Blond
Frank Ocean
(Def Jam/Boys Don’t Cry)
Three and a half stars
At some indeterminate point in recent history, the internet’s influence seems to have made the most-anticipated albums more about pre-release hoo-ha than the actual record itself.
For evidence, see the hyper-analytical sideshow that developed during a month of "will he, won't he" build-up to Frank Ocean's much-delayed second album – first touted more than a year ago and originally titled Boys Don't Cry. An avalanche of hype and confusion was exacerbated by the artist himself, when he preceded its impromptu arrival 24 hours earlier with 45-minute-long "visual album" Endless.
Now, at last, we can get on with the task of dissecting the follow-up proper to his 2012 debut Channel Orange. The latter blew apart a good few assumptions about how male R&B-centred music should operate – shot through with tales of unrequited love and insecurity – and Blond continues that trajectory with even-more-abstract intent and extra helpings of plaintive acoustic guitars.
Ivy is an early suggestion that Ocean's adventures in love in the intervening four years have been more of a two-way street, with the hopeful opening admission: "I thought that I was dreaming when you said you love me". Soon enough, though, heartbreak is on the horizon.
Blond's multiple hold-ups could be credited to the number of guests on-board, although Ocean seems determined to avoid a glut of standard feature statuses. Beyoncé (Pink + White) and Kendrick Lamar (Skyline To) are employed as little more than backing singers; OutKast's Andre 3000 gets his hands on the mic for scarcely more than a minute of fast-talking wisdom on the breathless vignette Solo (Reprise).
Ocean's far-reaching influences are writ large across White Ferrari, which half-inches part of The Beatles' Here, There And Everywhere and features the melodic vocal tones of post-dubstep crooner James Blake. That's followed, by accident or design, by Seigfried, which borrows a chorus from the late singer-songwriter and Beatles devotee Elliott Smith. Both often feel on the cusp of evaporating at any given moment.
On Channel Orange, there maybe weren't as many moments of genius (Thinkin Bout You; Pyramids) that successfully stood the test of time as well as one might have hoped. There are even fewer obvious stand-alone highs here – even lead single Nikes is six minutes long and chock with disparate sections. Yet in an era where it has often been questioned if the album as a medium is on its way out, it's reassuring that Blond presents a sprawling set of songs that warrant truly detailed exploration.
aworkman@thenational.ae
