(See also: Cherry Bomb’s Blow My Load.) Bundick is on the track Fucking Young/Perfect, as is Charlie Wilson of the Gap Band and the fast-rising Kali Uchis.
On hand to help beautify the ugly is Chaz Bundick, AKA Toro Y Moi, whose remix of Odd Future’s French remains one of the most incredible attempts ever to aestheticise the repulsive. Production-wise, it’s like Marvin Gaye’s What’s Going On, updated with an upwardly mobile synth siren that recalls that old rap sample standby Summer Madness by Kool and the Gang, luscious pizzicato strings and female warbles. Is it an expression of his desire to ditch the nihilist persona of Radicals and Sandwitches for good and become a serious musician? A fuck-you to the notion of himself as the fuck-you kid? The title track, all rat-ta-ta drums, EDM synths and plumes of guitar smoke through which fog Tyler’s trademark guttural roar can barely be made out, might have been the album’s central statement and main anthem had Tyler not decided to coat it in a cherry haze.
There is further juxtaposition of the heavenly and the horrible on Find Your Wings, on which Tyler further evinces his love of exotica and lounge music (he and Pharrell adore Stereolab, and Laetitia Sadier appeared on Wolf). Such peaceful intermissions seem equal parts affectionate and facetious – one of the musicians Tyler recalls is Frank Zappa, of whom it used to be said that he could have written the perfect pop song, had he been able to resist the temptation to mess with it. Halfway through, as there is on many of the tracks, there is a sumptuous MOR interlude, the sort of ethereal muzak NERD specialise in. Warning: the bass may blow your speakers. “I’m so far ahead of you niggas, I’m in the future,” boasts Tyler, and it’s a fair claim. It’s a fabulous avant-tribal beat (and the album, like its predecessors, was largely self-produced), less Kendrick than krautrock. As ever, it’s the state of Tyler’s brain that is under scrutiny. “Tyler, I swear to fuck,” warns a stern male voice – maybe his manager’s – “Do not fuck this up!”Īnyone expecting a To Pimp a Butterfly-style black nation address will be disappointed by Cherry Bomb. The responsibilities of success hang heavy over the slower Buffalo. It could be Lapdance revisited: the lyrics – “You better pose for that camera” references to “brainwashing millions” “You will never catch me at none of their fucking shindigs” – imply Tyler’s relationship to fame is as strained as ever. On opener Deathcamp, all gnashing guitars and jazzy chords, Tyler’s Pharrell-worship continues apace (yes, that was him, head in hands, sobbing at last year’s NERD reunion). It’s a good title for this near-hour’s worth of fizzy sonics and lush eruptions of synths and strings. To that extent, if you like Tyler, you’ll love Cherry Bomb. Which “just” leaves the music and the words, taken at face value.
Cherry bomb full album stream series#
So on Cherry Bomb, what might seem like an unexpurgated splurge of ideas and idiosyncrasies could really be a carefully strategised series of interlinked thoughts pertaining to any number of fictional creations. Some fans posited the theory that subsequent albums Goblin (2011) and Wolf (2013) were part of a trilogy planned all along others argued that the order, according to which clues you deciphered from each album, defied the actual release chronology. Since then, lines have become very blurred. Bastard seemed like a fairly straight proposition at the time: an attempt to rescue the term “confessional” from acoustic troubadours both male and female – even if it was unclear whether it was Tyler himself confessing, or one of his many alter egos (Wolf Haley, Ace, Tron Cat).
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