Tyler, the Creator will never give us brashness without tucking in a bit of meaning. On his new album, Don’t Tap the Glass, the Los Angeles rapper/producer abrasively reminds us of our limitless abilities while also pointing out the difference between curating our image and being our authentic selves.
On the morning the album dropped, July 21st, Tyler released a statement via social media that addressed the inspiration behind Don’t Tap the Glass. “I asked some friends why they don’t dance in public and some said because of the fear of being filmed,” he wrote. “I thought, ‘Damn — a natural form of expression and a certain connection they have with music is now a ghost.’ It made me wonder how much of our human spirit got killed because of the fear of being a meme, all for having a good time.” Tyler has long been an advocate of living life unshackled, and the uptick over recent years of civilian surveillance has gone directly against his own personal goal.
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The theme running through the center of the album is perception, but specifically, the unwanted feeling of being watched and viewed by those around us and through our phones. It’s become an unavoidable part of life and a burden to society that has impacted humanity on a cellular level. Tyler doesn’t like paparazzi, he doesn’t like glazers, and he for damn sure doesn’t commune with stans online. By saying “Don’t tap the glass,” Tyler is encouraging us to put our phones the hell down, but most especially while we listen to his latest effort.
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With each recent album, including last October’s Chromakopia, Tyler is slowly nudging us out of the weirdness. Chromakopia exposed a Tyler, the Creator who was steeped in anxieties triggered from within, as well as from outside parties. Comparatively, Don’t Tap the Glass is an album that’s ostensibly made for flexing, feeling yourself, and cutting loose. Chromakopia was built on introspection and suspicion, while Don’t Tap the Glass is an unabashed blast to the face — but Tyler’s concerns remain.
“Big Poe” opens the album, and lists Tyler’s commandments for enjoying the project: 1) Body movement. No sitting still; 2) Only speak in glory. Leave your baggage at home; 3) Don’t tap the glass. As the rules are listed, Tyler makes cheeky interjections, but the one that stands out the most comes after point two: “None of that deep shit.” Off rip, Tyler is telling us not to take this album or ourselves too seriously. But while it’s not Chromakopia-heavy, it still interacts with the vulnerabilities explored there.
Don’t Tap the Glass is Tyler’s way of loosening the parameters of the rap game and guiding us back to freer eras. The cover of the album sees Tyler leaning into visual aesthetics that are reminiscent of LL Cool J’s iconic “I’m Bad” music video from 1987, from the red clothing and hat to the exaggerated thick gold rope chain, and Ludacris’ comical music video for his 2004 single “Get Back” that featured the rapper wearing enlarged arm prosthetics.
The aforementioned “Big Poe” features a couple of expectedly flossy verses from Tyler’s hero, Pharrell Williams, and a Busta Rhymes sample taken from the artist’s Neptunes-produced 2002 single “Pass the Courvoisier, Part II.” Here, Tyler balances on the tightrope of paranoia he’s been walking in recent years: “No cell phone, this a dead spot/ You sneak photos, get your hands chopped/ You weird as fuck, n***a, I said stop.” He revisits his old rabble-rousing ways with the following line, “I don’t trust white people with dreadlocks,” feeding us levity through his penchant for crafting laugh-out-loud bars.
Despite the carnal (read: horny-as-hell) “Sugar on My Tongue,” the production sounds brutal and punishing, not unlike the beats we heard on Tyler’s 2015 album Cherry Bomb. This approach is prominent throughout Don’t Tap the Glass, as Tyler marries his irreverent attitude with the dynamic beatmaking he’s become known for. But even on on this song, Tyler expresses a rabid vulnerability, lust overtaking his desire to be seen as cool.
“Sucka Free,” itself a phrase deeply embedded in hip-hop culture, is a vibe-infused standout that brings to mind British R&B band Loose Ends and the production wizardry of DJ Quik. Aside from persistently reminding us he’s “that guy,” Tyler also uses the song to call back to the theme of optics: “All that street talk corny, y’all rats/ Bro, you are a good man, what you know about that, n***a?” He’s calling out everyday people and talking bluntly to his peers in the same breath, drawing a line between Tyler and the rest of the world.
“Mommanem” picks up where “Sucka Free” leaves off, but it’s a more alarming experience. Over jarring production that would rattle the nerves of anyone listening for the first time at 5:00 a.m. CT (ahem), T raps, “I done gave some n****s shoulders they could drop a tear on/ But when my eyes get muggy, n****s get they disappear on.” On the rightfully arrogant “Stop Playing with Me,” Tyler reminds us that he’s different (“Thank the gods I’m nothing like you”) and talks cash shit — literally: “Spending Converse money, what I mean is/ Burning white paper, that’s a zig-zag.” His cadence in the final verse sounds similar to Nicki Minaj, Mother of Barbz, but he flips the flow to fit into his own world.