At only 32, two weeks before his birthday, Oliver Tree has passed away.
It sounds like one of his viral sketch videos, in which he would joke about some bizarre attempt to achieve fame and notoriety, some random world record, but ultimately fail on the last meter, like an LSD-drenched real life looney tunes character. Oliver Tree conceived a version of himself that was larger than life, tougher than the human existence permits. His critics dismissed it as adolescent comedy prank content, but Tree was more complex than that.
Yes, Oliver Tree was a bit of an acid head, somebody who wanted to experience all that life could provide. Tree composed music as a child, showing immense promise. But the industry was too harsh for a strange teenager like him, the type to do a truckload of LSD and hash brownies, run naked through the desert at Burning Man, tripping sky high, but then tripping over very real barbed wire. He said he hallucinated his own funeral then – you can’t market people like this. So Oliver became more than himself: a version that made more sense the less stable it was. A boy who would use his anxieties, construct them to their natural extreme, try them on and in embracing them, lose all fear: conquer them!
Oliver Tree’s persona was an amalgamation of obsolete cultural artefacts documenting his childhood: 90s jazz-cup patterns, pink and purple nylon tracksuits, absurdly wide baggie pants, kick scooters and his signature bowl cut. Behind the ridiculous image hid something more poetic: in Oliver’s own words, he wanted to make a point about the possibility of potential. He was ugly, he would say, and so he would embrace this ugliness to the absolute, be confident in himself. And suddenly, all the ugliness and vulgar absurdity of his existence would turn him beautiful. Of course, he still played the heel whenever he would go online, do podcasts or YouTube interviews, where he quarrelled and fought with his contemporaries and idols – all a ruse to advance the character.
Of course, Tree wasn’t the first to embrace this idea. Every iconic artist that turned his look into a brand – Warhol, Klaus Nomi, The Rock, Andrew W.K. – came from this place. But Tree added something of his own. Behind the plastic shades and the ridiculous hijinks of reels hid a deep melancholia, an almost constantly furrowed brow, a desperation to live life beyond what society tells us. And this expressed itself in his approach to his art: Tree would use TikTok to gather millions of clips, then use them to convince his label to fund the next project with a budget in the millions. A typical (fellow) Cancer weirdo, he didn’t care about making money, he didn’t care about success, all he cared about was to be able to make the most inconceivable version of his art.
His music sold like hot cakes, but the critics couldn’t vibe with it. It wasn’t meant to please them – most of it was composed as a strange mix of dance music, lo-fi Beats, and bubblegum pop, attracting TikTok shares and label approval. It was just a means to allow funding. He saw himself as somewhat of a filmmaker, that used music to create a contemporary version of absurd theatre. His label would be baffled how he burned through their massive cheques, but then he would cash in, somehow, in the end. Only to burn what was left, to start the next adventure, to go further, live more outrageously. The desperation to go further than every other man, to push himself beyond the realm, would always force him to those places. To boldly go where no musician had quite done what he did – because if he could, with a little faith and confidence, so could you.
It was this desperation for the absolute which made Oliver Tree so iconic, which you could see in his eyes, which was ever present in his wailing singing style, in his lyrics about overcoming insurmountable odds. At some point, it was too much – his contemporaries and idols remained static, succumbed to the neurosis and psychosis that comes with being famous and creating a tulpa of yourself. So Tree ditched the act, and came clean. He changed his costumes and became more serious… well, a little more serious. It took him even further, because now the human behind the character became fully visible. The humour never went away, and neither did the baggy pants and wild hair cuts. But neither did the frown, the expression that seemed so oddly serious. Oliver Tree was looking for a way to make people feel a part of the joy, the confidence and vitality he strove for – and he succeeded. He saw his life as a cinematic universe that we were not just spectators, but a part of.
But now here we are, the film torn in the projector, and we won’t ever see the ending. In the middle of a world tour, Oliver was taken from us, unfairly, suddenly, randomly. It’s devastating to imagine there isn’t a bounce back, a sudden reveal, the trickster returning from behind the curtain. But only a cynic would focus on bitter irony. Because Oliver Tree gave so much to people, mattered so much, gave them proof that there was a way to a better self, a beauty within ugliness. On this dark rock that rotates into space, he lived to the very fullest. If he taught us something, then it is to follow his lead. If today, you can overcome your fears, embrace them to find somebody inside yourself that – no matter how absurd or weird that person looks or sounds – is fearless, will live and laugh and conquer, do crazy journeys, climb tall mountains, then allow this version to blossom. And think of our dear departed Oliver. Continue his movie for him!
Oliver Tree
1993 – 2026
