Damn. Last night at Low End Theory in Los Angeles, Tyler, the Creator came out like Blank Dogs, wearing a hoodie all anonymous and a scary-ass ski mask, then rapped as though he wanted to gnash on the bones of the audience. Controlled chaos. Wait til the crowd rips into "Wolf! Gang!" chants and see if you don't get rap-chills like you haven't in a long time. Maybe even not since the first time you saw 8 Mile or something—you know, that palpable hunger, the raw thrill of seeing talented underdogs scramble to win. Except Odd Future kinda already is.