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So was Frank Ocean so pure in his artistry that he didn’t actually care about the hype that built up to a fever pitch over four long years? Or was Frank Ocean so confident in the album’s success that he knew he could erect all these barriers and still get everybody talking about him? Either way, it is a ballsy way to drop an album, and I have to call that a triumph in itself. In short: Nothing about Blonde is immediately accessible, and that didn’t stop it from being what looks like a smash success. And the new title is a puzzle in itself though the album is officially called Blonde, the cover spells it Blond, atop a picture of Frank Ocean with green hair. Without any warning, he had changed the album’s title from Boys Don’t Cry to Blonde, which made it that much harder for bloggers to write about and fans to Google. Then he dropped the new album on a Saturday night-arguably the time when people, including music bloggers, are least likely to be sitting in front of their computers. On Friday, he got the news cycle spinning in a different direction by releasing the visual album Endless. Maybe the most interesting thing about Blonde is how Frank Ocean self-consciously skirted all the hype. It’s almost an admission of something, like maybe all of this isn't enough. (It’s the inverse of 2016 Drake’s airtight technical approach, in a way.) Now, there’s probably a deeper meaning to be extracted about 2016 when three of the most important and critically received albums of the year are by black artists drawing directly from gospel music. In ignoring and pushing past his very real limitations as a vocalist, Frank is able to show us something raw, fragile, imperfect-the cracks reveal something real. It’s a nifty trick that Kanye only recently began to understand, and borrow, with Pablo: Polish is fine, but it’s not really all that interesting. And let’s face it: “I will always love you,” is just about the most vulnerable thing you can say, especially for someone like Frank, who is always croaking against the upper limits of his vocal register. But as the crescendo builds and builds, instead of reaching an apex the floor suddenly drops out, leaving Frank’s voice to quake with a single dulcet keyboard tone. On “Godspeed,” he starts with a thick tangle of Twin Peaks-ian ‘80s synths that, for the next 35 seconds, mutate into a wall of scraggly, dissonant noise you can practically hear the ghost of Lester Bangs popping an Astral Weeks boner.
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It’s telling that the most beautiful moment on Blonde is when Frank is spiritually closest to God.
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