It was all so slippery. The way it went down; the way it sounded, too. Just when you thought you had a grip on Frank Ocean, he slid through your fingers and vanished, leaving behind nothing but a cloud of smoke and streaks of light. Elusiveness is his nature, his essence, and yet so is profound emotional resonance. It’s what made Blonde so alluring back then, and why an album defined by impermanence has so powerfully endured.
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