Woo, Yeezus. One of the most challenging albums I’ve heard (and actually enjoyed). It doesn’t help matters that Kanye West himself has become a more challenging guy to appreciate than ever, but I’m going to set that aside for now and just focus on Yeezus in its own context, at least as much as I’m able to.
From the start, Yeezus is disorienting and confrontational. That’s not to say it’s some completely uncommercial experimental album, but it’s also not designed to be a friendly listen. If 808s and Heartbreak was expanding who Kanye West could be and My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy was a celebration of his accomplishments, then Yeezus is a furious assault on his past work, his fanbase, and even himself. Try to ignore the comically excessive bragging and boasting on “I Am a God” and “New Slaves” and just listen. Does this sound like a guy who’s having a good time? Beneath the uber-horny hyper-masculine bluster, Yeezus contains a barrage of negative emotions: anger, paranoia, and resentment abound. It’s the most aggressively misogynistic album Kanye ever made (which is saying something) and the lyrics tend towards vulgarity more than any coherent theme, but honestly, that matches what’s going on here sonically. This is the psyche of a man enraged by the world he lives in, one where he’s shattered every barrier to success and still feels like a second-class citizen in his own country, without a single real friend or even a real peer. (Note the crushing loneliness of “I Am a God”—he’s so arrogant that it’s made him despondent.) Pretty much all he’s got left to say now is some variation of “fuck all y’all.”
The music itself is in a continual feedback loop with the troubled emotional state of the songs, and it sounds like nothing Kanye had done before. It’s full of chopped-up electronic noise, grinding synths and guitars, eerily empty spaces, screams and roars shoved through AutoTune. By the time we finally reach some familiar territory in the chipmunk soul of “Bound 2,” the song almost feels like a cruel mockery of his old work, a final goodbye to the awkward guy in the pink polo that he started out as. Now we’re left with this snarling megalomaniac, lost in his own myth, endlessly chasing highs at the cost of his own family, and apparently in love with Hitler. You listen to this album and it really shouldn’t be a shock that Kanye turned into what he is, he’s always been almost *too* honest about himself—after all, his masterpiece, Runaway, is a self-pitying confession about what a bad person he is… but I digress.
One thing I want to highlight is the way Kanye sometimes breaks the hostile environment with sudden and emotive interludes: see the children’s choir in “On Sight,” the arena-rock finale of “New Slaves,” or the gospel bridge of “Bound 2.” It’s hard for me to identify why these sections work so well for me, even though they’re usually completely out of step with the songs they’re included in. A reprieve from the harsh sound font of the album? A reminder that there’s still some light among the darkness? I just like the melodies? Maybe all of the above, but whatever the reason is, they’re among the album’s most memorable moments. Many of these songs live on contrasts, the switch between soft and sharp, and the execution of that idea is pretty great.
I don’t love Yeezus. It would take someone made of tougher stuff than me to love an album with this many jagged edges, that goes out of its way to spit in your face so often. But I do admire it, because in a musical world increasingly defined by the monotony that the streaming economy rewards, Yeezus sticks out as a legitimately bold move. I can’t think of an artist today with the sort of stature that Kanye had in 2013 who would release something this intense and unusual. It isn’t my favorite Kanye album, but it probably represents his peak as an artist who commanded real respect and attention. Now he commands none of either, and that just makes Yeezus even more of a feel-bad album than it already was. Would be a shame if he didn’t deserve it.
Best song: Blood on the Leaves