“Can we get much higher?”
These are the first words that ring out on My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy, Kanye West’s fifth studio album and magnum opus. This sole line represents the entire album’s unspoken mantra and guiding principle: how could West possibly follow such an impressive career arc.
MBDTF exudes West’s heavily polarizing guise. He happily mentions that his black balls have a level of power that even he can’t handle, while simultaneously celebrating acting like a douchebag. The grandiose arrangements and West’s fierce vocality created more than a “motherfucking monster.” It created a god.
And ‘Ye is more than proud of it. The album represents the largest middle finger to critics in recent memory. Kanye openly laughs at those judging his asshole demeanor and claims MBDTF was a “backhanded” apology. His twisted ego combined with his production brilliance resulted in something indescribable and baffling by all accounts. It was as if The College Dropout or Late Registration didn’t even matter. Kanye Omari West became rap royalty. He knew it. You knew it.
Thus, the post-MDBTF world seemed all too bleak. West’s own label produced a failed Cruel Summer while the emcee later went on to impregnate America’s most hated reality star. Kanye’s Twitter rants reached astonishing levels of ignorance and his Saturday Night Live performance gave a convincing argument that West belonged in a mental institution. The man even claimed a single Corbusier lamp inspired Yeezus. Fans saw June 18 as a date of impending doom rather than a celebration of another Kanye West album.
We should have known better.
“Bitch, I’m back out my coma”
Yeezus exposes an incredibly abnormal Kanye. It presents listeners with a persona held deep inside his sex-addled brain even further beyond his dark, twisted fantasy. Yeezus is West’s inner soul; a man so frightened by a reality which he created and seemingly can’t escape. Kanye, formerly omnipotent, now resembles a feeble creature who has finally experienced a moment of clarity — a groundbreaking revelation for someone who profusely disregards anything beyond his control.
Its sounds evoke a manic-depressive being stripped of everything once glorified. Voices are distorted beyond recognition, bass thumps like a nervous heart, and ominous string compositions are tightly compacted throughout this overwrought album. The surrounding noise behind Kanye paints a horrifying picture, as though his perverted life prevents him from looking in the mirror. Things that made the million-dollar man now stand as monuments to his life’s failures: cars, clothes, drugs, alcohol, and sexual conquests.
“New Slaves” emblemizes the record’s distinct sounds. A chilling rant that explores 21st century racism, “New Slaves” demonstrates just how tight fear’s grip has become around the emcee’s neck. ‘Ye raps about smashing reporters’ cameras and exclaiming “Y’all ni**as can’t fuck with me.” But does he even mean this? Among empty threats, Kanye now falters. As his attackers subside, the song reaches an anguished and cathartic end as uplifting guitar melodies surround him. He admits defeat, trying to achieve some form of reassurance by yelping an auto-tuned “I can’t lose!”
Sonically, Yeezus explores such a variety of instrumentation that one could hardly pin such work to Mr. West. It’s chaotic beyond his margins, a lone blip far away from his linear progression. Yet, the man behind this almost impenetrable mask must now seize his life before it is too late. Kanye West is now a father.
“Got the kids and wife life
But can’t wake up from the night life”
At 2012’s end, the entire world knew of Kim Kardashian’s future child with West. The most hedonistic American began a process that emotionally cripples even the sturdiest relationships. West must now be grounded, a theme heavily utilized throughout Yeezus.
On the surface, ‘Ye’s lyrics seem incredibly vapid, misogynistic, and ill-mannered. But the Kanye West portrayed in Yeezus intends much more for his poetry than degrading women or destroying expensive cars. He is finally addressing his cruel past, condensing it into its simplest terms. Gone are the days of singing about the good life or appreciating his mother. Now, his history terrorizes his mind so much that he says, “I go to sleep with a nightlight.”
On the album’s most provocative track, “I Am a God,” West attempts to relate to someone he considers his “most high.” His words appear specious, especially after snarling “Hurry up with my damn croissants.” But we, as listeners, look upon Kanye distraught with his god-like status. Immersed in demon-like shrills, West has to fiercely yell to demonstrate his status. Perhaps even he doesn’t think he’s a “close high” to Jesus.
For West, Yeezus is his final statement to release any skeletons from his closet. His sex-driven intentions, his previous lovers, his one night stands all needed to be publicly addressed before releasing his daughter unto a world trained to despise Kanye West.
“You say you know me, my ni**a
But you really just know the old me”
Yeezus represents a critical shift for rap and hip-hop’s future. Compared to his distinct, soul-driven sound, this album so drastically changes West’s image that he perhaps cannot even be considered the same person who produced the Grammy Award-winning College Dropout.
While Yeezus likely won’t gain the platinum certification of his previous records, it is certainly his most concerted and most innovative effort yet. The record embodies the progressive movement occurring within the underground rap scene, as has been the case with groups like Death Grips.
But coming from Kanye West, a man whose mainstream success has long been established, this album carries a tremendous weight. Hip hop’s largest figure has now effectively transformed conceptions regarding how one produces a rap album. West has now bridged the gap from everyone’s favorite rapper to avant-garde producer.
As such, Kanye will undoubtedly lose a large portion of his fan-base. Those who loved the soulful hooks of “The Glory” or the feel-good tempo of “Slow Jamz” will immediately shudder after the glitchy intro of “On Sight.” Yet, Yeezy will ultimately garner a tremendously diverse audience. Addicts of harsh noise, metal enthusiasts and even drone-heads can find solace in this amazing record.
***
I walked into FNAC, France’s equivalent of Best Buy, on June 18. It’s situated near le Tour de Montparnasse, one of Paris’s largest skyscrapers, and it is a short Metro ride away from Yeezus‘s recording site. The store overtly displays Daft Punk’s latest record, Random Access Memories, with a grandiose stand holding multiple copies brandishing the band’s classic helmet logo. It wasn’t until I went to the FNAC’s basement that I saw the cover-less jewel cases holding Yeezus tucked away in the corner.
“Le nouveau album de Kanye West!” a single placard read. I picked one off the shelf and the CD almost felt weightless. Devoid of a booklet, track listing, or album artwork, Yeezus hardly resembles its storeroom competitor. It looked as though the store had lost hope trying to sell the disc.
Perhaps this is what he meant when he said, “I’m … the anti-celebrity, and my music comes from a place of being anti.” And now, West has his wish: an album so visceral that even major record outlets refuse to promote it.
Yeezus