By Bobby Manning

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.” 

Since May I’ve spewed that infectious refrain everywhere I go, certain Tyler began “I Think” in the most absurd and fitting-for-Tyler way possible. 

Was it: “fuck, shit,” or “four, skate?”

Genius and others referenced the entrance to the track as “four, four, four.” The subtle “one, two, three” count Tyler mutters to close “Earfquake” lends more evidence to “four.” It does sound awfully close to “fuck” though — and it would be expected from an artist who drapes himself in profanity as much often his Golf fashion line. 

That’s partially why Igor was the best album of 2019, with “I Think” as its watershed moment. Tyler, the Creator began the 2010s a shock jock akin to Eminem, though failing to deliver the elusive technical skill Em complemented his celebrity spats with. 

Tyler’s baritone, sinister vocals established an intriguing baseline though, with humor and an obsession for sound. Promising moments like “Perfect” and “Okaga” on Cherry Bomb show his ability to craft a musical landscape as luscious as his clothes. 

He never dropped who he is  — just listen to his July Funk Flex freestyle — but Tyler found a way to integrate his deeper internal monologue in a transformative moment for himself and pop music that defined 2019: Igor. It’s cohesively produced, simple and relatable work by a new artist, but the same man. 

Tyler’s metamorphosis occurred toward the end of the decade, with a beautiful drive through the countryside over a modern, hip-hop influenced interpretation of 1970s soul synths. His fourth studio album Flower Boy would be hard to top, but Tyler surpassed it by crafting a masterfully theatrical hip-hop experience that only grazed the genre. In it, he becomes Igor to break the rarely-serious persona of Tyler, the Creator to comment on experiences, thoughts, and feelings of his own. 

Igor — with blond hair, thick-rimmed sunglasses, and Neapolitan-colored suits — allowed Tyler to speak earnestly, challenge gender and sexuality. Pitched vocal distortion marks different moments in the life of a character likely based loosely on Tyler.

But Tyler’s never far from view. Hence the “fucks” blurting out in the background of a high-pitched croons about falling in love. If it truly was “four,” he intentionally or not created the most fitting homophone for the moment. “What’s Good” feels like an intermission, rapped in his normal voice. 

“Are We Still Friends” is that final bow where characters emerge together in human form, with Pharrell even appearing as the looming influence (he was credited in the album’s production as well).

“I Think” sets the tone for a serious album that still embraces absurdity. Within moments of pouring feelings, it’s “fuck that.” Igor falls in love at the seven-minute mark and less than a half-hour later is asking “are we still friends?” Its attention span mirrors the listener’s.

The track isn’t the standout single, though became popular enough to garner a music video. It represents a more crucial glue moment within the emotional flow. Igor stands pressed, frustrated by feelings that will later hurt him.

Again: “fuck, fuck, fuck.” 

It’s built over a beat incorporated from the opening seconds of a song produced by Nkono Teles, a West African producer during the 1980s, and a Nigerian soul artist who in 1982 declared “I feel I’ve fallen in love.” Tyler’s estranged father was born in Nigeria.

The synths thicken as he presses further where “I don’t know where I’m going.” So he takes us to the bridge, a flurry of light and thicker synths, whistling and buzzing emblematic of Tyler’s production — which is present across the entire album. Vinyl crackling layers the song too, sounding like pop rocks.

“I Think” is simple — “I think I’m falling in love,” “this time I think it’s for real,” “how can I tell you,” but incredibly dense with musical moments across 3:30. Solange even makes a spot verse fitting for such an aesthetically-driven song:

“I notice that you’re there, but I’m always in your hair

And you’re always under my microscope”

Solange and Tyler owned 2019. My end of the year list was littered with Igor and Solange’s When I Come Home. 

A short piano outro as Tyler fades away into “exactly what you run from, you end up chasing,” with a few more “fuck”s, “four”s, “Skate fours.”

Whether a homage to Pharrell, a producer whom Tyler embraced and built off into his dreamy production aesthetic, or a call for EA to make Skate Four launches the album forward. It was a moment, one low-key enough to avoid radio play unlike “Earfquake,” but danceable enough to reach DJ rotations.

Maybe the stations heard “fuck” too.