And the refrain on “Crack Rock” contains the boldest statement of purpose in a song since Elliott Smith‘s “Amity” (and I imagine it irks as many people for the same reason that song did: “AMITY / AMITY / AMITY”). André 3000 evokes the same vocal dysthymia in his delivery on “Pink Matter”: “Since you been gone I been having withdrawals / You were such a habit to call / I ain’t myself at all had to tell myself naw.” On “Pilot Jones”, Ocean is seduced by a grown woman who can’t keep sober. On “Super Rich Kids”, a deadened “Bennie and the Jets” piano line plods along as young Odd Future rapper Earl Sweatshirt declares in a Xanax-leveled monotone: “We are the Xan-y, nasty, Caddy-smashing, bratty, assy, paddy snatchin daddy’s jaggy”. Channel Orange and its many players - Ocean is a storyteller, strumming his pain through a cast of characters with each songs - operate in a haze, a crack smoke-yellowed smog discoloring the poolside hangouts and fantastical strip clubs of Los Angeles.
Therein lies the nexis of Channel Orange: the pain of unrequited love and the way we medicate to cope. He had to go back inside soon, it was late and his girlfriend was waiting for him upstairs.” He did his best, but he wouldn’t admit the same. I grieved for them, knowing I could never take them back for myself. I sat there and told my friend how I felt.
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