Review: Tyler, The Creator — Don’t Tap The Glass

Tyler, The Creator
Don’t Tap The Glass
Columbia Records
Street: 07.21.2025
Tyler, The Creator = Ol’ Dirty Bastard + Outkast / Tilda Swinton sleeping in a glass box at the MOMA 

Shattering expectations, Tyler the Creator broke his own release schedule and dropped an album less than a year after his last project Chromakopia had hit the airwaves. This is completely atypical for Tyler, as his release pattern has been every other year. I can only imagine that he felt like he had too much to express in the last year, as we all have. People can only be quiet for so long until they feel the need to speak up. And sound off, Tyler did. The thematic elements of this project are notably strong, communicating a thrilling, free-wheeling feeling — one of just letting yourself go and dancing like nobody’s watching. Which is exactly what he wants as he wrote in a manifesto on Instagram where he describes his observations on the lack of modern vulnerability by stating (in Carrie Bradshaw fashion): “It made me wonder how much of our human spirit got killed because of the fear of being a meme.” Alongside the statement are multiple mystifying media rollouts, including a clear vinyl record, billboards and a marketing reel that must be unlocked with a secret password. Needless to say, this sudden renewal in creative energy is beyond refreshing and invites people to do what is most natural to them: to move. 

What’s clear about the concept of this album is that it entails a glass encasement. What is not exactly specified is where the listener is meant to be, whether they are inside of the glass, as the captive who is being watched by all those around them, or just outside, as the observer. The concept reminds me of the trope in performance art that consists of the artist being in a glass box. What is being conveyed is the feeling of over-exposure and claustrophobia, of being boxed into a spot where you must be seen, at all times. I believe Tyler’s take on the metaphor is that we as a collective have been forced into the position of being both the prisoner and the captor. We are the hostage and the keeper, the subject and the witness. We are under the constant surveillance of everybody else. We are always a part of the same watchful eye, behind the screen of an object projecting a constant stream of photos, videos and text. We are the data being consumed and the figures being studied. We are the big, bad, bully brother of a shameful younger sibling. We can see everyone around us, and they can see us too. The least we can do is not provoke the being trapped next to us. And yet we still tap on the glass. 

We are given three rules by Tyler’s ominous, auto-tuned voice as the intro. Rule one: no sitting still. Rule two: only speak in glory. Rule three: the self-explanatory title of the album. Leading into this is “Big Poe,” a song as delicious as its namesake, the Louisiana delicacy known as the “po’ boy.” There are a plethora of quotable lines and stand-out samples throughout the entire project but on this track specifically we are gifted with “I don’t trust white people with dreadlocks,” and a command to jump from “Pass The Courvoisier Part 1.” The party only starts with “Sugar on My Tongue,” which is decadent as hell and impossible not to groove to. We are given my favorite part in this song when Tyler proclaims, “Girl I’m dead,” with enough sass to shut Regina George herself up. Who could be surprised by a shameless brag in “Sucka Free,” which contains the energy of a forgotten N.E.R.D track and the ethos of “No Scrubs” by TLC. 

The short but sweet “Mommanem,” features high pitched chords and deep bass breakdowns. As well as a chant claiming, “Aha, okay, that n***** gon’ get clipped today,” which I initially misheard as “won’t get clit today.” The interpretation of art is up to the consumer anyhow. The steady alarm beat transitions seamlessly into an angelic chorus that produces the beginning of “Stop Playing With Me,” which is reminiscent of the intro to “Dumbest Girl Alive” by 100 Gecs. There are so many motifs present here that I love; the money counter in the background and the hi-hats clapping against one another that reminds me of instrumentals used in femme rap. While Lebron stoically stands in the music video, the line “Spending converse money, what I mean is / Burning white paper, that’s a Zig Zag,” holds a whole new meaning as both branded moguls have left a significant mark on the sneakerhead subculture. 

If Mr. Lonely had not called 911 and instead found your number, would you pick up the nostalgic “Ring Ring Ring?” This song feels like it was found in a time capsule, buried when there was more hope for that one situationship that could have gone somewhere. Seriously, someone needs to tell Tyler to go to therapy because as cute as the line “I hope you good, I hope you well, I hope you lit / I miss your touch, I miss your smell, I miss your lips” is, it reveals that the only thriving area of growth for him is in music production. After two albums missing his infamous two-part song, “Don’t Tap The Glass / Tweakin’” brings back the lost magic by sampling the drum line from Tyler’s very own Cherry Bomb. The first half warns of the monster residing within while the second awakens him and lets him out of his cage. In a digital world telling you to stop crashing out and to start locking in, Tyler lets you know it’s okay to go a little insane. It’s easily my favorite track to attempt a PR to, inspired by the Ozempic call-out and the order to catch one’s breath. 

“Don’t You Worry Baby” is what Bobby McFerin said to his daughter years before her music career, for one day she would collaborate with one of the most prolific producers in history. Nepotism jokes aside, the sentimental reassurance is miraculously sampled from the 1995 hip-hop hit “Let Me Ride” by 12 Gauge. Exquisite video-game-like chimes fall all around the listener as they float away into thin air during “I’ll Take Care of You.” The lighter elements are delicately and meticulously built into a bass-booming aural experience until one can fully believe that everything will be alright. Finishing strong and with a slight existential crisis, “Tell Me What It Is” gives an insight as to what massive success has turned into for Tyler. It’s lonely at the top. This is made most obvious with the interpolation of the Kelis and André 3000 line “Mama I’m a millionaire / But I’m feeling like a bum,” which is succeeded by “I can buy the galaxy / But can’t afford to look for love.” This is a sharp turn from the previous themes of flexing and proclaiming joy associated with financial flourishment and instead raises introspective questions for both the artist and the listener. 

As the onlooker, we must take responsibility in our response. Mine is full of adoration and exhilaration. The deity is in the details, and this album is full of them. I must warn you that I have been glorifying Tyler and his vision for years but these last few have been full of letdowns. It’s safe to say that this has more than made up for those previous short-comings. Don’t Tap The Glass is pure ecstasy in melodic form — it’s every drug I’ve never tried and every high I hope to feel. It’s big and angry yet soft and gentle, filled with critically compelling chaos that can only be influenced by raw, real emotion. It also contains enough un-serious references to “yo mama” to satisfy both me and the average 12-year-old boy. Excellence has been achieved in this love letter to old-school rap and R&B, which feels worshipful, irreverent and inevitable. —Marzia Thomas

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