His punchlines are boosted by his icy delivery. Think of a lyric like the opener on “Can’t Even Name Dis”: “Ballin’ like the NBA, know I’m wit’ the Lakers.” It’s probably been rapped by most people who’ve ever grabbed a mic, but the sliding way Tyler says it makes it sound like the coldest shit ever. The direct influences that come to mind are the chill sides of South Florida stars Kodak Black and Trapland Pat, a dash of Detroit’s Veeze, as well as one-time Cash Money star B.G., who was around the same age Tyler is now when he released 1996’s Chopper City. It feels like he’s spent his whole life speaking in punchlines, and now there just happens to be a beat.
The Florida roots in his music are strong. He describes Tallahassee as a small city, with a culture largely intertwined with the nearby colleges like Florida State and FAMU. Regionally specific references to Seminoles and gold-filled smiles dominate his tracks, and even when he’s not explicitly saying where he’s from, it’s in the air. His joint track with Pompano Beach’s Loe Shimmy, “A Day in the Noya,” is a look at the Sunshine State through their eyes: The pace is unhurried, the beat is shimmering, the frustrations are shrugged off.
In the last couple of weeks I’ve played “Back Flippin” a shit-ton. Its lighthearted one-liners—like when he says he’s drinking Arizona Iced Tea in the booth—are paired with a beat that floats like the morning breeze. The video is the best part: just Tyler doing the stuff any other teenager would probably do if they suddenly became a hot regional rapper. He poses with some stacks of money, grabs a few flicks with a rap hero (Peezy is the choice here), and does a few cannonballs and backflips off a boat. He’s having a good time. It makes you long for the days when chilling was your only responsibility.
