Twenty-first century pop music demands clarity, immediacy, and obviousness – musicians dare not even write long introductions to their hits, in case fans on streaming sites get bored and flick to another tune. Around a third of the tracks have no drums at all, and instead of the huge hooks he provided in jams like “Thinkin Bout You” and “Lost,” the songs on Blonde take a digressive route through Ocean’s often fuzzy con- sciousness. She and her producer Timbaland retained the beats, choruses, and conventional song structures, even when they were denuding their landmark records of every other element previously believed to be essential for a pop song.īeats, verses, and choruses are precisely what Ocean eschews on much of Blonde. However, Ocean goes even further than Aaliyah did. Like Aaliyah’s best songs, Ocean’s music is all about the space it contains – the extent to which it can be stripped down while still remaining stuck in the listener’s consciousness. But, nevertheless, his version connected three generations of soul Wunderkinder – visionaries who could travel far out into music’s left eld and somehow make it pop. Her bumping, insouciant take on the tune could not have been more different from Ocean’s weightless swooning. Aaliyah had enjoyed a late summer hit with the song – originally performed by The Isley Brothers – in 1994. It was a tribute to Aaliyah, posted on the eve of what would have been her 36th birthday.
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A slightly different version came out before Endless via Ocean’s Tumblr in 2015. “(At Your Best) You Are Love” is a cover of a cover. So I went back to the opening song, swathed in strings arranged by Radiohead’s Jonny Greenwood. Two hours of music – not to mention a thick magazine, Boys Don’t Cry – was a lot to process all at once.
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So who was this artist who appeared on the cover of Blonde in the shower with his hair dyed green? Or who unravels in Endless over 45 minutes of swooning soul, ambient interludes, and a seven-minute Wolfgang Tillmans techno track? The video for “Nikes” contained further clues, but where was the real Frank Ocean in this torrent of imagery that included a naked and glittery ass being spanked, a stuntman walking through a parking lot on fire, a devil on a theater balcony, and a rapping dog?