Released just 12 days after a teaser posted to his Instagram, Chromakopia is a bold new step in Tyler, the Creator’s genre-bending career. His eighth studio album may pay lyrical homage to his earlier work (with a few references to his award-winning 2019 album, IGOR), but several tracks introduce sounds unlike anything we’ve heard from him before. The lead single, ‘Noid’, is particularly fitting – the mixing recalls 2017’s Flower Boy, yet the eclectic influences and samples feel even more ambitious: the verses interpolate ‘Nizakupanga Ngozi’, a 1977 song by the Zambian band Ngozi Family, while the heavy bass beat draws from Black Sabbath’s ‘War Pigs’ (from their 1970 album, Paranoid). The album’s sound is enhanced by eerie visuals – teasers and videos are mostly sepia-toned black and white, with Tyler’s face masked in a replica of his own yet void of expression: “uncanny valley” in a military-style suit, stifled by the crowds.

“Much like the eerie mask on its album cover, Chromakopia continually challenges our expectations of Tyler”

The album’s true excitement lies in its musical experimentation, offering new ways to explore the issues of Tyler’s previous work. ‘I Killed You’ confronts his conflicted relationship with his natural hair, addressing the harm of racist attitudes toward Black hair. Syncopated African drums and a bustling chorus of shouts and chants make the track hypnotic, amplifying its connection to cultural heritage – Tyler’s estranged father is Nigerian; his mother, African-American. Childish Gambino’s dreamy vocals make for a standout feature, second only to Schoolboy Q’s slick verse on ‘Thought I Was Dead’. Rap royalty Lil Wayne adds a brief verse on ‘Sticky’, while Daniel Caesar and Willow Smith contribute backing vocals throughout the album. Fans may miss Tyler’s friend and Odd Future alumnus Frank Ocean, who has collaborated with Tyler on three albums but hasn’t released one of his own since Blonde in 2016.

Lyrically, the album is lighter on the playful subversions and sharp pop culture references that lent his previous work its irreverent energy. Tracks like ‘Hey Jane’ and ‘Take Your Mask Off’ lean toward spoken word; stripped-back beats and a subtler approach to wordplay build on the storytelling instincts of songs like ‘Wilshire’ (from his last album) or even the stark narrative of ‘Colossus’ from 2013’s Wolf. Central themes emerge in Tyler’s candid verses: ageing (the artist turned 33 this year), sexist attitudes toward female sexuality, and the paranoia accompanying fame.

Fatherhood is perhaps the album’s most significant theme. At 33, Tyler brings a more mature perspective to paternal responsibility and absence, a recurring subject in his lyrics. His past focus on his father’s absence now shifts to his own (un)readiness for fatherhood. ‘Hey Jane’ explores both sides of an unintended pregnancy with candour and empathy, showcasing his lyrical range. The track is divided between each parent’s perspective, with “T” feeling torn yet frustrated that Jane will “deal with all the mental and physical change … just to give the kid the man’s last name”. Similar feminist sentiments appear throughout the album. In the cheeky, sensual track ‘Judge Judy’, T casually discusses a partner’s fetishes but remarks, “Your body count and who you fuck are not my concern, ’cause I don’t judge Judy.”

In the best way, Chromakopia is an album of its time, as Tyler presents a rich variety of perspectives on female sexuality, fame, and Black culture, each highlighting societal contradictions and traps. Track two, ‘Rah Tah Tah’, wouldn’t be out of place on a classic Lil Wayne album, with its aggressive vocals, boasts about luxury cars and homes, and liberal use of the word “bitch”. Yet the next track, ‘Noid’, flips the theme of fame on its head – in its unsettling music video, a masked Tyler is pursued through crowds and tailed by suspicious cars, with fear permeating his every moment like his obsessive fans. ‘Take Your Mask Off’ confronts hypocrisy directly, as Tyler encourages a middle-class gang member, a closeted preacher, a depressed housewife, and an untalented, self-centred rapper to “find yourself”.

In other words, much like the eerie mask on its album cover, Chromakopia continually challenges our expectations of Tyler, making it as unsettling as it is captivating.