How Wolf Saved Me From Myself
Tyler, the Creator's second studio album Wolf was the soundtrack to my teenage angst and anxiety; it changed my life forever.
I remember the first time I discovered Tyler’s music. It was a warm summer night in 2011 and I had finally finished doing the dishes after dinner; quickly enough to catch the MTV VMA show – or what was left of it. I switched on the TV and saw Taylor Lautner and Selena Gomez on stage, about to announce the recipient of the Best New Artist award. “And the award for Best New Artist goes to…Tyler the, Creator!” Selena chirped. And that’s when I heard it.
That grimacingly eerie synth and percussion-heavy intro on “Yonkers,” Tyler’s haunting track off his debut album, Goblin. I was mesmerised. “Who is this guy?” I asked my older brother who was seated in an armchair across from me. “Think his name is Tyler or something,” he nonchalantly replied. I watched on as he and his crew rowdily hopped on stage to accept the award. “Yo, I’m excited as fuck right now,” he panted, “I wanted this shit since I was nine.” I was in complete awe. After the ceremony, MTV began playing music videos from the night’s winners. “Yonkers” was first. As I watched the monochrome visuals flash across the screen and listened to his deep and menacing vocals growl over the squeaky synths, I became more and more drawn into this misanthropic character who just ate a live cockroach.
You have to understand, Tyler was the first rapper I found for myself. Growing up, my older brother raised me on hip-hop; weaning me on a sonic diet of 50 Cent, T.I, Lil Wayne, Soulja Boy, Lethal B, Dizzy Rascal and Rick Ross. Whenever he went through certain phases where each of these artists was all he listened to, I followed suit. Listening to them (and their affiliations) exposed me to a lot about rap and made me appreciate the genre, but my taste never felt like it was truly mine, if that makes sense. I always felt like it was an extension of my brother’s and I was still struggling to find exactly what I liked. So you can imagine my elation when I did some research after that night and unearthed Tyler’s entire catalog – and his anarchic group Odd Future’s as well – of rambunctious and foul-mouthed anthems over unorthodox beats. It was loopy and twisted in some weirdly bewitching way, but I loved it, and it was mine.
Looking back, I’m not particularly sure why Tyler’s music struck a chord with me; juxtaposing his personality with mine then, it’s hard to draw many parallels. I wasn’t an angry teenager – more of an anxious one, really – so it was quite odd that somehow I found myself, my true self, tucked in between the grotesquely abhorrent lyrics nested in his depressive episodes and deeply unsettling therapy sessions on Goblin.
I think I speak for every Tyler fan when I say my Odd Future phase was very intense. I remember spending hours on end watching boisterous episodes of Loiter Squad, the group’s absurdist late-night sketch comedy show, and thinking to myself: “They’re so rad!” (rad being just one of the many words not in my regular vocabulary that I picked up from Tyler’s lyrics). I dug deep into OF’s discography and fell in love with Hodgy’s self-assured bravado, Earl’s mind-boggling wordplay and Syd’s gauzy soul. OF’s catalog was a bottomless grab bag and everyday unearthed a new gem. The effect it had on me can’t be understated: I was an outspoken but self-conscious 15-year-old, with frightfully low self-esteem, so Tyler’s music became a sort of solace for me. When I listened to him, I pretended I had enough courage to do all the insane things he spoke about (well not all the things). He became my hero; I lived vicariously through him.
In February 2013, when Tyler announced the imminent release of Wolf, the highly-anticipated follow-up to his defiant breakthrough Goblin, I wasn’t particularly certain what to expect. Goblin and Bastard – his debut mixtape – were both hour-long tirades filled with brash lyrics, violent themes and frenzied production. On Wolf, Tyler peeled back the chaos and presented a more mellow, emotionally-charged version of himself, opting for melody over menace. The harsh beats and brutal lyrics of previous tracks like “Yonkers” and “Tron Cat” are all but absent on Wolf, appearing only in a few tracks over the album’s 70-minute span. Rather, Wolf hides Tyler’s deeply rooted issues behind a mask of smooth, summery music.
Tyler matured with Wolf. While his previous efforts were a chaotic cross between gruff cynicism and juvenilia, on Wolf, he smoothed out his raw edges and solemnly addressed weighty subjects (like his acerbic feelings towards his deadbeat dad), all while fully stepping into his role as a producer, composer and sound designer. The production on the album is impressively lush. The wistful piano chords on “Awkward” serve as the perfect background for the cheesy number; the wonky synths on “Jamba” completely elevated the bar-heavy record, and the jazz-fusion chords on the Erykah Badu-assisted neo-soul gem “Treehome95” were an early indication of Tyler’s impending sonic sojourn (see: Cherry Bomb, Flower Boy, scoring the Grinch movie, and the Grammy award-winning IGOR).
Lyrically, Wolf features some of Tyler’s best writing. “48” and “Slater” are stunning rap efforts, “Answer” and “Lone” delve into deeply personal matters with poise, and “Rusty” is one of the most arresting lyrical performances on the project. The Pharrell-featured “IFHY” manages to blend his new musical direction with his emotionally-charged lyrics of old, resulting in one of the album’s strongest tracks.
Upon my first few listens of the album, I soon realised that Wolf’s storyline wasn’t directly connected to Bastard and Goblin’s – which were real-time recordings of his therapy sessions. Instead, on Wolf, Tyler carves out a world revolving around three fictional characters, Wolf, Sam and Salem, and the love triangle between the trio at a summer camp, Camp Flog Gnaw. Now, I’ve never been one to pander to make-believe worlds or imaginary characters, but for some unexplainable reason, the world within Wolf became a sanctuary for me; an escape from the incredibly lonely one my real body was unfortunately mandated to exist in.
You see, 2013 was a very pivotal year for me. I was in a pretty dark place mentally, my self-esteem was in shambles and I barely had any friends that actually liked me and didn’t just put up with me out of convenience. I was incredibly lonely and I didn’t even realise it back then. One thing I did have was music (mostly Tyler’s, and at least that brought me some internet friends who shared the same taste as me). I was on a journey to self-discovery and I was falling flat on my face with every step. Tyler, on the other hand, seemed to be thriving; fully coming into his own on Wolf, and evolving into a more level-headed version of himself. He completely encapsulated a creative mind coming into the possession of the proper means to carry out its ideas. Seeing that gave me hope that one day, I could too (I did, obviously).
I guess I could say that project saved my life in some way. To many, Tyler was just a foul-mouthed delinquent who revelled in his unabashed homophobia and misogyny (he probably was, let’s be real), but to me, he was everything the industry feared: independence and creative liberty; an icon; a hero. It wasn’t just the fact that his music was so unorthodox, or that he was an enthralling cross between the near-terrifying rage of DMX and the enigmatic wit of MF Doom. For me, Tyler embodied everything that I had been taught not to question and slowly somehow released me from the trappings of societal expectations. I mean, I grew up living my entire life for other people; I don’t necessarily think I’d be living my dream as a music & culture journalist (as opposed to some science-related profession) if I didn’t discover his music back in 2011. So, I guess I’m a product of his preachings and that’s kinda cool.
“To all the kids that’s watching, you can do this shit if you believe in yourself. Fuck the system,” he said in his thank you speech at the VMAs. Thanks, T – I did.