(You might even convince yourself.) No, I mean the literal sound of his rapping voice. I think it’s tight that he says he’s the best at everything because here is a little secret about saying you’re the best at everything: People believe you sooner or later. Let's Talk About Kanye's Voice, by Rebecca Haithcoat Kanye creates #moments, and this one is captured forever in all of its confused, sacrilegious bombast.īriana Younger is a writer living in Washington, DC. I'm on the fence as to whether this mess of a rollout has managed to overshadow the album itself-both are evidence of an egregious battle between superego and id-but perhaps that's irrelevant. The fact that TLOP sounded incredible through a bootleg rip of a stream is either a testament to its quality, proof of our desperation for Kanye to be whatever we want him to be, or some combination of the two. Though this is hardly the “old Kanye” he apparently resents, at once TLOP presents as an attempted patchwork of all the best versions of himself: the pretentious and often obscene grime of Yeezus, the emo minimalism of 808s, the ambitious imagination of MBDTF and, occasionally, the endearing magnetism of his original trilogy. The inclusion of Kelly Price, Kirk Franklin, testimonies and choirs serving God's Property realness throughout is overwhelmingly captivating and creates many of the album's highest points. To be fair, this is the same man who put a hymn on his debut, so perhaps I shouldn't have been so skeptical. I stood corrected in about the first 90 seconds.
My eyes nearly rolled out of my head when Kanye West tweeted that The Life of Pablo-it was Waves at the time-was a gospel album. Kanye's Personal Universe-Spanning The Life of Pablo, by Briana Younger But more than that stuff, Kanye’s great because every time he puts out a record it feels like a total sonic recalibration for hip-hop-now, rap must sound like goth-gospel (gothpel?), and if anyone has a problem with it, well, it’s too bad because that’s just what we’re all doing now, excuse me while I change into this burlap sack and go pick up the Yeezy Boosts that Taylor Swift’s little brother threw in the trash.ĭrew Millard is a writer living in LA. Et cetera, et cetera, et cetera, spiraling on into infinity until we’ve all maxed out our credit cards buying Kanye’s fashion-brown clothes that kind of make you look like Dobby the house elf. His near-Knausgaardian confessional-in which he admits to worrying his wife might divorce him and drops a Lexapro reference for all the real heads-is called, bless Yeezy’s heart, “FML.” “Freestyle 4” is actually the eighth song.
He turns Young Thug into the new Kirk Franklin on “Highlights,” a song you might recognize from your Twitter feed as The One Where He Disses Kim (as opposed to The One Where He Says He’s Gonna Fuck Taylor Swift). 1,” which is straight-up goddamn gospel music. He gleefully uses the image of getting stained by a model’s bleached asshole as the rising action in “Father Stretch My Hands Pt. Rather than create a neat little persona or make overtures at obscuring the less savory elements of his being, Kanye West really lets you into every little nook and cranny of his psyche, even when those nooks and crannies make you go “AH FUCK DUDE WHAT THE FUCK.” This is one of my favorite things about Kanye, and The Life of Pablo proves Kanye is a goddamn sensei at this particular brand of contradiction. Kanye West's Game-Changing Contradictions, by Drew Millard
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