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To say we're excited for Frank Ocean's new album would be a massive understatement. It's been four years since he released channel ORANGE, and five-and-a-half since Nostalgia, Ultra hit the internet. Frank has taken his time and stayed far from the public eye (his last interview was in 2013), but even with our ridiculously heightened expectations we can be sure that the music will be special. Frank Ocean is too talented an artist for any other outcome.
Beyond the music though—beyond the meticulous lyricism, brilliant songwriting, and glorious arrangements—is the emotional connection that Frank Ocean inspires in so many listeners. He inspires, commiserates, speaks to our souls, soundtracks our lows and our highs. With that in mind, we asked one simple question: What does Frank Ocean mean to you?
We can't wait to stop watching a video of Frank Ocean working and dive in to his new album, but until that moment, this is what Frank Ocean means to us.
3. Jon Tanners
4. Alex Siber
5. Sydney Gore
6. Graham
Frank, I like you but you're crazy. Maybe I like you because you're crazy—the music is flawless, of course, but the way you've held it back, probably losing millions of dollars in the process, defies everything the music industry asks of its biggest stars. That's the part of your insanity that appeals to me—the complete refusal to engage. You're the most sought-after musician of our generation, but would rather not use fame as a platform for anything but the music.
You showed me that for all the melodies and beat drops, true power comes from making yourself sparse. Retweeting your mentions and chatting up fans online is certainly one way to gain a following, but it's not a prerequisite.
When you write those literally spacey missives on Tumblr, they read like messages from another world. We are inundated with hot takes, but you pop up in moments of despair asking for patience and compassion, reminding us that cooler heads should always prevail, and that the most important voices are the ones that choose their words carefully.—Graham
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8. Tatiana Cirisano
When Channel ORANGE dropped, I was midway through the summer before my senior year of high school in Miami, Florida. I don’t remember who or what initially turned me on to Frank Ocean’s syrupy-smooth sound, but I do remember that Channel ORANGE struck a chord at that particular moment in my life.
There was something about the way Frank purrs “grapevine, mango, peaches and lime” on “Sweet Life” that nailed the lazy bliss that is summer in my hometown, sticky humidity, thunderstorms and all. There was something about “Rich Kids” and the glorious, gluttonous excess of Miami that afflicts any kid growing up in the city. And there was something about those last four lines of my favorite, “White”—“I forget 23 like I forget 17” or “I forget my first love, like you forget a daydream”—that thrust me into recognition of all the time that had gone by.
But here’s where I make a confession. While everyone else has been blasting Frank for holding out on us for so many years, I’ve been sort of okay with it. Even though the tracks on Channel ORANGE had less to do with my life than I liked to believe they did at 17, I can’t help but associate the album with the last summer of my high school years. I liked Frank staying put there, so I could have at least something to come back to.
Now, as we’re inching closer to possibly the most hyped album in existence, I feel a weird mix of thrill for the future and nostalgia for the past. We’ve come full circle, Frank: It’s the summer before senior year again, but this time, I’ll be graduating college.
Still, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t among the fans crossing their fingers that on Friday, that fabled album actually goes live. In the end, I’m glad Frank is moving on to bigger (and hopefully even better) things. He's moved on. And you know what? Now that I think about it, I guess I’ve moved on, too.—Tatiana Cirisano
9. Constant Gardner
10. Eric Skelton
I downloaded Nostalgia, Ultra on a whim.
It was 2011. I was in my Junior year at a four year university, grinding through courses in a major I had lost all interest in—and I was completely obsessed with Odd Future. Their rebellious “kill people, burn shit, fuck school” attitude and punk-rock edge stirred an angry, primal chord inside me that badly needed an outlet. I couldn’t get enough of it.
When a mixtape from then-peripheral member Frank Ocean started popping up on tumblr pages, the orange BMW on the cover caught my eye and I gave it a quick download. Expecting more of the same raw intensity I had come to expect from OFWGKTA, I was disappointed to hear a singer crooning about his feelings. I dismissed it, frustrated that I’d accidentally downloaded an R&B album. I hated R&B.
A few months later, “Swim Good” came on shuffle during a late-night drive and for some reason I didn’t skip it immediately. Something about the organ in the intro caught my attention and I let it ride. Skeptically, I followed along as he sang about “swimming from something bigger” than himself. I slowly nodded along as he made references to black suits and funerals over a churning bass line. After a strange oceanic bird outro faded away, I pressed pause. Replay.
Whoa. Instead of responding to adversity with aggression like all the other artists in my iPod at the time, Frank countered with a sense of honest vulnerability—a model I desperately needed in my life in that moment. He approached a genre I had dismissed as outdated and mushy and injected it with new life, willing to expose himself without losing integrity or coming across as weak. Throughout that thirteen song project (and even more so on Channel ORANGE) he opened my ears and introduced me to the new sounds of alt-R&B that would go on to soundtrack much of the next five years of my life.
For me, Frank Ocean represents balance.
In an era of social media-driven oversharing and fame-obsession, Frank is content to live a quiet life to himself miles away from the spotlight. In the midst of a macho hip-hop culture that’s still quick to mutter “no homo” after every other sentence, he’s confidently transparent about his own attraction to men. Despite constant pressure, he is willing to spend years methodically perfecting an album while his peers frantically struggle to stay top-of-mind in an increasingly disposable media culture. He operates far outside expectation.
Frank Ocean turned out to be far from what I expected when I first dragged that Nostalgia, Ultra .zip folder to my desktop in 2011, but he was exactly what I needed. He provided balance in my life that I wasn’t even aware I needed. As we await the release of his new album five years later, Frank still plays that role—for me, the music industry, and in many respects, society in general.—Eric Skelton
11. Joyce Ng
12. Jacob Moore
13. Eric Isom
