And there was an honesty that I recognized no confusion to be found in the “he”'s and “him”'s, Frank Ocean’s not-straight-ness, at least, in the absence of any “proper” labels, his confession as dynamic as sexuality is, truth spilling out of his mouth in the back of a Nissan Maxima. There was that absolute conviction about falling in love in it, pretty and aching and not-quite-relatable to me but still painful in a way that made me feel like folding in on myself. If I listen closely, I can hear the sky falling too,” and me crying, more than a little bit.
#Frank ocean channel orange meaning free
Somehow, somewhere, I’d learned vagueness was the most comfortable thing for me to fall back on.Ĭhannel Orange and freshman year came with a hot summer, a letter from Frank Ocean that started with “BASEDGOD WAS RIGHT” and ended with "I feel like a free man. I recognized something warm and familiar in both “ my black queen Cleopatra” and “ Forrest Gump, you run my mind, boy.” "Bad Religion" and an ambiguous unrequited love bringing me to my knees, that stupid sinking feeling that comes with it, one that I’d pushed to the bottom of my stomach next to the word “bisexual.” I’m walking down the stairs before winter break when a friend asks: “What are you?” and then, “Like, do you like boys or girls? Or are you, like, just into people?” I find myself surprised at my lack of hesitation when I just say “People,” how it feels better in my mouth. I’m a freshman in high school and Frank Ocean’s Channel Orange has just come out over the summer. Friday night, on his Beats 1 radio show Blonded, Frank Ocean debuted “Chanel,” mesmerizing and elegant, and opening with “ My guy pretty like a girl / he got fight stories to tell / I see both sides like Chanel.” Something about it was romantic and valiant, cocky but self-aware. Ocean is already older and wiser than the rest of his Odd Future brethren, and here’s hoping he helps them find a bit more focus and a bit less juvenile thrill-seeking as they find their feet.There’s difficulty in duality, for some reason, but Frank Ocean always seems to be there when I need him. Golden Girl, on the other hand, sets up this woman as a kind of salvation, an island (literal and metaphoric) that calms the singer (in this case, Ocean, though even Tyler is finding his darkness turned to light) down, helps him sort his life out. She is fundamentally immature, both in its setting - the girl is still living under her parents’ roof, and boys aren’t allowed - and its pathetic shock tricks and fear of women, throwing around c-words and threatening violence if the singer (in this case, Tyler) doesn’t get what he wants.
End / Golden Girl – She, Tyler the Creator The principle/featured artist are flipped here, but it’s worth nothing the incredible transition in attitude in just over a year since She‘s release. Both songs also seem to capture some moral rottenness at the core of their respective milieux, whether its criminally uninterested hipsters or materialistic, masculine young men.ġ3. Ocean, meanwhile, begins with a cry for a lost queen, and then slowly unravels a story of a man’s growing disgust as his power wastes away in the face of a woman who uses her sexuality to pay their bills. Reed’s setting is, of course, New York’s somewhat-seedy artistic underbelly, and its emotional range skitters along its wavering guitar line from the sex so good its spiritual to being completely apathetic in the face of death.
Ocean’s Egyptian-imagery-soaked story song lacks the formalism of Reed’s mini-opera, but they both share an expansive approach to pop music, stretching the arc of a relationship that goes from intense beginnings to a fall from grace to a desperate coda that pleads for something simpler. This advertisement has not loaded yet, but your article continues below.
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