I guess the question that needs to be answered is has Choker diversified himself enough to where that “influence” can’t be described as blatant plagiarism? The best way I can answer that question is to compare two main aspects of their music: vocals and production. And because of that, it’s very obvious that Choker has used Frank Ocean’s music as an influence while navigating the blending of these genres. Despite this, I did my best to make an objective comparison between Blonde and Peak.Īlthough I do hear blatant Frank Ocean influence in Peak, I wouldn’t go so far as to say Choker is an “unpolished Frank Ocean.” Choker and Frank Ocean are two of very few artists that have blended genres such as R&B, Psychedelic Rock, and Hip Hop. Although I’m very familiar with Odd Future offshoots like Tyler The Creator, Earl Sweatshirt, and The Internet, I’d yet to discover Frank Ocean. I’d like to first preface this by saying that I listened to Choker before listening to Frank Ocean. Choker’s vocal approach and production are that of a “Gloriously Unpolished Frank Ocean Offspring” said Yoh Phillips of DJBooth. That means every sound you hear throughout the album was produced by Choker.ĭespite how unique I found Choker’s sound to be, many likened this album to Frank Ocean. The first thing I noticed was how creative his music is in terms of production, which was surprising considering Choker, or Chris Lloyd, self-produced the entire album with zero features. Immediately my interest was piqued (no pun intended) by his melodic vocals and euphoric instrumentals. I discovered the album Peak by Choker, the singer/rapper/producer, somewhere between my homework and procrastination via the rabbit hole that is YouTube recommendations. PEAK by Choker sounds like a mix of Frank Ocean’s “Blonde” and “Endless” and is a must-listen. It is subtitled “Best Day Ever.PEAK by Choker, The Listening Party, fair use The sky is a misty grey color, and they are alone. They are in Munich, in what appears to be a forest, among the trees. It’s called “Glitterboy Down” and it depicts Ocean and some boys in various states of undress messing around with vintage hatchbacks. To the extent that I do think about that actual man behind the music, I remain most struck by a photo essay shot by Ocean that appears at the beginning of the magazine.
Ocean speaking more specifically about his own life across the album means that, for one, his sexuality feels less slippery here, and in turn, even more representative. If Channel Orange felt pleasantly dreamlike, then Blond is more like the foggy feeling you get upon waking back up to reality. Blond is the meatiest part of the overall project, but its intimacy with the listener does not make its flow coherent. We can each make of this all what we like. Boys Don’t Cry is just about as personal a work as an artist of his stature could produce, down to the (curated) screenshots of his desktop and internet history. The other takes Ocean’s life and his obsessions and places them in your lap to be sifted through. One is purposefully inscrutable, with a resounding question - “Why a staircase?” - that feels like part of a zen koan. With this album Ocean brings us closer to him, but also constructs it in a way that allows him to disappear into the crowd.īlond’s companions - Endless, the visual album, and Boys Don’t Cry, the 300-something page magazine that weighs as much as a newborn - heighten this paradox. Several of the album’s songs utilize pitch-shifted vocals, a tool that in this context feels like a cloak. It can sometimes be difficult to tell if you’re hearing Ocean’s voice or that of one of his friends. We know, looking at the long list of collaborators, that he didn’t, but even that roster is used as a sort of weapon. The album is heavy on guitar strumming and features very little percussion, as if Ocean recorded it off somewhere by himself. The subtle nods towards disappearing make for a richer listening experience. A hilarious voicemail interlude from Ocean’s mother calling stoners “sluggish, lazy, stupid, and unconcerned” is juxtaposed against weed’s therapeutic qualities: “a cheap vacation” on “Nights,” and on “Solo” as a kind of companion. Perhaps as a reaction, the album returns to drug use frequently. “Solo,” the album’s catchiest song, ruminates on a depressive sort of mondegreen (when does “solo” become “so low”?), and “Self Control” contains its most striking imagery: Keep a place for me/ I’ll sleep between y’all, it’s nothing. Its main themes are isolation and escape, which it makes clear both overtly and not.
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