We’re in the middle of the dog days. As brutal heatwaves and endless thunderstorms alternate their grip on our throats, we keep pressing play on track after track, hoping what comes from the speakers justifies the sweat pouring off our bodies. Debate rages on social media about the “Song Of The Summer”: Who’s made it? Who needs to make it? Does it even exist? When the country had a more unified pop culture that revolved around radio countdowns and 5 o’clock traffic jams, the answers to those questions came more easily. Decisions were made for us. Now, in the fractured attention span landscape, too many bangers appear for us to process adequately. Perhaps we’ve moved on from needing an anthem for the season. It stays warmer later in the year, after all.
There have been some mighty contenders so far: Maybe it’s james k’s “play,” which conjures an alternate version of the ’90s wherein jungle, grunge, and Natalie Imbruglia weren’t siloed from each other; Amaarae’s “S.M.O.,” which takes influence from Ghanaian electro-highlife and Miami bass music, is another possibility; it might be BabyChiefDoIt’s “Went West,” a raucous distillation of Chicago drill that feels as big as a Midwestern sky. I think the closest we’ve come yet is “P.O.V.,” the third track on Virginia duo Clipse’s triumphant return, Let God Sort Em Out. Since the album dropped 10 days ago, it’s the song that Richmond bartenders keep putting on their dinner rush playlists. It hits the right marks — the midtempo beat keeps the body moving, each kick drum threatens to open a sinkhole in the pavement, and Pusha T’s syncopated chorus is ripe for a crowd sing-along. Tyler, The Creator’s verse is what really makes it, though. Both Thornton brothers outrap him, no question, but his baritone growl gives the jam its larger-than-life heft. No matter the project, Tyler always seems to play to the rafters.
Capitalizing on that momentum, Tyler started teasing new music just a week after LGSEO’s release. His posts were cryptic, offering only a date (July 21), a title (Don’t Tap The Glass), and three rules (1. Body Movement. No Sitting Still. 2. Only Speak In Glory. Leave Your Baggage At Home. 3. Don’t Tap The Glass.). He only seems to make blockbuster moves and has a distinct ability to command and direct the discourse, no matter how short the rollout — in this case, four days, down from Chromakopia’s 11. The internet speculation machine worked itself into a tizzy, and Complex reported a fake tracklist that touted features from Clipse, Kendrick Lamar, and Earl Sweatshirt, which Tyler quickly disavowed. He reinvents himself with each new album, concocting whole new musical and visual vocabularies that rarely relate to what preceded it, and people spin his easter eggs into elaborate theories — especially if it’s too hot to venture into the real world.
So, after the enormous scope of Chromakopia and Call Me If You Get Lost, it was a bit of a shock to see that Don’t Tap The Glass is a slight 10 tracks with no credited features. A filtered voice reiterates Tyler’s three rules of engagement in its opening seconds before giving way to a distorted b-boy break, and suddenly the minimal iconography we’ve been given — Tyler’s cartoon effigy rocking an ’80s rope chain, boxy glasses frames, and an Ernie Hudson mustache — clicks into place. This is Tyler’s party record, laser-focused on moving hips more than minds. There’s no real narrative string to follow, and the biggest emphasis is on cold, crushing grooves. Shortly after the record appeared on DSPs, Tyler posted a mission statement of sorts, urging people to get out of their comfort zones and be present, to join others in dancing away fears and insecurities. Rule #4 might as well be “Lay down some cardboard and gather round.”
Lately, Tyler’s records serve as showcases for his increasingly complex and impressive production chops. Don’t Tap The Glass is no exception, leaning even further into the Tyler-as-producer dynamic. But instead of the shapeshifting, almost proggy vibe of his last few records, he’s going for undeniable, uncomplicated jammers. These tracks still have plenty of flourish and flair; on “Sucka Free,” Zapp-like vocoder croons float in the background, giving its DJ Quik lope just that much more funk. Stock keyboard orchestra hits and fake record scratches punctuate the New Orleans bounce of the title track, and “Mommanem” has atonal guitar plucks that remind me of Suuns’ creeping dance-punk classic “2020.” Tyler’s always been genre agnostic, but it’s still exciting to hear him try on new sounds, like the Italo disco of “Sugar On My Tongue,” the Detroit techno of “Stop Playing With Me,” or the New Jack Swing of “Don’t You Worry Baby.” Don’t Tap The Glass has the frenetic, body-moving energy of an early aughts Girl Talk mixtape without the sneering millennial cringe.
Even if it’s a slimmer album than we’re used to from Tyler, he’s still an arena artist. For the most part, these songs seem fine-tuned to go off in the largest possible spaces. The Busta Rhymes sample snipped from “Pass the Courvoisier, Part II,” turns the end of “Big Poe” into a depth charge that’s sure to ignite a mosh pit. “I’ll Take Care Of You” takes the ’90s Memphis rap tape template and updates it, looping sections of Crime Mob’s “Knuck If You Buck” over a jungle beat. Both moments slightly lean into nostalgia bait but are so lovingly and efficiently deployed that it’s hard to react any other way than, “Oh, fuck yeah.”
Only “Big Poe” features another rapper (an uncredited voice that sounds suspiciously like Pharrell), but none of the tracks feature raps of any real consequence. Tyler’s here to talk low-stakes shit about joining the mile high club or stuffing rolls of money into his jeans. A lot of verses revolve around repeated phrases, as if he jotted down a couple of ideas to fall back on when freestyling. He pushes the boundaries of his voice, rapping with a Drakeo-like slink during the second verse of “Sucka Free” and adopting a New Orleans drawl during “Tweakin’.” The cuts on which he sings reveal the limits of his range, but because there isn’t a thorny emotional center to the record, the thinness of his vocals isn’t all that bothersome. Again, these aren’t songs to dissect; they’re made to completely empty your head, to let your limbs move on their own, to simply vibe.
To that end, it’s unclear what kind of lasting power Don’t Tap The Glass will have. It’s an incredibly fun record but does feel a bit inconsequential when stacked against the weight of his discography. Tyler has essentially created a collection of DJ tools — a raft of party-starters to fill empty dancefloors and probably give him a bit of a break in the setlist. Even if the record is maybe a little tossed off, there’s something soothing about how straightforward it is. Each song feels like holding a cold can against the back of your neck — a cooling balm for a season and an era that feels like flames licking at our extremities. In the coming days and weeks, we’ll see which of these jams takes root, but the search for the song of the summer might be over. There’s a whole record of them to choose from.
Don’t Tap The Glass is out now via Columbia.
