Adam Tarsia

Prof. Nicoludis

Eng 21001 Section D

12/8/2020

Following the release of Channel Orange, legendary artist Frank Ocean’s debut LP, and a four-year silence, 2016 saw the release of Ocean’s second album, “Endless”, in the format of a video livestream. “Endless” was the final LP required by his Def Jam contract, and upon his contract fulfillment, Ocean was able to distribute an album as a completely independent artist. Now unbound by the sometimes draconian creative requirements of a label, as an independent artist he now held complete artistic freedom over his own work. From that artistic freedom, the most highly anticipated and deeply personal album of Ocean’s career, Blonde, was born. Wasting no time, Ocean released Blonde the day after Endless. The genre blending LP provides highly expressive insight into many of the experiences and themes Channel Orange dealt with, albeit in a conscious, explicit stream of self- expression a label-restricted album could not have. Blonde is the purest manifestation of the conceptual album, a thematically streamlined masterpiece exploring sexuality, masculinity, materialism, fame and race through the dual lens of his own deeply personal experiences as both a perpetrator and victim of circumstances created by those issues. Untainted by corporate greed, Ocean transcends his title as a musician on Blonde and fulfills his vision as a true artist. 

    The very first impression of the album upon the audience is that of the cover. Leaving no room for artistic significance unscathed, Ocean makes a statement by providing an alternate spelling of the LP title, substituting “Blonde” for “Blond”, and including a band-aid on his finger. Here he introduces the dual lens the album is conveyed through, and chooses his masculinity as the focal point of the duality. By drawing contrast to the title’s true feminine connotation, Ocean chooses to highlight the masculine connotation of “Blond”. Exacerbating this sharp contrast is the band-aid on Ocean’s index finger, an allusion to the fight he got into with ex-labelmate Chris Brown, in which Ocean sustained a cut to his index finger, as well as his temple, which he is covering in the album art. This subtle reference harks back to his masculinity as well, as he was referred to as a “f****t” during the fight (TMZ.com). Evidently Ocean feels as though his queerness has alienated him from fellow male, African-American musicians, even those signed to his label. He chooses to “cover” the album with expressions of masculinity in a symbolic embodiment of the manly “shell” he feels he must wear at times as an openly gay man (Thankyous, Tumblr) in order to fit in with not just society, but those who should be his closest peers.

“Nikes” serves as a proper segway into the album, a tranquilizing ballad through which Frank tells a story in two contrasting voices, which he refers to as “different versions of himself” (qtd. in Caramanica). Echoed through his affirmation, “I got two versions” in the video version of the song, this storytelling perspective shift is the album’s first flirtation with duality. The pitched up vocals of the initial verse gloss over materialism, oscillating between Ocean’s perspective and that of a “mermaid”, his drug dealing cousin’s girlfriend. The album’s first line, “these b****es want Nikes” (Nikes 0:20-0:30), amongst other references to jewelry and drugs, signify Ocean’s observations of the designer-obsessed LA party culture he spent years engulfed in, a critique of those he surrounded himself by. The video version of the track also accompanies the “mermaid” portion of the verse with a visual of a young woman writhing around in a tank of water (hence the “mermaid”), seemingly struggling to escape (Lebon 00:01:53-00:02:15) . This potent visual symbolizes the “mermaid”’s trajectory of life, aimlessly floating around, desperate to escape the hopelessly superficial lifestyle and relationship she finds herself in. However, a few lines in the verse iterate Ocean’s own obsession with the material, such as the stanza revolving around “just like you, just like me” (Nikes 0:50 -1:30). He reflects on the duality of his personal experiences with the material through a critique of his past self and others before switching to the unpitched, jaded, more conscious voice of his current self (Nikes 3:00-5:15). The video mirrors the perspective switch, shifting from rapid-fire hazy shots to more lucid and streamlined cinematography depicting both him singing, as well as what he sings about in the verse, representing his now active awareness of the consequences of the lifestyle he leads. Whereas the themes remain similar to that of the first half, the second half of Nikes reaffirms Ocean’s clear recognition of his own present involvement in the culture he so critiques.

Succeeding, “Nikes”, the following tracks from “Ivy” to “Good Guy” recall some of the same themes, however most dominant is the recollection of multiple heartbreaks. Heartbreak manifests itself in several forms throughout this important point of the album, ranging from the both sonically and lyrically distorted nostalgia of “Ivy”, ridden with gut-wrenching and self-critical remembrances such as “I thought that I was dreaming when you said you loved me”, to the concise, remorseful chords of “Good Guy”, a story about mutual lack of intimacy. Ocean presents himself as he was in the moment of a tumultuous heartbreak in “Pink + White”, a Beyoncé-backed piece revolving around multiple allusions to violent weather. Whereas other artists oftentimes share only their side of heartbreak in their art, Ocean assumes a more realistic standpoint of the roles he played in the respective heartbreaks he writes about, from assuming full culpability throughout “Ivy” to admitting some things just aren’t meant to be on “Self Control” with lines such as “wish we’d grown up on the same advice/And our time was right” (Self Control 0:43-0:50). This down-to-earth speaking position from Frank conveys his acceptance of the duality of heartbreak he has experienced. As the famous proverb goes, “it takes two”. In the latter part of the heartbreak portion, the songs’ production style hint at that of the album’s later tracks, replacing the bouncy, heavily instrumental sound in lieu of a more minimalist vibe. As Frank indicates progression past the depths of wallowing loneliness he describes on “Solo”, a song spun around the double entendre between “solo”/”so low”, and mends his heart over the last few tracks, the first half of “Nights” follows Ocean as he happily ponders about an ex aloud over a loose, light beat. Artfully capturing the essence of a late night drive, the track’s first half is the only song on the album thus far to not feature pitched up vocals or ad-libs of any kind, symbolically representing his coherent, content, unconflicted stream of consciousness.

At exactly 30 minutes in to the album, a penetrating guitar refrain precedes a beat switch which divides “Nights”, as well as the rest of the LP. The album’s switch in tone from this crucial point mirrors that of “Nikes”, in that the romanticized sentimentality filtering Frank’s thoughts has worn off, emphasizing the duality so prominent throughout the work. Accompanying the beat switch, the general production style of the album transmutes itself into an ambient, contemplative sound. For the most part, discernible instruments melt away as heavily warped versions of themselves and atmospheric synths take their place. Although the predominant voice of the second half of Blonde is that of Ocean’s current self, he makes no appearance at all on its first track. Frank makes the meticulous choice of André 3000 on “Solo (Reprise)”, who spits a tongue-twisting verse in his signature style over raw, emotional piano chords. 3000 was one half of one of the most critically acclaimed duos in hip hop history, OutKast, further contributing to the duality of Blonde, and speaks to the gradual disillusionment he experienced over the course of his storied career. André rants about the corrupt music industry, materialism, rampant and meaningless sexuality, the normalization of police brutality and addiction as he tells the story of his journey, ultimately landing on the question “was I working just way too hard?” (Solo (Reprise) 0:58-1:03) . 

Ocean resumes on the following tracks, examining the superficiality of his life through mentions of past relationship experiences before coming to terms with his sexuality as well as rejecting the authenticity of the “American Dream”. The very themes he spent so long experiencing the effects of, perpetrating and critiquing have now consumed him, sonically indicating the duality of his own turbulent mind as Ocean’s vocals are washed over by trancelike, minimalistic instrumentals. On “Godspeed”, he breaks out of his trance with a powerful vocal delivery reminiscent of that of a gospel singer, coming to the realization that sometimes, it’s just okay to let go and move on. A common cadence (2-chord progression that concludes a musical phrase) employed in religious choir music, the “plagal cadence”, is used throughout the track, before ultimately concluding on a “perfect authentic cadence”, a cadence commonly associated with perfect resolve. The outro is sung by Kim Burrell, a renowned gospel singer, further contributing to the gospel motif in the song. The track’s ending signifies Frank’s ultimate acceptance of all the events documented on Blonde, comparable to that of the ultimate acceptance of faith in God gospel music often refers to. Continuing the theme of letting go on “Futura Free”, the final track of the album, Frank looks ahead to the future. Reflecting on his career so far, he decides that in spite of his race, modest beginnings, mortality, and sexuality, he still feels lucky to be where he is in the present moment. Referencing his fight with Chris Brown again, Ocean shrugs the altercation off and takes responsibility for the consequences of his own masculinity. The track ends with one of Ocean’s friends asking “how far is a light year?” (Futura Free 9:03-9:05). The length of a light year is 9.4×10^12 km, and “Futura Free” clocks in at 9.4 minutes exactly.

Regardless of one’s opinion of his music, Frank Ocean’s masterful artistry is irrefutably illustrated on Blonde. The lens of duality he presents all the issues he scrutinizes through transcends his songwriting, encompassing all aspects of the album’s existence and even his own life. Ocean’s music not only imitates the thematic patterns that have followed him throughout his life and that he has learned to document so well, but as one adage presents it, his life “imitates” the art itself in a cyclic pattern of its own. While Ocean has not released an official LP for over four years now, which may appear as an extensive wait, unpacking and truly understanding all the thematic content and lore surrounding Blonde alone could take a lifetime. Hopefully, sometime in the near future, a student will get the chance to write about Ocean’s next album through an even greater “Lens” of their own.