On "Seigfried," Ocean borrows from Smith’s "A Fond Farewell": "This is not my life / It's just a fond farewell to a friend / It's not what I'm like / It's just a fond farewell." The Beatles reference is even harder to pick out attentive listeners will notice that Ocean’s "White Ferrari" and The Beatles’ "Here There and Everywhere" both feature the line, "each day of the year." For any other artist, this wouldn’t even be a reference it’s a common phrase, after all. Of course, they don’t actually appear on the record (not even Frank Ocean can raise the dead) but they serve as reference points footnotes of influence buried within a track. Other contributors here, like The Beatles and Elliott Smith, feel even more left-field. Kendrick’s presence only adds flesh to Ocean’s thoughts, like a director’s background commentary or a one-man chorus in a Greek play. Lamar gets more words in than Beyoncé in "Skyline To," but his voice is still buried underneath Ocean’s own. But Ocean doesn’t use these guest spots to shine his singles into radio hits or brag about his famous friends. Current reigning champions like Beyoncé and Kendrick Lamar drop by, as does Brian Eno. It feels significant that Ocean, a hermit-like musician, who, despite the major impact of this release, is still unknown in many circles, managed to wrangle such an impressive guest list. (On Channel Orange, Ocean recruited John Mayer only for a short instrumental track "Sweet Life" is co-produced by Pharrell, but his influence is fleeting.) This is classic Ocean: his guest spots often hint at something but never fully reveal themselves.
On "Pink and White," a carefree pop track: "Won't let you down when it's all ruined." Beyoncé is featured in this song, but her presence has been relegated to a bit of vocal shifting at the outro. On "Ivy," a pretty, lilting song, Ocean sings, "I thought that I was dreaming when you said you love me," but, in case you thought this was a love song, he follows with, "The start of nothing." Ocean’s vulnerability often feels at odds with his sense of self-preservation.
Blonde is both full and empty love is never allowed to exist without lack. Ocean’s voice, always easy above all else, often sounds stony but apologetic, like he’s talking to someone he’s afraid of hurting. But just beyond that surface is a hardened core. Love is never allowed to exist without lackīlonde is, at first glance, soft it feels pliant and yielding in a way that Ocean’s past works haven’t. With Frank Ocean, there’s never just one way to look at things. Frank Ocean’s new album is called Blonde, unless you go by the cover art, then it’s Blond, without the “e.” But given everything that’s happened in the run-up to this album - was this long release all a commercial tactic or just an artist making his work perfect? - that quirk feels par-for-the-course.
Two days later, it - Frank Ocean’s new album - was finally here. And then last week, Ocean released Endless it was an unexpected visual album, but it wasn’t the album. Fans who had marked their calendars saw that Friday come and go, with not so much as a tweet from Ocean (Not least of all because he doesn’t have a Twitter account). Then, at the start of this month, The New York Times confirmed that the album’s release date was definitely August 5th. There were rumors of an album called Boys Don’t Cry, which was supposed to be released more than a year ago, but never came.
Save for a guest spot on Kanye West’s The Life of Pablo and a few Tumblr essays, the R&B singer has remained silent and reclusive, while fans wondered how he was spending his time. In the four years since Channel Orange was released, Frank Ocean’s greatest weapon has been ambiguity.