Now he’s even got artistic ambitions. »Cherry Bomb« is a head-up-high statement by no other than Tyler, The Creator: Look at me, I’ve got more distortions than Yeezus, a more complex sound than any other rap-record. I am the future! Indeed, Tyler comes along with a full and rich program on his third physical release. There are more N.E.R.D.-isms than one can count, rumble-racing with radical and overdriven calls for a mosh pit, which, on the other hand, are being loosened by sequences of a kind of jazzy bedroom-pop. »Cherry Bomb« is bursting at the seams. And yet, it comes across as pomp and ostentatiousness rather than clever and competent. Why? Because Tyler’s ego has actually become bigger than what has made him stand out until now: his inner struggle. Of course, this has happened before, and sometimes it has even lead to great records. Maybe the problem is much simpler than this, too: Tyler has never been the rapper, really. And now that his lyrics aren’t convincing from the start, this deficit becomes almost painfully obvious. His trademark voice (sounding a bit like an angry toad that’s stuck in his throat) sounds as if he is trying too hard, and as soon as there are a few more syllables, he doesn’t have the power to keep them going. Instead, everything seems to scream: Look, I have developed, I’ve learned new tricks! Unfortunately, all this razzle dazzle distorts from the fact that there actually are a few things worth listening to on this record. Every time the music actually impresses, Tyler jumps in and ruins it all. His personality lacks the kind of charisma for the listener to enjoy this ego-trip in good old blockbuster-fashion. And yet, »Cherry Bomb« is a bold record. It’s got proper cylinder capacity, felicitous transitions between punk-quotes and kitsch, between Neptunes and Toro Y Moi. And still, it’s got its strongest moments whenever Tyler’s voice is least present.
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