Tyler, The Creator – ‘Don’t Tap The Glass’ review

Before the Grammy Awards and artistic bungee-jumps, Tyler, The Creator was just a kid dancing to Omarion’s ‘Touch’ at a school talent show. Two decades later, that same wide-eyed joy – and crate-digger instinct – returns to power his ninth album, ‘Don’t Tap The Glass’.

The surprise drop is a 10-track dance battle manifesto lathered in Jheri curl sheen and Zapp Band-style talkbox chatter (‘Sucka Free’). Opener ‘Big Poe’ sets the tone, embracing the raucous bounce of early-2000s N.E.R.D à la ‘In Search Of…’. Rhyming co-pilot Pharrell (who co-produced ‘Touch’) materialises like a Y2K phantom, throwing a few animated verses over the Busta Rhymes-flipping beat.

Clocking in at a chiselled 28 minutes, ‘Don’t Tap The Glass’ is primarily anchored by disco-flavoured raps and Kangol-clad ’80s hip-hop. ‘Stop Playing With Me’ digs up, dusts off and digitises some Whodini and Run DMC-style drums to great effect. On ‘Don’t Tap That Glass / Tweakin’’, personal retorts cut through lowrider-ready bass: “N**** said I lost touch with the regular folks, I ain’t never been regular, you n**** is jokes.”

‘Ring Ring Ring’ and ‘Don’t You Worry Baby’ are real show-stealers. The former brews a beat from tangled landlines, lyrical irreverence and thick funk bass, while the latter rewires the spotlight for Brooklyn vocalist Madison McFerrin. It’s a tender R&B jewel that tugs at the heartstrings and gestures toward K.P. & Envyi’s 1997 Miami Bass classic ‘Swing My Way’. The slightly undercooked closer, ‘Tell Me What It Is’, awkwardly if earnestly nods back to 2017’s ‘Flower Boy’. Tyler’s vulnerable, Kelis-referencing refrain – “Mama, I’m a millionaire, but I’m feelin’ like a bum” – lays bare a restless (and repeated) search for connection and meaning.

Shedding the cinematic sprawl and narrative pathos of last year’s ‘Chromakopia’, Tyler steps away from the character-driven framing of Wolf Haley or Sir Baudelaire. The paranoia and parasocial tension explored on that record still linger – but beneath cartoonish ’80s rap armour. It’s part Kurtis Blow and part LL Cool J, encased in a clear Perspex chamber like a collector’s action figure. Instead of inviting connection, Tyler shields himself behind the glass: a museum piece for dance and display only.