An Open Letter: 10 Years of Channel, Orange

In 2012, queerness was a mystery to me. Growing up in a predominantly caucasian red state, it shouldn't be a surprise that around me "gay" was uttered more as a slur than an identification. In 2012, I was 16, moving into my junior year of high school. I'd been called the f-slur more times than I care to remember. I wasn't necessarily allowed or encouraged to ask questions -- I remember inquiring when Ellen Degeneres  married Portia DeRossi, and was quickly shot down with the sting of an all-too-familiar, "when you're older." I recall when two female classmates were called "gay" in first grade, you could feel the Holy Spirit move through grade school halls, silencing school children, burning tongues. I was young, and didn't give it a second thought then, but in 2012 questions were all I had.

When my brother introduced me to channel, ORANGE, my music taste was limited to Dave Matthews Band, Rush (re: my angsty middle school years), and John Mayer. But it was Mayer himself that lead my brother to Frank, and soon enough me. A 40-second guitar solo at the end of "Pyramids" rattling through two dollar headphones in the back of my mother's Honda Odyssey created a Frank superfan. After the nearly 10-minute song ended I asked, "what else has he made?"

"Pyramids" was (and still is) a showstopper, but it was the album's opening sonorous symphony that caught my ear. The first time I realized I had loved another man was when I heard Frank Ocean sing "Thinking Bout You". There were firsts and there would be a last, but this was the instance of epiphany. Unrequited love with different sexes was something I'd experienced as long as I could remember; it was never the right time, or I self-sabotaged a relationship, or it wasn't meant to be. "Thinking" was a soundtrack to my forlorn and forbidden "love" (we'll use that word very loosely) at 16, and something about the sultry, indomitable vocals pierced me to my core. Many people identify Frank as a guidepost for their discovery regarding sexuality, as his music connects across the spectrum of romantic experience, something that persists in his music today.

The song itself wasn't originally intended for Frank -- he had written it for singer Bridget Kelly -- and was a leftover from his co-writing days prior to his mixtape, nostalgia, ULTRA. He'd penned hits for John Legend, Justin Bieber, and Beyoncé, but decided that "Thinking" was his alone. When he left the pronouns in how he'd written them for Kelly, producer Malay didn't blink twice. He thought it was an attempt at poetry, unaware of Frank's sexuality.

The world was unaware, too -- until then, Frank Ocean was a relatively unknown artist who featured on Watch the Throne and had dropped an impressive mixtape only a year earlier. People were closely watching his every move, but it was when he released an open letter to his Tumblr page that word surrounding the imminent drop of channel, ORANGE spread quickly. In the letter, Frank reveals his first true love was a man, and that he was not heterosexual.

Not every song discusses Frank's sexuality -- that's not the focus of the journey, just an important roadsign. On "Sweet Life", co-produced by Pharrell, we see Frank's double-edged fondness of luxury that turns somewhere between the interlude of "Not Just Money" and the climactic scenes of "Super Rich Kids". 

Towards the latter half of the album, Frank delves into the depths of "Bad Religion", directly addressing his first love from that open letter. "Forrest Gump" follows a similar theme, working through parts of the plot of the Tom Hanks movie through the love interest Jenny's perspective. 

There's plenty of references to drugs, another love of Frank's. On "Crack Rock," he weaves together stories of abuse and police brutality he heard while attending Narcotics Anonymous as a child with his late grandfather. Then on "Lost," which has lately soared in popularity thanks to TikTok or something, Frank paints a narrative of a drug dealer taking advantage of his girlfriend as a drug mule, once again returning to themes of lavishness and luxury.

The fast success of channel led Frank to an unstoppable turn at the 2013 Grammys, defeating Chris Brown for "Best Urban Contemporary Album" (the inaugural award for this category). Brown, the human version of a literal pile of shit, had confronted and assaulted Frank in Los Angeles barely a month before, throwing a punch and using the f-slur. The fight is memorialized by the bandage on Frank's finger on the cover of Blonde, as well as Frank's verse on Earl Sweatshirt's "Sunday". 

Irregardless of how Brown felt, Frank's friendships began to change an industry -- rappers who threw around the f-slur in their mixtape days were making large steps in maturity, namely A$AP Rocky and Tyler, the Creator (who would eventually come out himself). Rap group Migos asked people to stop calling them homophobic after their eventual collaboration with Frank, to no avail. There's much work to be done in a culture that has worked hard to produce a "tough" image since its inception, but many have followed in Frank's steps, evoking a gradual evolution.

Only three years later following channel, ORANGE, same-sex marriage became legal. It was an unforgettable moment in queer history, yet I was only starting to come to terms with queerness. It's a word I still struggle to understand today, despite it applying to an important aspect of my identity. It is fluid, effervescent, like Frank himself. His influence has moved young queer and straight artists like Lil Nas X and Rosalía to stardom, and has solidified him as a malleable and imperfect voice of our generation.

Meanwhile, channel, ORANGE stands the test of time: ten years later it is an era-defining piece, reminiscent of 90s childhood and 2000s innocence, while not sacrificing any part for relevance. At no point does the album feel dated or rooted in the year 2012, partly due to Frank's forward-thinking songwriting and instrumentation. And in ten more years, we can only expect that the album, and Frank Ocean himself, will have been installed as a monumental juncture in music and queerness.

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Last night I listened to two different episodes of Frank's radio show expecting a deluxe reissue of channel, ORANGE that never came, and instead was greeted with a fun interview about microdosing. Anyway, we'll leave the comment section today for 1. great LGBTQ funds open for donations and/or 2. begging Frank to give us some new music. I'll kick it off!

- Ritter