#normally when the first-string boyfriend gets broken up with he fades into the background but i feel like it's actually

[july-19th-club]

i really like george and nick together they're so solid. the thing she needs most in the world is stability (financial and social) and he's just deeply steady and commitment-oriented which gives her the ability to soften up a bit when she knows she has a landing zone that won't fall out from under her. but they also challenge each other, they're fun, their arguments are charming and funny and their chemistry is strong i really really like these two together

[thesinglesjukebox]

FRANK OCEAN - CHANEL [7.64] An ocean of Chanel would probably be a bit much.

Joshua Copperman: I tried editing "Chanel" upon its initial release, in order to play it on my college radio show. When the edit was done, slurs reversed and faded out, it was essentially a shadow of its true self. I quickly realized I had done a disservice to a song about letting all parts of oneself co-exist. For Ocean, it's his sexuality, his presentation, his blackness all tumbling out of him at once. Despite a minor-key piano loop anchoring the song, it's not as brooding as it could be. Instead, he sounds as unpretentious and chilled as he ever has, especially when he delivers the opening lines, and especially when he follows the "i/ɐ/ɛl" rhyme scheme for twelve lines in the second verse. One difficulty I've sometimes had with the song is the content of that part, particularly "I need that bitch to grind on my belt." Intellectually and conceptually, it makes sense; but emotionally it doesn't register as well as those first lines. Yet this is the song that references Gaspar Noé, Dennis Rodman, and 21 Savage within the first minute - of course not everything would hit. It's not just the contrast of the titular line and "that bitch" that make this song work either; it's the fussy beat and ad-libs backing Ocean's weeded-out delivery that makes "Chanel" as good as it is. No radio edit necessary. [9]

Eleanor Graham: I stuck Frank Ocean's little black square coming out note from the sleeve of Channel Orange on my wall when I was thirteen and it's still there. It's weird and amazing to compare the anguish in that note and "Bad Religion" to the ease with which Frank tosses out "got one straight-acting" in his first single of 2017. It's a sign of the times: these days thirteen-year-olds have Kevin Abstract yelling "I love my mom! I hate my boyfriend!" and tweeting about Ezra Miller. And adults who like to drink wine have "Chanel". As Frank's police encounter becomes a Gaspar Noé-referencing sexual fantasy before unfurling into love song, it becomes clear that the hushed piano is the only thing here that moves at the pace of a normal human brain. Chanel Instagramming "we see on both sides like Frank" comes off suitably coattail-ish. No one plays out duality so coldly and steamily, so unthinkingly with such conceptual rigour. It's his world. [8]

Jibril Yassin: Every single Frank Ocean released this year does a lot in a short period of time. With three minutes, you've got verses crammed with lines -- economical ones that reveal plenty -- that all seem to spill into the other with reckless abandon before quickly moving on. Yet each switch-up feels natural, each new hook lodged in your head like you've heard them for years. It makes for a melancholy yet wholly stated feeling that feels more 'of now' than anything Frank's done at this point.  [9]

Nortey Dowuona: The glittering piano and small waves of bass and brief drips of synths are led on a merry dash by Frank's voice, broken and shattered and rushing back together in a smooth hum, a soft sigh, a panicked shriek, a painful murmur, a sorrowful coo. [10]

Brad Shoup: Frank shuffles vocal takes over sniffling drums. Similarly, he pushes the two themes (his guy and his double-take opulence) into each other. The bridge ("it's really you on my mind") would appear to be the emotional peak, but you should hear the way he sings about his engine. The outro is a pretty funny survey of his jeans, studded with shouts to his baby. His piano veers between Hathaway wistfulness and suspension -- the effect is like a private improvisation (though the writing's too good for that), wherein Ocean's trying to show his partner that he knows how much he's got. [8]

Ryo Miyauchi: The slight grogginess of Frank's sleepy try at rap in "Chanel" only informs what sounds like a diary entry from his transcontinental escapades. And it's a task to pin down exactly where he's at: he mentions Shibuya, though his mind, occupied by hip-hop, remains in America. He hides emotionally, too, burrowing deep in references and name brands. People pick at his play on the double Cs, but his overly proud boast of destroyed VISA, AmEx and Mastercards worry me. You're not running away from something ordinary if you disavow credit and withdraw that much cash. [7]

Alfred Soto: No bitch will kill his vibe, and he insists on a woozy one. Sharp lyrics as usual, on paper more sympathetic than the okay voice singing them. He will never not come off as the most suspicious of cornballs. [5]

Maxwell Cavaseno: A series of fake deep paens from the kind of lad who thinks Rupert Murdoch's role in Vice being regarded as The Real News is nothing important and whom happily collects millions as Apple brings in a new regime of oligarchy over music that if left on its own, will bring us back to a realm where the best art is only beheld by Corporations functioning like Medici-esque oppression. Frank Ocean is an amoral brat who hates his fans and having to work at singing live. "Chanel" is the sound of forty dozen punch ins, badly pitch-tuning his nasal tone (which gets worse with each record) as he whines and blubbers nonsense about Japanese shopping districts and pretty boys via a series of amateurish Migos impressions. For all his so-called brilliance, the kid writes songs the way A$AP Rocky writes raps the way your friends casually spam your tumblr feed: without a second or even a first thought, just reflexive regurgitation. Frank Ocean is a Neoliberal Representationalist Wet-Dream where you pretend he's got so much more going on for him content wise than people who make nasty actual R&B that has the nerve to sound as baseless and amorphous as the preferred non-genre millennial drivel we've been told is the Future of Music. Just as long as you recognize you deserve so much more than to work for better art. [0]

Claire Biddles: Romanticism and bisexuality are so rarely allowed to co-exist in pop culture, perhaps because they're largely not perceived as compatible in real life: we're promiscuous, we're undecided, we're unwilling or unable to commit because of the breadth of our (always hypersexual) desires. I cling to pop culture that allows us to be tender or take pride in our love for our partners: I can't count the times I've watched and rewatched the moment when Norwegian teen show Skam's bi protagonist Even introduces his boyfriend to a stranger with the exclamation, "isn't this man beautiful?!", almost in disbelief, beaming with love. I thought of this brief moment listening to Frank Ocean's "Chanel", with its similarly romantic but also deftly complex opening couplet "My guy pretty like a girl/And he got fight stories to tell" -- so beautiful and tall and gleaming, with an unseen tension between the borrowed brags of another sexuality and the determination of our own, all dressed up in imagery unmistakably ridden of the societal restraints of gender presentation. The song that follows is so rich -- it swirls and caresses its way through a string of hyperactive ideas tempered by gentle heatwave-warmed beats and piano -- but it's the returning tenderness ("It's really you on my mind" punctuating the lyrical flexes) framed by overt queerness that sticks. We all want to see ourselves reflected in pop culture, but it's rare and special to hear it done so effortlessly. [10]

Stephen Eisermann: Frank Ocean's biggest strength has always been his style of singing and what he says in his songs. The beats are always unique and often ethereal, but it's the way that his voice dominates his songs that is most impressive. On ""Chanel,"" Frank let's his bi-flag fly high, but rather than make the statement center on his pride, he lets his experiences speak for themselves. Frank briefly discusses his "guy" and the description is real and affecting; sometimes the most beautiful moments in music are the most honest, and everything about this song feels authentic. [9]

Anthony Easton: The background to this voice, is celestial. The voice itself hints at a falsetto. Mutually, they work towards a gorgeous argument against the failure of material capital, while the desire towards the same is overwhelming. That it just kind of floats, unresolved, plays with pleasure, but seems disembodied, it's a clever but deeply felt ennui.  [9]

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