![]() He just got back last night from a friend’s 20-room castle in Tuscany, where he was “eating cookies and shit”. Tyler was staying low-key until I dragged him out of the back of the Golf Wang (his clothing line) store for an iced coffee. “It looks gross.”Īs for him getting mobbed, that’s actually my fault. “How does this look?” He answers himself before we can respond. He’s alluding to a wispy moustache vainly struggling to annex his upper lip. “Especially when I shave this thing that I’m trying out for the day,” Tyler says, turning to me and his friend who works at the McLaren dealership (Tyler owns three of their vehicles). “I AM sexy,” he tells yet another group of swooning girls. “Can I take a picture with you… can I have a hug… I love you… you’re so sexy.” When Flower Boy came out they were surprised, but it’s like, ‘Nah, it’s the same meal, but y’all was only looking at the bacon and the eggs and the protein shit.’” But I’m in a kitty-cat shirt at a lake in the She video. “When Yonkerscame out and I’m throwing up, they focused on the dark side. “People only saw one part of me,” Tyler explains. If his low-hissing frequency was once mostly audible to teenagers, it’s become a siren to anyone with well-functioning ears. Recorded at studios all over LA (including Rick Rubin’s Shangri-La), Atlanta, and Lake Como in Italy, it features Lil Uzi Vert and Kanye, Solange and Playboi Carti, Cee-Lo Green and Slowthai, La Roux and Pharrell, but they’re so subsumed into his vision that you’d have to first read the liner notes to recognise most of them. OutKast’s The Love Below if Dracula’s Wedding occurred at the golden hour under an autumnal forest canopy with Charlie Wilson conducting the nuptials. It’s the Beach Boys’ Pet Sounds for a generation that purchased disembodied cat head Golf Wang hoodies. He stitched together ’80s British jazz-funk to Studio 54 disco to glimmering Impala-cruising soul to bullfrog-larynx rap. If 2017’s Flower Boy earned critical adulation and his first Grammy nomination, Igor marked a legitimate artistic revelation – the enfant terrible who once hurled epithets and hexes for shock value reinvented himself as the moonstruck conductor leading hold-me-tender teardrop symphonies with a blond pageboy bob and bespoke lime suits. They mean Tyler’s first No.1, the seafoam funk, monsters-need-love-too opus Igor, which marked the first time a hip-hop artist topped the charts with an entirely self-produced and self-arranged project. “Thank you for your music,” an 18-year-old Asian-American girl giggles. So when they actually catch a glimpse, it’s understandably hysteria. They’re here not to necessarily see him, but merely to sense his presence, “soak up the vibes”, bask in this streetwear Lourdes smack in the centre of LA. They’re mostly here for him now: the pasty tourists from the high plains who dragged their fanny-packed parents, the black skate kids with green hair, the bleach-blonde teenage girls with studded jackets and nose rings, the Japanese hypebeasts in esoteric sneakers that you can only find on the Silk Road. ![]() Supreme might have lured him here, but without his pied piper effect, this could’ve turned into a retail ghost town. This used to be the holy turf of black-hatted Hasidic Jews until a teenage Tyler skated up from Hawthorne around 2010, became famous as the figurehead of Odd Future Wolf Gang Kill Them All and made Supreme’s box logo indelible even for those who wouldn’t know an ollie from a fakie. ![]() The 28-year-old’s magnetism and impact terraformed this entire block of high-priced Los Angeles real estate. “If I did 38 backflips and bought some kid out there a full scholarship and his mom a car, he would still say: ‘Yo, can I get a photo real quick?’” I Don’t Give A Fuck says, averting his head from the pilgrims not-so-stealthily capturing him for their Instagram stories. “People are fucking crazy,” the erstwhile Mr. Bro, you better get a pic.īut Tyler doesn’t take fan photos. It’s like seeing the Pope sunbathing outside the Sistine Chapel. ![]() ![]() And there he is on Fairfax in Los Angeles at 5pm on a sweaty July Monday. Even Michael Jackson competed with Tyson and Jordan. We’re not talking a mononym like Madonna or Prince or Kanye. But even if you were christened Tyler, there’s a legitimate chance that the Creator is the first Tyler that comes to mind. In the United States of America, 348,612 babies were named Tyler during the ’80s and ’90s. C’mon… doesn’t seeing him walk down Fairfax Avenue seem just a liiiiittle on the nose? Dude, who else is 6ft 2in, wearing a mint utility vest, oversized khakis and a bucket hat, being followed by fluorescent hordes like he was about to feed the multitudes with free socks. But this is exactly where you’d expect to find him. Article taken from from The Face Volume 4 Issue 001. ![]()
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
AuthorWrite something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview. ArchivesCategories |