Album Review
Kanye West Writes a Song of Himself on ‘Ye’
Bait and switch was a typically savvy move for Kanye West, whose new EP-length album, “Ye” — seven songs, 23 minutes long — was released on Friday. His production skills are matched by his gift for self-promotion. The rollout has trolled and roiled social media over the past few weeks as Mr. West wore a red Make America Great Again cap, exulted that he and President Trump share “dragon energy” and told TMZ that 400 years of slavery “sounds like a choice.” He also spoke in interviews about his hospitalization for mental problems in 2016, and about getting addicted to opioids after liposuction — topics that loom large on “Ye.”
Mr. West’s self-described “free thought” drew ample attention, including Twitter praise from the president and worries from hip-hop colleagues that his mental illness had worsened. The parallels between Mr. West and the president were clear. Both exploit the feedback loop of inflammatory statements and righteous reactions to stoke attention and present themselves as fearless. Both exult in fame and wealth and put feelings before facts. And both use contradictory pronouncements to cover all bases.
Before “Ye” appeared, Mr. West released an online single, “Ye vs. the People,” that had him debating the rapper T.I. over the symbolism of the cap. After Mr. West insists he “wore it, rocked it, gave it a new direction,” T.I. jabs, “You wore a dusty-ass hat to represent the same views/As white supremacy, man, we expect better from you,” and goes on to add, “You’re taking a bad idea and making it worse.”
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But politics have served largely as clickbait for the surprisingly slight “Ye,” which is part of a promised string of seven-song albums produced by Mr. West: Pusha-T’s “Daytona,” which was released May 25, to be followed by a Kid Cudi-Kanye West collaboration and releases from Nas and Teyana Taylor. While Mr. West’s previous releases have made musical leaps, “Ye” often comes across as a recap, revisiting the gospel mutations of his 2016 album “The Life of Pablo,” the revamped sweet soul of “The College Dropout,” the rock heft of “My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy” and the stark synthesizers of “Yeezus.”
On “Ye,” Mr. West’s focus is not on America but on his all-encompassing self-absorption: as a celebrity, a rapper enmeshed in beefs, a husband, a parent and a case study in bipolar disorder. The cover photo for “Ye” bears a handwritten message: “I hate being Bi-Polar its awesome.”
The album whipsaws between grandiosity and anxiety, though Mr. West’s self-regard easily prevails. “I got dirt on my name, I got white on my beard/I had debt on my books, it’s been a shaky-ass year,” Mr. West raps in “No Mistakes.” But soon afterward, he goes on to taunt, “I don’t take advice from people less successful than me.”
It’s the way Mr. West has always worked, bouncing confident assertions against his own questions, doubts and rebuttals. His hugely influential early production style found the sonic equivalent, deploying lush, nostalgia-triggering samples of vintage R&B hits and gospel affirmations against brittle new beats. He has since delved into ever more unexpected sources, sometimes abrasive and sometimes lavish; the sample credits on a Kanye West album are always far-flung and enlightening.
[Read Jon Caramanica’s report from Kanye West’s Wyoming listening party.]
On his early albums Mr. West was an underdog, fighting through the kind of obstacles his listeners might share. Then fame both emboldened and isolated him. His productions stayed innovative, but his lyrics could turn petty and boorish — exacerbated, apparently, by the bipolar disorder that Mr. West has said he was diagnosed with at age 40. (He turns 41 on Friday.)
Mr. West’s ups and downs dominate the songs on “Ye,” which has a hint of narrative, ascending from private desolation to familial comfort, only to end with a twist. Mr. West opens the album with a thesis: “The most beautiful thoughts are always besides the darkest.” The track is “I Thought About Killing You,” much of which is a spoken-word recitation about murderous and suicidal impulses over a cappella voices intoning, “I know, I know.”
In “Yikes,” a pulsing, plunging synthesizer bass line and echoing, hooting voices accompany Mr. West as he raps about drugs and fears — “sometimes I scare myself.” But he soon pivots to remark on the sexual misconduct accusations faced by the hip-hop mogul Russell Simmons and to boast about womanizing; at the end, he insists that being bipolar is a superpower, not a disability.
Mr. West brings up his “choice” comments in “Wouldn’t Leave” — not as a historical argument, but as proof of his audacity: “I said slavery a choice, they said, ‘How, Ye?’/Just imagine if they caught me on a wild day.” As the song continues, it mixes self-praise — “I got the mind state to take us to the stratosphere” — with thanks to his wife for staying with him, even if he embarrasses her and his public posturing jeopardizes their wealth. The production is gospelly and comforting; all that matters is domestic loyalty.
Although the songs admit to infidelities, it grows clear by the end of “Ye” that Mr. West clings to his family. And the songs improve as he incorporates women’s perspectives alongside his own. “Ghost Town” — built on thick, dramatic psychedelic guitar and organ buildups sampled from Vanilla Fudge — is a montage of unfulfilled yearnings that culminates in the album’s most striking cameo, from the teenage New Jersey rapper and singer 070 Shake. Battling apathy and numbness, she belts, “I put my hand on a stove to see if I still bleed/And nothing hurts anymore, I feel kind of free.”
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