a young man’s depression in the wake of sudden fame. Bastard gave new meaning to the phrase “scary good,” while Goblin sounded frighteningly honest. This guy who was spewing such sickening verses possessed a preternatural grasp of production and vocal delivery. Yes, Wolf is an uncomfortable listening experience, like Bastard and Goblin before it, but those albums were paradoxically so. But for a record that people are (allegedly) meant to “get high to,” Wolf really harshes my mellow. i wanna be in a rock band and make jazz (sic).” Wolf has, like, 14 rap songs, tops, with “TreeHome95” being the sole piece of “weird hippie music” on the record.
shit is boring as fuck, ill rather focus on music. It should be no surprise, then, that Tyler wasn’t being entirely honest when he stated on Formspring that “WOLF forsurly will prolly have like 3 rap songs tops. Whether he’s spitting graphic depictions of violent crime with prodigious flow, or reporting that Earl Sweatshirt is dead, or offering Tegan and Sara some “hard dick” in response to their pointed critique of his lyrics, we should have come to expect a certain level of insincerity from Tyler, the Creator. If we’ve learned anything about Tyler, the Creator, it’s that we ought to take everything he says with a grain mountain of salt.
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