We all grow up. In most respects, growing up is good and right. Still, sometimes it’s hard to believe this is the same guy.

The progression from young punk chaos agent to mature career artist has been so gradual and natural for Tyler Okonma that when Chromakopia arrived last fall, it was not some shock to the system but rather another in a series of auteurist blockbusters. Of course the new Tyler, The Creator album was a meticulously curated audio-visual experience, hi-res and high-concept. The gravel-voiced rapper and former provocateur has been carefully sculpting vast thematic statements since Bastard, but with more polish and prestige each go-round, evolving from a disruptor into an accessible/artisanal institution in his own right.

After following along with each subsequent album drop, the Chromakopia listening experience was exciting but not exactly surprising. On the other hand, before showing up at the Schottenstein Center in Columbus last Saturday, I hadn’t been to a Tyler, The Creator concert since the heyday of Odd Future, when I beheld the mayhem several times. I knew his performances weren’t like that anymore, but the decade-plus interim between shows cast Tyler’s transformation in stark relief.

I will never forget the sight of a 20-year-old Tyler and his Odd Future pals marauding all over Austin’s Scoot Inn at a 2011 Thrasher party during SXSW. The mosh pits, the stage dives, the group shout-alongs, the aggressive swarm of a raucous collective: It felt thrillingly dangerous, like anything could happen. By comparison, the Chromakopia Tour is choreographed, with costume changes and stylish set design, albeit with some leeway to let Tyler cook. What stood out to me most of all was that Tyler is the only person onstage for the entire set. He’s spent his whole career riding his own wave, building his own nation-state apart from scenes and trends, and now here he was presiding over it: The king stands alone.

In a lot of ways, the show was a beautiful vision of aging into adulthood. Some of the same touchpoints that have always informed Tyler’s work were evident Saturday, be it loudly percussive beats and lightly queasy jazz chords he absorbed from the Neptunes or pageantry and rugged flows that remind me of a time when Kanye West fandom was not just tenable but inevitable. (When those classic rock guitars and drums came crashing into “Noid”? No one man should have all that power!) Those ingredients were part of Tyler’s own unmistakable signature sound from the start, so witnessing them within a fancy arena show was comparable to seeing a photo of an old high school acquaintance on Facebook years later, the old recognizable features and immutable personal essence thrust into a new context.

Tyler began the show on an elevated platform, rocking the same military uniform, mask, and wig from the album art and music videos. He marched in place, beginning to rap through the Chromakopia tracklist in sequence. When “St. Chroma” got to the part about “Can you feel that fire,” pyrotechnics flared behind him. Eventually, he began to move around the stage, sometimes busting a move with a fluidity that contrasted with that initial military rigidity. Soon, he greeted us and told us the Columbus show was his favorite stop on the Call Me If You Get Lost Tour. Things got more and more relaxed, to the point that Tyler performed “Judge Judy” while seated, his legs dangling off the edge of the platform. Then, with a series of quick tributes, he reminded us his influences run much deeper than the 2000s rap that forms the bedrock of his sound: “Rest in peace Angie Stone. Rest in peace Roy Ayers. Rest in peace Roberta Flack, you know?”

By the time he reached the middle sequence of the album, including the clattering hit “Sticky,” a catwalk had descended from the ceiling and Tyler was performing on it, making his way across the arena. His three-song voyage down the pathway led him to a second stage at the back of the floor, which was set up to look like a living room within a home. Tyler took a seat within the space, surrounded by screens with projections designed to look like a house’s facade. When those screens receded upward, he switched out of the Chromakopia costume and into some of his own GOLF le FLEUR* apparel for the rest of the night.

There, in the living room facsimile, Tyler proceeded to rummage through a stack of his own records, plucking them from the crate one by one for a miniature Eras Tour through his catalog. This part of the show was less a performance than a curated walk down memory lane, with Tyler slipping in and out of rapping his verses, seemingly focused on stoking crowd reactions with his choice of records for the camera positioned just above the crate. The segment reminded me how much I loved his venture into pained, soulful singing on IGOR; how hard the beat on “Lumberjack” went; how catchy Frank Ocean made “She.” Notably, I don’t think Cherry Bomb was featured in this bit.

The record-collection gimmick was fun for a while, but as someone who has a like-not-love relationship with his music, it highlighted the relative lack of universal bangers in this catalog. This is a guy who churns out brilliant album-length statements, the kinds of sound-worlds you can end up completely absorbed in. But during the show, very few of his individual tracks struck me as generational classics. Listening to an Essentials playlist on Apple Music today is complicating that perception, and I’m willing to concede the possibility that I’m just a pop-minded rap listener who prefers my grimy bars to be interspersed with melodic hooks. In the moment, though, I was ready for a jolt.

https://www.tiktok.com/@tda1085/video/7488035619218656555

But if the momentum was dragging, things would soon pick back up in a big way for the show’s concluding act. When the vinyl collection had run its course, Tyler was on the catwalk again, rocking “Who Dat Boy” and “Wusyaname.” Upon his return to the mainstage, it was back to the end of the Chromakopia tracklist, with room to squeeze in a couple more fan favorites in “See You Again” and “New Magic Wand.” This was the festival-slaying portion of the show: so much fire, so much bass. It peaked with the epic penultimate track “Balloon,” which featured sparks falling from the ceiling and video footage of Doechii spitting her guest verse with her usual unhinged charisma.

By the time things wrapped up with “I Hope You Find Your Way Home,” Tyler was busting a move again, this time with wind blowing upward on him like he was Michael Jackson or Marilyn Monroe. The music was lush and expansive, the lyrics soulful and contemplative, the visuals highly stimulating. As the song moved into its exultant finale, Tyler left us on an inspirational note: “Your light, it comes from within!” We’ve come a long way from “Kill people, burn shit, fuck school.”