Where the aim with Igor seemed to be to stretch Tyler, the Creator’s compositional abilities to their limits, Call Me If You Get Lost follows the string of rap-centric loosies he released since the last album in putting Tyler back in touch with his still-formidable foundations. It’s like riffling through old yearbooks, laughing at how small your youthful worries seem now but quietly missing their simplicity. DJ Drama goads Tyler on throughout the album as the rapper, producer, director, actor, and designer luxuriates in comfort, opulence, and exquisite taste, sated though no less spiteful. Call Me patterns itself somewhat after the Gangsta Grillz mixtapes of the aughts and early 2010s, where the veteran rap-whisperer DJ Drama linked with a who’s who of rap royalty, scoring classic tapes like Jeezy’s Trap or Die, Lil Wayne’s Dedication 2, and Pharrell’s In My Mind (the Prequel). Call Me If You Get Lost, Tyler’s sixth proper studio album, is a full-circle moment where the lighter and more soulful aesthetics of 2019’s Grammy-winning Igor are scaled back in favor of brash beats and raw rhymes. It curiously steps back into the cranky, devil-may-care style and attitude of his early days as he spells out all the ways he’s changed since then. In de facto Odd Future leader Tyler, the Creator’s biting new song “Manifesto” - a long-overdue reunion with his old squad’s gifted stoner rapper Domo Genesis - he revisits the heat of the moment where his group blew up and mass outrage ensued: “Protesting outside my shows, I gave them the middle finger / I was a teener, tweeting Selena crazy shit / Didn’t wanna offend her, apologized when I seen her.” The cut traces Tyler’s growth from an aspiring internet troublemaker to a live performer picketed at his own concerts and banned in countries overseas to the boundlessly creative 30-year-old polymath of today. As time passed, its art blossomed and its sensibilities mellowed, but the group drifted apart. Having studied and truly internalized the pressure-point stimulation of Eminem, who made his millions in part by identifying and uttering the most provocative statements possible in any given scenario, Odd Future waged a campaign of deliberate transgression that netted support and outrage in equal measure but, importantly, used the attention to shine a light on the stellar crafts of its members. As crabby as it was savvy, the collective built a vast and impressive catalogue of prickly songs that lashed out at icons, idols, and influencers high and low. Members featured heavily on each other’s songs, taking a page from the Wu-Tang playbook in the quest for domination. Odd Future was a self-contained unit housing all the rappers, singers, and producers needed to make records. The group’s open contempt for tastemakers and A-listers ran counter to the charm offensive that got you into a career in hip-hop back then, when legends were built one blog post, famous co-sign, and guest spot at a time. Call Me If You Get Lost is Tyler riffling through old yearbooks, laughing at how small your youthful worries seem now but quietly missing their simplicity.Ī decade ago, Odd Future - a ragtag group of rabble-rousing artists, skaters, and jokesters hailing from Southern California - stormed the gates of the rap game without the support of the major labels and the popular bloggers that, for a time, acted as intermediaries between listeners and the endless flood of new music available online.
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