Just finished listening to the BRILLIANT Goblin by Odd Future's Tyler the Creator.
It's a fantastic feat by a true artist who'll be around for a while. Solid, sober and soulful. A kind of stream-of-consciousness poetry up there with the best.
Now, other reviews from the little fraternity of “the gentlemen of the press” are trickling in (look them up–we're not gonna name names). They use a lot of words and they go at it like a coroner with a scalpel.
But Goblin is alive, so autopsies are not necessary.
We found ourselves LULZing hard at how many of “the gentlemen of the press” got bent outta shape by a young punk.
What was that thing Lou Reed said about Robert Christgau in Take No Prisoners?
Tyler's “Goblin” is that rare thing: something smart, made organically, in LA that would NEVER be played by NPR. This is pissing some people off.
In other words, Can music critics who revere indie bands ever begin to understand the genius of Tyler the Creator's Goblin?:
Congratulations, Tyler. Well done.
Swag Tyler the fuck out. Or, as they used to say, rock'n'roll.
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