On a recent three-hour plane ride, I found myself restless with nothing to keep me busy. I had forgotten my aux cable to connect my headphones to the in-flight entertainment, and practically none of the 1,500 or so songs I had downloaded seemed to soothe me. I decided mindlessly shuffling my playlist would be useless, so I tried listening to an album, which led me to Frank Ocean’s 2016 album “Blonde.” To be clear, this was not even close to my first time listening to “Blonde”; I’d probably listened to it 1o or so times prior and had bought a bootleg white-pressed vinyl record of it a few years before. However, this experience made me appreciate the album on intricate levels I hadn’t reached before. The album starts with Frank Ocean’s distorted voice behind a woozy synth interrupted by nauseatingly reverberated hi-hats and bass drum on the track “Nikes.” Ocean’s dizzying production featuring echoey drums and cloudy synths is a common theme across the album. Listening to the wavy production with over-ear headphones on my unusually turbulent flight was ethereal, to say the least. As Ocean moved through the first half of the album, I noticed for the first time how the album’s first six tracks convey an immense amount of confidence — an emotion I had not associated with the record before — transmitted through major chords, positive messages and beats.
Track seven, “Self Control,” starts the same way: soft guitar with mostly major chords. However, on the plane, I discovered hints of despair and embarrassment. Ocean transitions into another part of the song with a sound so distorted you can’t tell if it’s a person singing, a guitar or a wolf in the distance, backed with a crescendoing string section that evokes pain and agony. Despite being settled into the album, Ocean slaps you with “Self Control”; one second, the album feels light and fun, and the next, you’re sitting in your seat with a tear rolling down your cheek.
Ocean plans “Blonde” like a haphazard coastline: At first, you’re wading in the shallows, splashing in the satisfying melodies of the early tracks. But, without warning, you hit a drop-off — a sudden ledge — and the ground disappears beneath you. You’re drawn into deeper waters, immersed in Ocean’s grief. His vulnerability pulls you further down with each note.
Succeeding “Self Control” is “Blonde’s” defining track, “Nights.” The song begins with an unassuming intro of lyrics using the motif of drugs to tie the lyrics together to the production: “Ooh, nani, nani, this feels like a Quaalude.” Around the 1:40 mark, the beat breaks down into another boxy, wavy synth accompanied by the same guitar riffs as the intro, which fade in and out of the track and make the listener feel like they’re in a light, drug-induced slumber with faint sounds swirling around them. Creating suspense, the beat breaks with that same synth crescendoing and a falsetto Ocean singing over high-pitched strings. Suddenly, a rough arpeggiating guitar swells and crescendoes, mimicking an alarm system. Releasing the tension, a beat begins that makes the listener feel like they’re floating in a sensory deprivation pod.
“Ocean plans ‘Blonde’ like a haphazard coastline: At first, you’re wading in the shallows, splashing in the satisfying melodies of the early tracks. But, without warning, you hit a drop-off—a sudden ledge—and the ground disappears beneath you.”
Then came Frank Ocean’s pièce de résistance, “White Ferrari.” Again, the song starts with a wavy synth in the background — Ocean’s use of similar synths might seem repetitive on paper, but he sets them apart by how they converse with other parts of each individual song. Out goes the synth, and Ocean says, “I care for you, still, and I will, forever.” Ocean’s more somber lyrics behind an acoustic guitar made me feel vulnerable, too, as if I had wronged someone and couldn’t fix it even though I was 35,000 feet in the air with no predicament of the sort.
My mid-flight conclusion: “Blonde” is a masterpiece that is yet to be bested by any other record I have listened to for a multitude of reasons. Ocean digs around your mind and heart for the deepest emotions and does so in every way possible. He captivates you with a production style that seems consistent across the record but introduces new iterations of the druggy style throughout every track. He drags emotions out of the listeners with each track without allowing for a comfortable break as they get pulled deeper and deeper into “Blonde’s” maze of messages. The way Ocean pulls emotions out of you is like turbulence on a plane — unpredictable, disorienting, and impossible to ignore.
