If okay(K) presents: Modest Tyler proves anything, it’s that okay(K) is less interested in fitting into a scene and more interested in seeing what happens when e dissolves one. His new project sounds like what would happen if Young Thug and/or Lil Yachty decided to front Silent Alarm-era Bloc Party; an unlikely fusion of yearning indie guitars, soft-glow autotune, and vulnerable swagger. The result? A debut that’s messy, charming, and startlingly self-assured. It’s an album that keeps tripping over its own emotions, standing up again, and turning the stumble into rhythm.
The opener, when the sun don’t shine, drifts in like a lazy sunrise with a soft wash of reverb, a looping guitar phrase, and okay(K)’s syrupy, half-sung cadence. He doesn’t rush; he hovers. There’s a looseness to his delivery that feels almost accidental, like he’s testing whether the beat will catch him if he falls. And it does, barely. The track’s woozy warmth immediately sets the tone for the record: intimate, hazy, and unbothered by perfection. It’s music that values feeling over form; the sonic equivalent of a long exhale.
take a break builds on that with the confidence of someone who’s finally decided to open the blinds. The guitars shimmer, the percussion snaps, and suddenly we’re in the strange middle ground between surf-rock and bedroom rap. okay(K) has a gift for making contrasts feel natural; one second he’s crooning like a dazed dream-pop frontman, the next he’s half-rapping with deadpan confidence. It shouldn’t make sense, but that’s what makes it so compelling. It’s a small act of rebellion in a streaming era obsessed with clarity: he doesn’t want to sound like anyone else, even when the DNA of his influences peeks through.
By i can’t help myself, the album starts showing its heart. The autotune here isn’t a disguise; it’s a filter for vulnerability, giving his voice an alien shimmer that fits perfectly against the melancholy guitar line. The whole thing could’ve been ripped straight from a 2005 indie record; if those bands had grown up with FL Studio and TikTok instead of four-track tape machines. There’s something wistful about it, like Bloc Party if Kele had a plug-in addiction.
fable is the pivot, the track where the haze clears and you realize there’s more intent behind this than you thought. The beat thickens, the bars get sharper, and suddenly okay(K) is no longer drifting through his influences; he’s commanding them. It’s not just a rap cut, it’s a declaration. The tension between softness and control between his sing-song delivery and the precision of his verses creates an energy that carries the rest of the album. This is where the project snaps into focus.
Then comes poor kid, the emotional hangover. It’s lo-fi, bass-heavy, and weirdly beautiful; imagine Livin’ It Up by Young Thug rewritten on a dying laptop at 3 a.m. It’s both swaggering and sad, like he’s celebrating and mourning the same thing at once. That contradiction defines okay(K)’s best moments: joy and melancholy intertwined until you can’t tell which is which.
A personal highlight comes in the form of hey dan, they hate and, that’s great man, that’s great which reads like a throwaway at first, until it blindsides you with honesty. It’s a rambling spoken-word piece aimed at former Spotify CEO Daniel Ek, which sounds ridiculous until you actually hear it. It’s raw, funny, and slightly unhinged, like an artist finally saying out loud what everyone in the algorithmic trenches is thinking. It’s half mantra, half coping mechanism. It’s lo-fi defiance, the sound of someone realizing that sincerity is the most punk thing left.
That flows directly into daniel ek, the album’s soft landing. It’s the closest okay(K) comes to the communal catharsis of BROCKHAMPTON’s Saturation II with smooth synths, mellow percussion, and a final sigh of acceptance. After the confrontation, the exhaustion sets in. okay(K)’s voice fades in and out of the mix, less performer and more presence, like he’s slowly evaporating into the song. It’s a fitting end for a record built on tension and release.
What makes okay(K) presents: Modest Tyler work isn’t its polish; it’s the lack of it. okay(K) knows his edges are showing, and he leaves them there on purpose. The mix sometimes wobbles, the vocals clip, and the transitions aren’t seamless, but that’s the point. It’s an album that documents becoming rather than being. You can hear the curiosity in every track: the joy of a musician trying things not because they’ll chart, but because they sound interesting.
In a world where “genre-blending” has become a marketing cliché, okay(K) presents: Modest Tyler feels like the real thing. It’s an album that doesn’t just cross boundaries; it forgets they exist. okay(K) doesn’t need to prove he’s innovative; he’s just genuinely weird in a way that innovation can’t fake.
At its core, okay(K) presents: Modest Tyler is an experiment in sincerity. It’s okay(K) stepping into his sound one unsteady footstep at a time; vulnerable, restless, and thrillingly alive. It’s indie music reimagined through trap sensibilities, or maybe trap reimagined through the heart of an indie kid. Whatever it is, it works. Because behind the hazy guitars and warped autotune lies something rare: an artist who’s not trying to be perfect… just real.
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About the Author
A tenured media critic known working as a ghost writer, freelance critic for various publications around the world, the former lead writer of review blogspace Atop The Treehouse and content creator for Manila Bulletin.
