Pusha T f/ Tyler, the Creator: "Trouble On My Mind"

What’s bogus about Tyler, the Creator is not what would seem to be unlikable about him or the movement he’s started—instead it’s that these qualifiedly unlikable things about him work to shroud and protect him from any real criticisms. Trying to articulate a genuine reproach to his music invariably gets re-slotted into a predetermined set of “you just don’t get it, bro” automated responses that don’t actually address anything. If you have an internet connection you already know what I’m talking about: rapping about rape, murder, and torture, bandying around “faggot” like it’s going out of style, denigrating every social and ethnic group under the sun, etc., it all inevitably becomes the stumbling blocks to a real critical discussion. One simply can’t think that he’s a shitty rapper based solely on his being shitty; or chide him for using “fuck” and “fucking” to accentuate and bridge every concept he spits about; or call out his predictability as the well of shocking rap subjects is shallow to begin with and his ability to freshly reiterate them leaves a lot to be desired; or point out the hypocrisy in poo-pooing mainstream rap’s conservatism and then creating a chauvinistic movement of blindly adoring, juggalo-lite monsters who instead of worshipping the classics worship only him; one can’t do really much of anything in the face of this new brand of “Creationist” thinking. If you have something negative to say about Tyler, you simply do not get it.

As a result, it makes reviewing “Trouble On My Mind” very bittersweet, as I was hoping Pusha T would kill it to highlight how Tyler pales in comparison—this being Tyler’s first track working with non-OF members, who outside of Earl Sweatshirt, Hodgy Beats, and Frank Ocean are all worse than he is—but also because Pusha T is simply an artist I love (hell, we love). And he does, colossally, with a snaking cutthroat flow he hasn’t accessed since Hell Hath No Fury (2006), spitting about Geppetto, bezels, the Runnin’ Rebels of UNLV, killing Osama bin Laden, and the glass cover on his Ferrari’s engine. “G.O.O.D. had room for one more, I took the last spot / Re-Up Gang, P the nigga, ‘Ye done hit the jackpot,” he boasts, sauntering over the Neptunes’ beat-heavy instrumentals, providing all supporting evidence that his claim is true. So, naturally I feel like an ass using one of Pusha’s finest moments to point out, as conclusively as I can manage, “Ha! Your guy sucks.”

Pettiness aside, it’s pretty blatant that Tyler got worked over on this track. Flowing at a level that barely hovers above the bass, his monotone, flat-lining contribution sputters through lines so overwrought and conventional to his methodology one could make a drinking game out of it. Rhyming “dick” with “lips” and drawing the obvious connection between the two? Take a drink. Fucking without a condom? Take a drink. A pop culture reference that will be completely forgotten in three years, in this case, Bristol Palin? Take a drink. A reference to “Yonkers”? Three, in fact. Triple shot! If Pusha got anything wrong on this track, it’s a line from his closing verse: “Who else could put the hipsters with felons and thugs / And paint a perfect picture of what sellin’ it does?” His patented “ugh” would have been far more accurate.