The one he presents to his friends or his fans, his regular singing voice, is serene. Through digital voice manipulation, he creates two voices for himself that represent his conflicting inner voices. This conflict is represented almost entirely through Ocean’s voice, which is the most stand-out instrument of the album. He frequently references nirvana and death, fighting with feeling divine due to success but trapped by mortality and suffering. Still, some of the bigger themes draw on so much pathos and are executed with so much emotion from Ocean that the listener can’t help but get drawn into his story. It’s impossible to relate to most of the lyrics because Ocean fills them with allusions to his private life and references unintelligible to people outside his social circle. Backed by airy organs and spacious ambiance, his vocal delivery feels confessional and conflicted.

Presented as a stream-of-consciousness, every lyric jumps from one thought to the next, stringing together moments of Ocean’s life with themes of enlightenment and self-depravity. From “Nikes” to “Futura Free,” the minimal instrumentation and personal lyrics flow from song to song and to interrupt it feels wrong. I find it nearly impossible to listen to any one song on “Blonde” without listening to the entire album. “Channel Orange” is a great album by all means, but it doesn’t compare to the elevated and idiosyncratic sound achieved through “Blonde.” Foolishly, I believed “Channel Orange” was his best album because I liked its catchy melodies and accessible lyrics. When “Blonde” was released, I thought it was all right but I didn’t understand it. His presence with the hip hop collective Odd Future was instrumental to their sound and his first solo album “Channel Orange” was critically acclaimed and virulent on the internet. This summer will mark five years since Frank Ocean released his one-hour opus, “Blonde.” I liked Frank Ocean’s work for a while. I’ve come to realize that I never will, and that’s only one reason why it is a masterpiece. There was just something about the album I didn’t understand, so I strove to keep listening until I understood.

Several of my friends have strong emotional ties to this album they’ve listened to it through break-ups, loss of family members, through bouts of depression. What began as incomprehension became an obsession. Since the first of February 2021, I have listened to “Blonde” every single day, sometimes two or three times. His “Out of the Glovebox” column focuses on highlighting both popular and obscure albums that some 2000s kids grew up listening to in the car. Tony Le Calvez is a junior literature major and the arts & entertainment editor at The Point.

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