R&B/Hip-Hop
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Victoria Monét puts her own groovy spin on Christmas classics on her new holiday album, A Jaguar II Christmas: The Orchestral Arrangements, which she released on Wednesday (Dec. 11) via Lovett Music and RCA Records. The eight-track project reimagines her fan-favorite tracks such as the Grammy-nominated hits “On My Mama” and “How Does It Make […]
Cardi B was the victim of a prank in October when someone anonymously called Child Protective Services claiming that she and Offset were abusing their children.
CPS apparently continued their investigation into Cardi and her family, which the Grammy-winning rapper has deemed to be “harassing” amid what she says is “bogus” claims. Cardi, who previously denied all allegations of mistreating her kids, addressed CPS and the agency’s investigation during an explosive Instagram Live session on Tuesday (Dec. 10).
“You keep harassing me and there are actual kids about there that are being abused,” she said. “None of my kids have ever got touched. None of my kids ever got a little pow-pow, a little whooping, a little nothing. None of that.”
Cardi continued: “A month later, because I didn’t give them my kids’ information, now they want to fake come back to my house again, interview my kids, look at my kids. Why are you harassing me for my daughter’s information? What that has to do with anything? My daughter doesn’t even have a social security because I don’t want nobody knowing her name.”
The Bronx native says she’s willing to go to whatever lengths it takes to legally end the investigation even if that means exposing the CPS agent’s information or writing a five-figure check to her attorneys.
“Even after you check, you still want to harass,” she added. “No b—h, you’re being f–king annoying … You doing the most because I’m a f—–g celebrity. Mind you there’s parents that don’t even buy them a f–king coat because they f–king hate them… This f–king four-eyed b—-h keep pissing me the f–k off.”
Cardi went on to play a recorded phone call conversation between herself, Offset and a CPS agent. The agent revealed that anyone can make a call to CPS in the state of New Jersey and the agency would investigate the claims.
Billboard has reached out to Cardi B and New Jersey’s Department of Children and Families for comment.
About six weeks ago, Cardi revealed from a hospital bed that an anonymous person had called CPS on her in what was a horrible prank, alleging that she abused her 6-year-old daughter Kulture, 3-year-old son Wave and newborn baby.
“I swear to you I’m gonna get to the bottom of it. For you motherf–kers to do a little prank call with Child Protective Services to come to my gated mansion at 11 p.m. while my children are sleeping because there’s an anonymous call that my kids have been getting abused and beaten,” she said on Instagram Live at the time, during which she also denied the abuse allegations. “Are you f–king dumb? This is when the pranks start getting too far — when you a——s think it’s funny.”
Trigger warning: the following story describes allegations of sexual abuse and illicit drug use.
An anonymous accuser who claims he was sexually assaulted by jailed music mogul Sean “Diddy” Combs at one of the Bad Boy Records founder’s infamous White Party gatherings in 2007 has broken his silence to speak to CNN. The man — who the network ID’d as a John Doe to protect his anonymity –first filed a civil suit against Combs on October 14, claiming he was drugged and sodomized at the party in 2007.
The man said he kept the alleged assault a secret all these years, even from his then-wife due to the shame he carried from the incident at Diddy’s estate in East Hampton, N.Y., where he was hired to provide security. “The full gravity of it lives with me to this day,” the New Jersey man told the network, which obscured his voice and face in a video of the interview. “It affects every single thing you do for the rest of your life.”
CNN said that reps for Combs initially declined to comment on Doe’s allegations, noting that at the time of the original complain’s filing in October the rapper’s lawyers issued a blanket statement about that complaint and others filed that same day.
“Mr. Combs and his legal team have full confidence in the facts, their legal defenses, and the integrity of the judicial process. In court, the truth will prevail: that Mr. Combs has never sexually assaulted anyone—adult or minor, man or woman,” read the original statement. The Doe complaint was one of a series of similar ones filed by attorneys Tony Buzbee and Andrew Van Arsdale, who’ve said they represent up to 120 accusers who plan to file suits against Combs; to date the pair have filed 20 such lawsuits.
“At first he was incredibly friendly, very gracious,” the man said of Combs’ demeanor that night, adding that later in the night Combs handed him a drink that made him feel off. He said that feeling was intensified after a second drink, which he believes were spiked with the strong party drugs GHB and ecstasy. “Sadly, Sean Combs was waiting in the wings. He was watching from some sort of vantage point, and once I was in a helpless position and he was sure that he was in a position of power, then he took advantage of the situation,” the man said.
After the second drink, the man claimed in the suit that he felt “extremely ill,” at which point Combs allegedly approached him with what he initially “interpreted as concern,” before allegedly forcing the man into an empty car. Once inside, Doe’s suit claims that Combs held him down, ignoring pleas for help, and sodomized him.
“It was just an amazing level of incapacitation that I had never experienced before and I felt powerless,” said the man of the two spiked drinks that he said “felt more like 15,” leaving him unable to stand up.
CNN noted a number of inconsistencies between details shared by Doe in his interview with the network and the original complaint’s language, including discrepancies on the year the alleged assault took place and location and whether Doe had ever been married; Doe’s attorneys reportedly filed an amended complaint withe court afterwards, acknowledging mistakes made during the rushed filing.
Doe said that after the alleged assault he struggled to leave the party due to the effects of the drugs and the pain in his body, later allegedly reporting the incident to his supervisor, according to the suit. “I was screaming, I was telling him to stop. It was incredibly painful and he was acting like it was nothing… it was abusive beyond belief,” the man told CNN.
He was allegedly never asked to work for that security firm again. “He just dismissed it and said, ‘I’ll talk to him,’” Doe said about a conversation he recalled with his manager about the alleged sexual assault. “After that, he didn’t talk to me again, he cut me out of everything … I was totally blacklisted after that. I had to find a different field.”
Combs has been denied bail three times to date ahead of his sex trafficking and racketeering trial set for next year. The once high-flying music and fashion tycoon has been behind bars since his arrest in September following an indictment on charges that he ran a sprawling criminal operation predicated on satisfying his need for “sexual gratification.”
Combs, 55, has denied and pleaded not guilty to charges that he coerced and abused women for years with the help of a network of associates and employees, allegedly silencing his victims via blackmail and violence that included kidnapping, arson and physical assault.
The allegations against Combs first began in November 2023 when former longtime girlfriend singer Cassie filed a lawsuit accusing him of years of sexual misconduct and abuse; that suit was settled in a private manner within 24 hours. That legal action unleashed a flood of more than two dozen similar sexual misconduct-related lawsuits alleging sexual abuse and coercion, allegations that Combs has categorically denied to date.
Combs’ homes in Miami and Los Angeles were raided by Homeland Security in March and since then his once-formidable multi-media and fashion empire has begun to wither amid the avalanche of shocking claims about incidents that accusers have said ruined their lives and left them traumatized.
Doe told CNN that he no longer works security and that his marriage ended as a result of the alleged abuse because of the negative impacts of the trauma on his personal relationships. He also said for the first time that an unnamed “high-profile” celebrity witnessed the alleged abuse, claiming the person “saw what happened and found it amusing.”
“Nothing could give me back the person I was before that evening,” the man told CNN.
While Combs’ reps initially declined comment on Doe’s claims, they issued a statement following the airing of the CNN interview. “After Buzbee was exposed this week for pressuring clients to bring bogus cases against Mr. Combs, and after public records showed that — contrary to his allegations — there was no white party in the Hamptons in 2006, Buzbee amended this complaint to walk back the allegations and now claim a different day and wholly different year,” Combs’ attorneys wrote.
“We bet our lives on it a long time ago,” says Christian Clancy. He’s seated on a couch in a cozy corner of his Los Angeles home next to his wife and business partner, Kelly Clancy, surrounded by plants. Getting into artist management “was never something we talked about,” Kelly says. But nearly 15 years after starting their small firm, 4 Strikes, it has continued to punch above its class, becoming one of the mightiest forces in management today. And Tyler, The Creator has been there from the start.
Before founding 4 Strikes in 2010, Christian and Kelly worked at Interscope Records in the early 2000s (most recently as head of marketing and marketing manager, respectively) alongside the label’s roster of hip-hop greats, including 50 Cent, Eminem, G-Unit and Dr. Dre. “There was no better place and time to learn the business,” Christian says. But by 2010, they’d decided to strike out on their own. Kelly departed the label first, in 2005, and she admits, “I didn’t really know what I wanted to do next.” Christian “burned out” on the music business and, five years later, left, too.
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That same year, a former Interscope colleague, David Airaudi, introduced the pair to a young, charismatic and carefree (almost to a fault) rapper who changed the course of their careers — and lives. Christian and Airaudi started managing Tyler’s collective, Odd Future, with Kelly joining soon after. “Tyler reinvigorated what was inside of us,” Christian says. A year after marrying in 2006, the Clancys welcomed their daughter, Chloe, and just a few years later launched their management company from their home. When Odd Future split in the mid-2010s, the couple started managing Tyler on their own. “We put our whole lives on it,” Kelly says. “It felt like a family from day one.”
The 4 Strikes roster has just four full-time staffers (including the Clancys) and has remained trim from the start, currently boasting five artists: Kevin Abstract, Romil and Matt Champion, who together comprise what Christian calls “the Brockhampton sector” (referencing the trio’s former group); the estate of Mac Miller, whom the Clancys managed before his untimely death in 2018; and, of course, Tyler — “and Tyler’s 147 businesses,” Christian jokes.
“We trusted and believed in [Tyler] along the way,” he continues. “I can’t tell you how many times I’m like, ‘Bro, you’re tripping.’ Turns out, he wasn’t tripping. But I always say, ‘I’ll listen, and if I disagree with something, I’m going to say, “I think you’re crazy” ’ — And then after I say that, I’ll jump off a bridge with him.”
What do you remember from when you first met Tyler?
Christian Clancy: [He was] staying on his grandma’s couch, eating Wendy’s.
Kelly Clancy: Three dollars in his pocket.
Christian: He’s still the same dude.
Kelly: He’s still that kid who’s full of wonderment. He gets excited about the smallest things and then can look at something, like a 10-year anniversary [of his own Camp Flog Gnaw festival in November] and stand onstage and go, “Holy s–t.”
Christian: He’s self-aware. As he’s gotten bigger, he realizes he knows less — and respectfully, that’s rare in a business when you’re typically surrounded by yes men, which he isn’t. And then your ego takes over. And the beauty of him is he’s open to new ideas, thoughts, discussion, perspectives. Doesn’t mean he’s not confident as f–k. He’s wildly confident, but there’s a big difference between confidence and ego based on fear.
Christian, you said early in your career that your job is to give artists the best opportunity to succeed without compromising. How have you done that?
Christian: Well, that has a lot to do with the people you work with. When you surround yourself with people who know who they are, that becomes easier. Tyler had a great ability to seemingly know and believe that he’s going to get to the top of the mountain. If you remove fear, you’re free. You’re not going, “Well, what are they going to think?” Like, f–k all of that and be true to yourself. I actually learned that from Rick Rubin. If you’re honest and confident, it’s pretty hard to lose. You may not win big, but you will for f–k sure have respect.
What are some key decisions you two have made to help Tyler climb that mountain?
Christian: The decision to [sign] with Sony, who gave us the freedom and full creative control and [ability for Tyler to own his] masters and all the things that were imperative to ever doing anything like that. We’re huge [Sony Music Entertainment CEO] Rob Stringer fans. He gets it. Betting on ourselves with [Tyler’s clothing brand] Golf Wang. Betting on ourselves with the festival that was supposed to just be a zipper ride in the middle of Fairfax Avenue and the city was like, “Oh, hell no.” And [us saying], “Well, let’s go figure it out ourselves.” All the way down to [lifestyle brand] Le Fleur now, most of those answers are going to be betting on ourselves. If you don’t know something, that’s OK. Go find the people that do and question everything and build your own house in whatever shape you want. It might not work. But so what?
Tyler is still hitting new peaks in his career: Following its October release, Chromakopia became his longest-running No. 1 album with three weeks atop the Billboard 200. How does that mentality of betting on yourself help drive his continued success?
Christian: Well, he’s got the best trajectory in music as far as I can tell, from [2011’s] Goblin to now. No. 5, No. 4, No. 3, No. 2, No. 1 — and then a [two-week] No. 1 [with 2021’s Grammy Award-winning Call Me If You Get Lost] and then three weeks at No. 1. He doesn’t lose fans. He grabs the next generation.
Kelly: Also in a world where you have access to everything immediately with the emergence of TikTok and the way that our brains are constantly receiving information and we’re just like in this swiping generation … to create a world which you can step into and you know exactly [what it is] when you see a color palette or the silhouette of his hair, I think it cuts through. And he’s been doing that [with] every album. Like when the guy came out in a blond bob wig, a suit and loafers [for 2019’s IGOR]. When he sent us the photo first, I think we looked at each other like, “All right…” In the genre he’s in, you don’t do that without utter confidence.
Christian: Even if you didn’t get it, you respected it because we all want to be that confident. It’s interesting because Mac [Miller] was a lot like [that]. Mac had a way of reinventing himself in subtle ways in his trajectory of albums. And his was a vulnerable confidence, and there’s a similarity there, which is, again, rare where you have artists that have the gall to f–k it and not worry about the results. Trust in it.
Kelly, you posted on Instagram that “most people just will never know” what Tyler went through to get Chromakopia out. What did he go through?
Kelly: There was a lot of pressure — this is not him, this is just me speaking — from the last album. His trajectory has always gone [upward]. Looking at the landscape of music and things that were really successful and knowing that he doesn’t fit in these metrics or a lot of the tentpoles that artists look at as validation for what they’re doing in their career … Tyler never creates from that place of trying to match those. So a lot of times, he’s left off a lot of lists that I believe … I get frustrated because I know he should be on all of them. Obviously, I’m protective, too.
Christian: That’s starting to happen now.
Kelly: But it’s felt like it’s always been this upward battle, which I wouldn’t change at all, but all that said, now that he’s becoming much more of a household name… I just think the process of him getting this done, truly no one will really understand. Tyler’s a unicorn in that he literally does everything — like, everything. That guy is producing everything. When he has an artist come in to be a part of the song, he already knows the cadence of how he wants them [to rap or sing]. He’ll take what he thinks is their superpower and weave it into what he’s doing. He’s instructing the horn players. Thinking of the visuals, being in the edit room, this dude touches everything. So I do want him to have that recognition. He’s never going to be the guy to ask for it.
From left: Christian Clancy, Tyler, The Creator and Kelly Clancy photographed November 20, 2024 at Quixote Studios in Los Angeles.
Luis Perez
Kelly, you once said that your mother being a teacher helped shape your management style. How so?
Kelly: Being a woman in the industry at the time when I started, it was a much different landscape than it is now.
Christian: It was a f–king boys club.
Kelly: It still exists in different forms now. But her being essentially a single mom and a kindergarten teacher and never feeling like my brother and I were without gave me such a strong foundation. And then when I became a mom, it was incredibly valuable. I’m incredibly protective of my squad and that showed itself in so many ways over the years. I think it’s why it’s always been important for us to maintain a small company, because it allows us to serve in a way that’s not transactional. Like, we’re a part of some of them having their first kids, we’re in the hospital. Buying their first homes, renting their first apartments, these huge life milestones and being able to [be there] for them. Tyler, he’ll joke to Chris and I every now and again like, “Man, if you guys ever got divorced, I don’t know what the f–k I would do.” It’s like, yes, we’re partners in a business, but I feel like we’re also representative of a relationship. What does a relationship look like? Those things are really impactful, especially when you’re meeting [artists when they’re] at a younger age.
On the 2012 Odd Future song “Oldie,” Tyler calls you, Christian, a father figure. Is a familial touch necessary to be a successful manager?
Christian: I don’t take that for granted. Some of the people we work with don’t have an immediate father. And so you also take on whatever they think of their father, for better or worse. Is it necessary? No. Is it maybe helpful? I don’t know. We learn just as much from them. Tyler taught us so much about the metrics that weren’t being monitored by record labels. There were no cultural metrics. There were just [Broadcast Data Systems] and SoundScan and these things that sort of missed this whole thing that was happening. We learn so incredibly much from the people we work with. Mac, the way he looked at life. It’s an amazing two-way street.
What’s the key to maintaining an artist-management partnership?
Christian: I was fortunate enough to learn from Eminem and Paul Rosenberg. That’s who I came up with. I’m not a big fan of the word “manager.” I’ve always preferred “partners” because that’s what I really look at it as. The artists who change managers all the time, I mean, maybe it’s necessary. Although I do know, many times, it’s hard to look at yourself and it’s easier to point the other way. So the manager is right in the line of fire if something doesn’t work. And they may have just been carrying out what your vision was. For us, the family thing is what works. It’s up, it’s down. It’s good, it’s bad. It’s thick and thin. Once it feels transactional, it’s lost that bond — then you’re just the manager.
What are you two most proud of in your own careers?
Kelly: I’m really proud that we’ve managed to, by design, keep a small company. Not folding into a larger company. That becomes convoluted because it’s hard to superserve artists like Tyler, with like-minded goals, when you’re in a bigger company. [When] we started, it was just Chris and I working out of our home. So to be able to maintain that feeling that resonates with Tyler and all the artists we work with, I’m really proud of that.
Christian: We could have the opportunity to work with somebody [else] that would hypothetically bring a bunch of money, but at what cost? I don’t want the headaches and hospital visits from stress. We’ve really managed to surround ourselves with like-minded people and to Kelly’s point, there was never this drive to be some big company. That sounds exhausting. And the fact that we don’t hate each other. We’re married, for f–k’s sake. This isn’t supposed to work, not for that long.
What grounds you?
Christian: Can I tell you one fun fact? I can’t remember the last time I missed an Eagles game. We [once] watched a meaningless Eagles-Giants game in a tent in the Serengeti at four in the morning. No joke. We got Wi-Fi, there’s a lion roaring and I’m locked into an Eagles-Giants game that meant nothing.
Kelly: We try to go every year to Lincoln Financial Field [home of the Philadelphia Eagles], but this year we couldn’t because…
Christian: F–king Tyler.
Has it gotten easier or harder to carve out personal time over the years?
Kelly: Harder.
Christian: Definitely harder. This year? Impossible.
Kelly: This is the first year — and Tyler and I joked about it — we didn’t go f–king anywhere. Everyone was doing s–t in the summer and all of us were just in L.A. like, “F–k.”
Christian: Waiting on this f–king dude.
Kelly: We’re planning our vacations around artists. We’re planning our personal lives around our work lives.
Christian: Well, you try [to plan]. It’s a year-to-year question. This year’s a f–king mess — a beautiful mess.
This story appears in the Dec. 14, 2024, issue of Billboard.
50 Cent has been one of the rare vocal supporters of Drake during his feud with Kendrick Lamar. The G-Unit boss stopped by Big Boy’s Neighborhood on Monday (Dec. 9), where he broke down the 6 God’s current position in the industry with what feels like the world against him.
While it isn’t exactly the Mean Girls Burn Book, at one point during the interview, 50 — who is known for his trolling — held up a sheet of paper featuring a list of all of Drake’s alleged opps, including names such as TDE affiliates such as Ab-Soul to Kendrick Lamar, Ye and even hoopers such as LeBron James and DeMar DeRozan. According to Vibe, the list is a printout of a 2023 post made by a Drake fan account.
“This is the opp page,” 50 said. “He was just winning consistently more than everybody else in the culture and then these people start to turn into people that feel like they’re opps. All over the page because they keep watching him win. Then you going, ‘I want this thing forever, man.’ I’m not sure you can have it forever.”
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50 Cent explained this further during an interview with Billboard in October, during which he went into detail about how the rap game only wants to see you win for so long.
“I didn’t see where what [Drake] did was wack at any point,” he stated. “They giving [Drake] the, ‘Oh you wack, you finished.’ I’m like, ‘Nah, come on.’ That’s the system trying to make some sort of resistance and it’s from the consistency. When you win consecutively, that part of the hip-hop demographic wants you out of there. I started to feel the resistance for the Curtis album.”
50 also told Big Boy that he knows Drake had more material ready to go, but held back after Lamar didn’t respond to “The Heart Part 6” and “Not Like Us” began to form the tidal wave that would crash the entire rap game.
“They was loaded again. Drake was loaded ready to go again,” he continued. “I know they had new material ready to go again. There’s no way you stop and you losing? Nah, I gotta fix it.”
The Queens icon isn’t one to mince his words, so in addition to the Drake-Kendrick feud, he also talked about Drizzy’s legal action against Universal Music Group and plenty more. Watch the full interview below.
Bro, everything I thought I knew was gone. I thought I had a grasp on s–t. The songs that’s been out three weeks went up more than the classic records.”
It’s an early Tuesday afternoon in mid-November and Tyler, The Creator is still in disbelief. Just a few weeks earlier, he’d released his new album, Chromakopia, and the response was unlike any in his entire career. “It’s been a f–king crack in my reality, for this album where I’m just crying about being 33 like a b–ch.”
Three days before our conversation, he’d performed a set largely dedicated to the album at Camp Flog Gnaw Carnival, a two-day music festival in Los Angeles that he started in 2012 and continues to curate. This year was the 10th edition, a triumphant moment for an event that began with seven acts and now feels like a smaller, more walkable Coachella for locals — complete with music and food and rides and merch and fashionable selections from Tyler’s line GOLF — in the Dodger Stadium parking lot.
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At Flog Gnaw, Tyler took the stage atop a shipping container, wearing a green suit fit for a bellhop in a slightly bizarro Emerald City, a bust-like mask with cutout holes for his eyes and an Afro with two peaks and a valley between them — an ensemble with hints of Janet Jackson circa Rhythm Nation (at least from the neck down), and which Tyler described to me as both “Captain Crunch” and “a gay dictator.” It’s the uniform of the character he takes on for his new album, both haunting and militant, the latest alter ego the Hawthorne, Calif., native has assumed. After performing the first four tracks, he paused to thank those in the audience for their love — and let them know that Chromakopia was No. 1 on the Billboard 200 for a third straight week. Only Taylor Swift and Sabrina Carpenter did three straight weeks in 2024. “To do that, at my 10th carnival, in my f–king city, what are we talking about?” The crowd cheered for him and themselves: Together, they did it.
Tyler released his album on a Monday instead of the standard Friday; he wanted people to start their week with Chromakopia instead of in the middle of the night as their weekend began. The decision reflected three distinct sides of his personality — putting the music over everything, rejecting industry norms and a confidence that, regardless of the day of the week, his fans will show up. “The hope was that people listened actively, not alongside thousands of other things that come out every Friday,” says Jen Mallory, president of Columbia Records, which has been releasing Tyler’s music since 2017’s Flower Boy. “Of course, shortening the release week is not an instinctive idea in today’s market, but when you deliver the creative T did alongside the album — visual trailers, touring announcements, live events and more — it was undeniable. And the absolutely massive response indicates that his hypothesis was more than correct.”
“I kept telling n—as for a year-and-a-half, ‘Whatever I put out next, I’m putting that b–ch out on a Monday,’ ” Tyler says. “I’m not doing that stupid Friday s–t. We’re putting that s–t out on Monday and everyone’s going to know about it.” The plan worked, with Tyler hitting the top spot that week, even while handicapping himself with a shortened sales week. Only Beyoncé, Swift, Carpenter, Travis Scott, Billie Eilish and Kendrick Lamar had bigger first weeks in 2024. “I knew people would be interested,” he says with a confusion that he’s embracing. “But I didn’t expect this.”
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Following his short Flog Gnaw speech, he transitioned into songs from his catalog. But even as fans enjoyed his earlier material — belting every word of “Dogtooth,” moshing to “Lumberjack” — there was a palpable eagerness for Tyler to get back to the new album. The opposite is typically true at festivals; an artist’s faithful primarily in attendance to see their favorite bring the hits to life. But that Saturday night, Tyler was performing for people who hadn’t turned off Chromakopia since its release 20 days prior. And as he marched through his eighth studio album, the crowd was right with him, screaming along to every lyric, ad-lib, chant — even Tyler’s recordings of his mother that appear throughout the album and rang out as if she was the voice of the nighttime California sky.
Tyler and Sexyy Red traded verses and threw ass at the crowd during “Sticky,” a big fun song built around horns and whistles and beating on the cafeteria table. “I wanted something for the drill team at the f–king pep rallies,” Tyler told me, “something for the band to play at halftime.” His wish came true before his performance; Jackson State University’s Sonic Boom of the South broke it out earlier in the day in its matchup against Alabama State. He brought out ScHoolboy Q — whom Tyler describes as one of his few real friends in the music industry — for “Thought I Was Dead,” and, 10 minutes later, he performed “Balloon” with Doechii and Daniel Caesar, fueling a “Doechii, Doechii” chant and thanking Caesar for his help in finishing Chromakopia. The love and appreciation was at an all-time high, both in the crowd and onstage.
“I have friends that’s been to about every show,” Tyler says after Flog Gnaw is over, “and they were like, ‘That’s the loudest crowd I’ve ever heard.’ ”
I was prepared for the adoration Tyler gets in his city because I saw him in June at the Kia Forum in Inglewood, up the street from where he grew up. It wasn’t even his show — this was The Pop Out: Ken & Friends, Lamar’s first concert since his beef began in the spring with Drake. “I wasn’t even supposed to go — I was in Atlanta working on this album,” Tyler explains. “But I landed that morning and couldn’t miss this s–t. And I don’t even get FOMO at all, n—a — I’ll go to sleep. But I’m cool with Kenny and Dave [Free] and Tim [Hinshaw] from Free Lunch. So I went home, showered and ran straight there.”
He performed two songs, including “Earfquake” from his 2019 album, IGOR. Seemingly everyone at the Forum knew every word. “I genuinely think I’m better at my R&B singing s–t as a whole than my rap s–t,” he tells me. “And those are usually my biggest records.” And when Tyler screamed “Say what!,” the capacity crowd turned into the Southern California Community Choir, belting, “Don’t leeeeeeeeeeeeeeave, it’s my fault.”
Tyler, The Creator photographed November 20, 2024 at Quixote Studios in Los Angeles.
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For years, Tyler has continued to complicate what a pop star can embody. He’s taken on different personas, different looks, rapped about different things and keeps getting bigger and bigger. But as he’s become one of popular music’s most reliable and admired mavericks, he’s existed outside of the L.A. hip-hop zeitgeist. The city wasn’t a leading identifier for him, at least compared with a Lamar, a YG, a Vince Staples. But he’s central to the current historic run of Los Angeles music, as well as the community that makes L.A. one of the special hubs for hip-hop.
“I’m really from the city,” he says. As he continues to talk about home, his accent gets thicker and thicker. That love for Los Angeles is why he started Flog Gnaw in the first place: “Outside of sports stuff, it felt like L.A. didn’t have something that was its own thing.” With this year’s fantasy lineup — including Staples, Kaytranada, Playboi Carti, André 3000, Erykah Badu, Denzel Curry, Faye Webster, Blood Orange and Syd — Tyler’s wish to at least somewhat correct this came true. “I’m happy that Flog Gnaw has folks from the city feeling like this is theirs,” he says a bit coyly. “At least that’s what it feels like every year.”
“I’m not who they were introduced to at 20. I’m not even who I was a year ago,” Tyler says, sounding a bit annoyed at the notion that he possibly could be. “When they’re like, ‘I want the old version,’ I know it’s because they’re still there. But I’m not. And I’m OK with it because my identity doesn’t rest in a version of myself.”
I first saw Tyler, The Creator perform in 2012 at the Hammerstein Ballroom in Midtown Manhattan. His rap collective, Odd Future Wolf Gang Kill Them All (OFWGKTA), had become an online sensation over the last few years — not just for its transgressive music, but also for antics that felt like the Black evolution of Jackass — and there was a level of buzz around the show, both from the rap-fan concertgoers and the young music bloggers eager to see if the phenomenon would translate offline.
While some in the audience anticipated possible appearances by erstwhile members Earl Sweatshirt and Frank Ocean, it was Tyler, the gang’s de facto leader and chief provocateur, who defined the show. He’d mostly been known for his 2009 debut album, Bastard, and the Odd Future mixtape Radical that came the following year, both notable for their distinctive production and shocking lyrics. But Tyler’s true star turn came in 2011 on Late Night With Jimmy Fallon, Odd Future’s first nationally televised appearance. Beforehand, Tyler tweeted, “I want to scare the f–k out of old white people that live in middle f–king America.”
He kept his word, as he and fellow Odd Future rapper Hodgy Beats performed “Sandwitches” from Tyler’s second album, 2011’s Goblin, backed by The Roots. They wore ski masks and raced around the stage like it was a hardcore show as the camera occasionally panned to scattered garden gnomes and this one creepy white girl floating around the band, her long dark hair covering her face like she was in The Ring. Tyler eventually left the stage, ran to Fallon’s desk and finished the episode on the host’s back. It was a cultural reset — an undeniable TV moment.
Like many at that 2012 Hammerstein show, I wanted to feel that Fallon energy in real life. And while Tyler did replicate it there, my own takeaway was very different: Yes, he was the leader, a true frontman, but even more so, he was head cheerleader for every Odd Future member. When Frank sat at the piano and sang “White,” Tyler went to the side, pulled out a Polaroid camera and started taking photos. As Earl, in his first performance in two years, pushed through his verse on “Oldie,” Tyler brought their entire crew onstage to back him — a wall of support, a visualization of a musical and cultural movement that deserved attention.
Luis Perez
Tyler, The Creator loves to love things. He’s a fan of the highest order, a quality that often gets lost during a climb to the top and a trait of his that hasn’t wavered to this day. When I arrived for our first of two conversations for this story, a couple of days before his Flog Gnaw performance, Tyler was standing with his longtime managers, Christian and Kelly Clancy, obsessing over something on his phone. Someone had sent Tyler a Pharrell Williams performance clip, one he’d been hunting for for the last decade, and his mood was a mix of Christmas morning, winning the lottery and discovering buried treasure. His enthusiasm was entrancing: a star whose inspirations still made him feel like a little kid.
“The ones who were the North Star for me, if you generalize it, they were always left of center,” Tyler says. So it’s no shock that he decided to musically and aesthetically follow suit. “If I’m 12 and folks at school are like, ‘That’s weird, that’s wack,’ I’m like, ‘But the n—as on my walls will think it’s cool. And y’all can’t compare to them. So f–k y’all.’ ”
That mentality is part of what makes him a singular artist. He isn’t shackled by the fear of failure, the driving force that stifles creativity. The other driving force comes from his mother, Bonita Smith. “I got hugs at home,” Tyler proudly says. “I’m very lucky and grateful to have grown up in a house full of love, with a cheerleader that was like, ‘Be yourself,’ ‘Do what you want,’ ‘F–k what they think,’ ‘I’m your friend.’ ” On Chromakopia’s first track, “St. Chroma,” she says, “Don’t you ever, in your motherf–king life, dim your light for nobody.” The combination of her influence, teenage rebellion and the blueprints left by his favorite artists gave him a confidence that became foundational. “I have no choice but to be opinionated and don’t care if I look dumb as f–k. Even if I change my mind the next day.”
Chromakopia, like most of Tyler’s discography, tells the story of his life in the present. “Everything is self-indulgent to me,” he says about making songs, because he’s not doing it to be relatable or appease an audience or some former version of his fandom. Few artists have as honest and combative of a relationship with listeners as Tyler. He’s constantly vacillating between inspiration and frustration. He loves watching people respond to his tweets about favorite lyrics and songs, what grew on them, what they hated at first. Because it’s not about whether you like his music or not — it’s that he craves true engagement. “Expound on that f–king thought, b–ch,” Tyler says of the opinions, the comments, the takes, the lack of articulation about why you like or dislike something. “If I was president, the first thing I would do is take podcast mics away from n—as.”
It can be risky for artists to abandon the sound or subject matter that gave them initial fame, a decision that some fans treat as a betrayal. But this album, much like 2017’s Flower Boy, 2019’s IGOR and 2021’s Call Me If You Get Lost, is a time capsule, a front-row seat to the life and mind and current creative headspace of Tyler Okonma. On Chromakopia, he explores themes ranging from monogamy (“Darling, I”) to unplanned pregnancies and fatherhood (“Hey Jane”) to the trappings of fame that run throughout the album. “It’s people saying that they can’t relate to the song,” Tyler says of “Noid,” the first single. “Of course you can’t. That’s why I made the song, because you don’t know what it’s like not to go outside and not own yourself, people stealing from you, voice-recording you, following n—as home, people trying to trap you — nobody trying to trap y’all n—as. I’m a catch.”
The album is deeply personal. “I’m a super extrovert, but I’m a very private person with my life,” Tyler says, “so putting some of this stuff on wax was a lot for me.” The day after Chromakopia’s release at a show in Atlanta, he went further: “It’s so honest that I think I had to wear a mask on my own face to get that s–t out.” He faces those fears on the album’s aptly titled emotional high point, “Take Your Mask Off,” and when he performed it at Flog Gnaw, by the song’s conclusion, his mask was gone.
Tyler does have a level of maturity that can come from growing up in public, which, as he points out, he did: “I’ve been famous and financially stable since I was 19, on my own since 16.” And now, at 33, he’s a veteran, making music about getting older and what it feels like. “I told my homie, ‘This is the 30s album,’ ” Tyler says. “This album is probably s–t that folks go through at 24, but I’ve lived a different life. N—as around me are having kids and families and really being adults and I’m over here like, ‘I think I’m going to paint my car pink.’ That feels crazy, but it’s all I know.”
Tyler, The Creator photographed November 20, 2024 at Quixote Studios in Los Angeles.
Luis Perez
And the reception to Chromakopia makes it clear that plenty of Tyler’s listeners do share his worries, anxieties, dilemmas. “People are connecting with the words in a way that feels bigger than me,” he says. “I’ve never hit people at this level.”
When I ask him about the album’s closer, “I Hope You Find Your Way Home,” he lights up. “I think the way you end an album is so important!” he exclaims. From Kevin Kendricks’ neck-tingling synthesizer to Tyler’s own background vocals alongside Daniel Caesar and Solange Knowles to his grand finale of a rap verse, it’s a reflection and a resolution, one filled with hope for our respective journeys ahead. “I knew that’s how I wanted to end it, with the synth, just letting n—as sit there and think about whatever the f–k just happened,” he says, clearly thrilled with the way he landed the plane.
But for Tyler, uncertainty about the future is also a source of joy. He’s currently dipping his toe back into acting, with his first feature film, the Josh Safdie-directed, Timothée Chalamet-starring Marty Supreme, on the horizon. “This is where I am at 33; who knows what I’ll be making at 36,” he says. “My 30s have been so much iller than my 20s. I’m excited for us to be 43 years old and see where we’ve taken it. I don’t know what the f–k I’m doing at that point, maybe bald — with one braid and a dangling earring, making gospel, telling everyone about the zucchinis.”
Whatever it is, he’s excited, as always, by the unknown. “I’ve never not stuck to my guns. Any version y’all see me in is the most honest version at that time,” Tyler says. He’s brash and bold and uncompromising about his art, but it’s also clear how grateful he feels. “I’m so blessed and fortunate. Thirteen years in and my latest s–t is my biggest. Sometimes it’s like, ‘What the f–k, this can’t be real.’ But then it’s also like, ‘I told y’all.’ It’s beautiful.”
This story appears in the Dec. 14, 2024, issue of Billboard.
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J. Cole is calling it a day on Dreamville. The “Huntin’ Wabbitz” MC announced on Tuesday (Dec. 10) that next year’s Dreamville Fest will be the fifth and final edition of the event. Writing on Instagram, Cole said that the April 5-6 show in Raleigh, North Carolina’ Dorothea Dix Park will be the event’s swan song.
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At press time, the lineup for next year’s show had not yet been announced. Last year’s blowout featured headliners SZA, 50 Cent, Cole and Nicki Minaj, as well as appearances by Lil Yachty, Schoolboy Q, Sexyy Red, Jeremih, Earthgang, Teezo Touchdown, Rema, Jeezy, Monica, Rae Sremmurd, Key Glock, Hunxho and more.
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