The original concept for CrazySexyCool was simple: Women contain multitudes. The title, an amalgamation of their personalities, was a way to subvert the public’s perception of each member: Tionne “T-Boz” Watkins as the “cool” one, Rozonda “Chilli” Thomas as the “sexy” seducer, and Lisa “Left Eye” Lopes herself supposedly “crazy.” She figured, rightfully, that each of them was all of those things at once. Straightforward enough—and yet some of the album’s male producers initially missed the point about the self as a many-layered construct. “They’d do a crazy song for me, a sexy song for Chilli, and a cool song for Tionne,” Left Eye told Vibe in 1994. “We had to explain that CrazySexyCool doesn’t just describe us individually. It describes all the parts of every woman.”
Each member of the Atlanta R&B trio had a distinct role, but the point was how they all came together. T-Boz was raspy and matter-of-fact, her jazz-like vocal style centering tone and swagger over power and clarity. Chilli was the closest to traditional R&B, imbuing their songs with quiet-storm sultriness. Left Eye was the rebellious poet who rapped, sang, and came up with many of their musical and visual concepts.
It was Left Eye who suggested the group pin condoms to their clothing and tape them over her own eyeglasses to promote safe sex, a laudable fashion statement that came to define their anything-goes credo as artists. As with their predecessors Salt-N-Pepa, none of TLC’s messaging in their songs, visuals, or outfits seemed scripted or telegraphed. Unlike in the typical girl group, no one member was ever elevated over another. Their individual styles merged seamlessly because they played off each other’s strengths, making the whole greater than the sum of its parts.
Their 1992 debut album, Ooooooohhh... on the TLC Tip, presented the trio as sexual and independent twentysomething women who allowed themselves to be goofy, improper, and a little bit messy on their own terms. The critical success and triple-platinum sales of that album positioned TLC as role models for younger listeners and pop industry anarchists who pushed the fundamental truth that women have basic physical needs. In the video for “Ain’t 2 Proud 2 Beg,” they fired water guns and sang about sexual autonomy while sporting bright, baggy jumpsuits and kooky Digital Underground-style puffy hats, making the case for sexual expression without suppression.
CrazySexyCool was slicker and more scandalous, smoothing out TLC’s approach without losing the tongue-in-cheek wit of the debut. Its songs emphasize not just sex but pleasure in all its many forms. It’s a liberating, multifaceted view that suggests sexy doesn’t have to be raunchy or explicit alone: It can manifest itself in the movement of a serpentine sax, or the way T-Boz whispers, simply, “Yes, it’s me again” at the beginning of “Creep” like it’s foreplay.
Released in November 1994, CrazySexyCool earned TLC two No. 1 hits, “Creep” and “Waterfalls,” and secured their current status as the highest-selling girl group of all time, having gone diamond with 10 million units sold in the U.S. by June 1996. TLC’s singular appeal wasn’t only from catchy hooks and savvy visuals: It was their organic way of touching on universal subjects like sex, self-love, and freedom with a certain ease and affability that made their music both exemplary and inviting.
While their more vocal-centric peers of the ’90s—SWV, En Vogue, Xscape—prioritized neatly stacked gospel harmonies and flat-out singing, TLC’s collective advantage was making real music in a pop space that more often presented girl groups as flawless, demure, coordinated confections. With its funky energy and mixture of singing and rapping, CrazySexyCool fit squarely between the year’s star-making R&B debuts by Brandy, Usher, and Aaliyah and the major first statements in hip-hop from the likes of Notorious B.I.G., Nas, and OutKast. Their signing to Babyface and Antonio L.A. Reid’s LaFace records had catapulted them to the forefront of Atlanta’s hip-hop and R&B scenes, and their crossover success carved space for labelmates like OutKast and Goodie Mob to be as weird and expansive as they wanted, and still make it pop.
Left Eye’s deftness as a rapper, and T-Boz’s talk-sing style, which flirted with rap cadences, provided all sorts of possibilities for producers like Jermaine Dupri and Sean “Puffy” Combs, two prominent officiants in the marriage between hip-hop and R&B. Rap bookends the album: Phife Dawg of A Tribe Called Quest sets the tone on CrazySexyCool’s intro, kicking a cool 16 like a hype man warming up the crowd at a house party; and well before many listeners outside of Atlanta knew his name, TLC’s hometown peer André 3000 appears on the gloomy closing track “Sumthin’ Wicked This Way Comes.”
The lead single “Creep” was the first sign that TLC had discovered a more muted palette compared to the hyperactive sound of their debut. The song slinks in with a sample of Slick Rick’s “Hey Young World” as T-Boz presents the best and simplest solution to being cheated on: “So I creep/Yeah.” Her low, conversational register makes it sound like she’s got her feet kicked up in the recording booth and a cool mint in her mouth. She adds a slight vocal fry on the Babyface-produced “Diggin’ on You,” a subtly jazzy and easygoing love story about surrendering to the rizz. Left Eye blocks it instead on upbeat “Kick Your Game,” taking comedic turns as both the pursued and the pursuer over Jermaine Dupri’s signature bells-and-bounce production. Knowing that Left Eye once said she met her ex-boyfriend, NFL star Andre Rison, after he followed her in the club one night trying to holler, it’s hard not to hear the shade when she mentions a pickup line about making love on the 50-yard line.
T-Boz’s morning voice is supremely suited for the album’s overtly sexy songs, especially “Red Light Special,” a drawn-out tease over a spiraling string instrumental from Babyface, with sax notes snaking like they’re doing slow body rolls. She has a laid-back style of seduction, while Chilli sounds like she’s at the edge of ecstasy, a dynamic they also play with on “Let’s Do It Again.” What’s sexy is cool is silly and vice versa, even in passing moments, like the interlude where Chilli initiates a game of phone sex, only to end the call with a juvenile joke and a toilet flush. The only point seems to be that it thrills her, and that’s enough.
TLC’s go-to producer Dallas Austin said he wanted to “bring out the Prince side” of the group on the album, an influence felt in the slithering melodies and pure craving for sex. “Red Light Special” sounds like a straight-shooting sister to Prince’s tickling, moaning “International Lover,” with a similar crawling chord progression. Babyface produced the actual Prince cover: a rework of “If I Was Your Girlfriend” that T-Boz manipulates with a sly wink and a higher-than-usual vocal range. (Prince, who once called TLC his favorite group, granted his rare approval for the cover.) Prince’s original pines for the singer’s imagined intimacy between platonic female friends; TLC uses the more traditional meaning of girlfriend, twisting the original without losing its subversive spirits. “Case of the Fake People” is a similar whirlpool of funk, interpolating the O’Jays’ sweeping “Backstabbers” with boom-bap production from Austin and T-Boz and Chili’s voices swirling in and out of overlapping melodies.
T-Boz loved pointing out that Clive Davis, founder and then-president of LaFace’s parent label, Arista Records, initially hated the concept of “Waterfalls.” In fairness, it was an odd choice for a single: a cautionary tale about the HIV/AIDS epidemic and drug abuse that’s weighty in subject matter but weightless in execution, using lakes and waterfalls as a metaphor for slipping over the edge. The airy, warped production from OutKast producers Organized Noize sounds like actual carbonated water bubbles bursting on the track. It’s a wonder that the song worked, let alone topped the Billboard Hot 100 chart for seven weeks straight. But “Waterfalls” is a beauty, one that gets deep without drowning itself.
By the time T-Boz and Chilli started recording CrazySexyCool in the summer of 1994, Left Eye was spending time in court-ordered rehab after being indicted on a felony arson charge for setting fire to the home she shared with Rison, meaning she wasn’t as present for the sessions as on other TLC albums. She wrote and recorded her verse for “Waterfalls” during a two-hour break from the rehab center. Admiring the world around her in the car, she felt optimistic: “My life is 10 shades of gray/I pray all 10 fade away.” Left Eye, among hip-hop’s most agile lyricists, once said she never really distinguished between a rap and a poem. She rhymes from an almost childlike perspective here: innocent, curious, cocky, and mischievous. “Waterfalls” is as much Left Eye’s poetic opus as it is TLC’s career-defining record. In her limited appearances, she provides the album with many such small but potent pleasures, whether trading preacher-esque yelps with Busta Rhymes on “Can I Get a Witness (Interlude)” or rapping abstractly about whatever she wants to and somehow tying it back to the topic at hand on “Switch.”
Through TLC’s willingness to be anything—but themselves most of all—CrazySexyCool demonstrates that authenticity can be the driving force of a great pop record. That point still resonates nearly 30 years later in the work of artists inspired by TLC, including Kehlani, K-pop powerhouses BLACKPINK, and Cardi B, who referenced Left Eye’s arson charge on her debut album: “Smash your TV from Best Buy/You gon’ turn me into Left Eye.”
A year after the infamous fire, in a 1995 interview with the British weekly Melody Maker, Left Eye lamented that she felt like she’d earned a label as the “jealous, crazy bitch” while her ex came off clean. She rarely addressed the fire in interviews, and only spoke about it at length in the 2007 VH1 documentary The Last Days of Left Eye, released five years after she died in a car crash in Honduras, and assembled from video diaries recorded during her trip. As she explains in the doc: She came home late from a night of partying, she and Rison argued, and it got violent. After waking up to her bruised face in the mirror, she grabbed a stack of his Nike sneaker boxes and lit them on fire in their bathtub, unaware that the flames would spread and consume the home. It didn’t seem to matter to the public that Left Eye had previously filed an assault charge against Rison or that she later described him as jealous and controlling. All most people likely remember is that Left Eye burned down her NFL boyfriend’s property.
The record that may best encapsulate Left Eye’s fury and her vision for CrazySexyCool is a B-side that also appeared on a limited-edition bonus disc. “My Secret Enemy” is many things at once: dark, funny, fly, seductive, blunt, eerie, soft, bluesy. She raps with high-pitched vivacity about the weight of her past, telling her life story through poetry, examining her internal darkness, and slyly alluding to the fire: “Now as I look at myself, I’m seeing someone familiar/Staring back at me through every deep crack that’s in my mirror/And as I think to myself/I’m hearing somebody else scream at me.” The song ends with the voice of a newscaster who points out the hypocrisy of Left Eye’s ridicule in the media while Rison, with his history of alleged abuse, was still “regarded as America’s sports hero.” Then there’s T-Boz, in her low and scratchy cigarette drag of a voice, chiming in with background harmonies. She doesn’t overshadow Left Eye, just complements and supports her, finding and filling the rhythmic gaps in her bandmate’s slippery flow. As always, even when their approaches were divergent, TLC’s members worked together as one.
