4 minute read

Frank and Me

By: Guest Writer, Katelyn Schedcik

It wasn’t until I was slamming my steering wheel and ugly crying to “Self Control” that I realized how much Frank Ocean impacted me. Believe it or not, I thought he was pretty overrated before I listened to him. When I came to Oklahoma State my freshman year, that’s all I heard people talking about when it came to music taste. Frank this, Frank that, blah blah blah. I got hounded for never listening to the beat switch in “Nights.” Friends looked at me funny when I complained that “Pyramids” is almost 10 minutes long.

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Then I met my ex. Like many girls I know, I wanted to mold into the perfect woman just for him. So, I picked up his slang, made tons of excuses for him and began listening to his playlists. Come to think of it, my ex making me listen to Frank was the only good thing to come out of that relationship. He texted and begged me to give “Nights” a listen one day. I agreed and let out a sigh as I added the song to my queue. I was walking back from class while listening to it. I remember looking down at the breaks in the concrete while analyzing the first few seconds of the tune. “Alright, so it’s a little catchy,” I thought to myself. “Nothin’ crazy, though.” I kept walking and caught myself bopping my head to the soft beat. OK, maybe it’s better than I thought. The song sped up, so did my feet. Soon enough, the beloved beat switch that everyone worships played through my tangled headphones. I thought the thing about gettng goosebumps while listening to music was a myth. I looked down at my arm to see every last hair sticking up. Maybe there was a cool breeze? Even though it was 95 degrees outside. I was baffled.

Time went on, and I slowly added the Blonde album to my library. “Nikes” and “Ivy” made their way into my daily commute. “White Ferrari” accompanied me in the bathtub with a glass of Barefoot. At last, I had a seat on the Frank Ocean bandwagon.

I didn’t understand, though, why everyone seemed to have an attachment to his music. Sure, his discography was well put together, and his lyrics were somewhat relatable. I just couldn’t put my finger on why others put him on a pedestal. Then my ex and I parted ways. Cue the ugly crying, steering wheel slapping and “Self Control” blasting. Ah. So this is what everyone was talking about. Suddenly, every word he sang made sense.

I figured out that I wasn’t connected to his music because I couldn’t relate to it. Now, I certainly could.

For the next few weeks, Blonde and Channel Orange comforted me. “Pilot Jones” made me realize how my ex’s addictions affected me, “Lost” shined a light on my internal conversation, and “Godspeed” assured me that time would heal all. Not soon after, I listened to his EPs and his songs that weren’t as popular. I discovered “Novacane” during my not-so-healthy phase of constant partying and abuse of distractions. When I play it, it re-

minds me of the hot summer days I spent on my grimy porch sweating buckets and smoking Newports. It’s one of those up-beat songs with a sad meaning. That’s kinda how I remember summertime. I gave “Moon River” a listen when I had trouble cutting off those who weren’t benefitting me anymore.

Like other college students, I went through my fair share of friend groups. I like to call temporary friendships “placeholders,” because that’s exactly what they are; they hold the duties of a friend until a real friend comes along. “Moon River” sounds like my mother. It taught me that you have to move with the flow or else you’ll get caught in the drift. I blared “Solo” when I wanted to remember how far I’d come. Nobody really talks about how lonely college can be. I didn’t find my people until senior year. Before that, it was endless nights of ordering a large pepperoni from Papa John’s and chugging cheap wine by myself, but I was there for myself. I learned what I love and how I think. Being alone was the single greatest thing to ever happen to me. “Solo” reminds me that it was beneficial, not wasted time. Every emotion I had, Frank had a song to pair.

His voice feels like one of those hugs you don’t want to leave. Cheesy? Yeah. Comforting? Absolutely. To say Frank impacted my college years would be an understatement. He grew with me. Who knew an artist I previously looked down upon would turn out to be something I couldn’t live without? I encourage you to listen to an artist you usually don’t WWgive a second thought to. They might end up being everything you need to hear.

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