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7.03.2013

Race in Music, and How I Understand Kanye West's "Yeezus"

The floodgates of public opinion have split open in the two weeks since the release of Yeezus, Kanye West’s sixth solo LP. As has become the norm in recent years, a new Kanye record serves as the siren call for all music bloggers, professional critics, and fellow artists to awaken and publish their best reviews as soon as humanly possible.  I am now one of them. This is my first post for Elaine and Shane Review Things. Let’s have fun with it.

Yeezus ventures outside of the comfort zones of the casual rap listener and doesn't offer the sort of radio play quality that Kanye’s mastered with his past records. It dropped on June 18th without a pre-release single and without pre-sales.  Video projections on buildings across the country of Kanye performing “New Slaves” and a single performance of the same song  and “Black Skinheads” on Saturday Night Live served as the only media indulgences of Kanye for his new LP.  Anticipation was extremely high for what seemed a game-changer in the catalog of Kanye West.

When the record leaked four days before the official release, however, public reaction was extremely mixed. Yeezus offered almost none of the enjoyable lyrics and smooth, bombastic sound of Kanye’s prior work, and those who were anticipating it as simply a darker dance- and house-focused extension of previous Kanye sounds were quickly turned off. First-week sales were the lowest of any Kanye solo album—partially because of the leak, of course, but also because Kanye deliberately eschewed mainstream radio approval in favor of a more intense and ultimately, more meaningful sound.

Many critics have hailed it as the best record of the year, setting a clear divide in response between casual listeners and those more invested in understanding Kanye’s intent. Name your favorite music blog—I can guarantee that they gave Yeezus a glowing review. Praise fell on Kanye for making a record specifically crafted to get a strong, divisive reaction. It was hailed as a brand new step for a man known for his adventurous output. 

Even still, I wonder if we’re neglecting to recognize how important this record can be. I think Yeezus stands as more than just a vibrant shift from the norm in Kanye’s sound. The departure from his past moods isn't to tap into a new idea and add another level to his established style. Instead, Yeezus is close to an absolute abandonment of his work in the past in favor of a new minimalism that can flesh out his thematic anger. Kanye’s emphasis on racism has been noted by many in their praise of the album, but I want to take that acknowledgement a step further. It’s more than what we’ve been making it out to be. Yeezus is a premier record on the pervasive racism of America, and one that, in terms of vision and effectiveness, stands heads and shoulders above the rest of rap music right now.

The most apt way to describe Yeezus is “brutal”. The minimalist sound developed by Kanye and super-producer Rick Rubin booms over dead space in each song, and by the diminishing of his album's landscapes (perhaps best illustrated on “News Slaves” or “I Am a God”), Kanye creates massive clashes, primal screams, and furious lyrics that hit the listener with a sickening emotional force.  That said, this is still classic Kanye—it’s impossible to listen to most of these songs and not immediately vibe with them. (If you can listen to “Blood on the Leaves” and not feel the urge to scream your lungs out after the Hudson Mohawke beat hits, you don’t have a pulse.)

Yeezus is an emotionally exhausting listen, especially when one considers what the sounds and lyrics reveal about Kanye’s psyche.  It’s evident from the start that Kanye is facing a quasi-existential crisis on Yeezus.  In the first lines of the album he rejects the very same fashion-centric lifestyle he’s personally centralized in the rap world (“Fuck whatever y’all been hearing/fuck what, fuck whatever y’all been wearing”), a statement heightened by all-black, all-basic fashion choices for his media appearances on SNL and in his video projections across the country.  Kanye isn’t looking to redefine rap fashion with his understated dress; he wants to ignore it.  At the same time, his sexual imagery is as violent as the beats it flows over, and coupled with his tirades against historical and contemporary racism, presents the idea of a man who cannot find peace in his personal relationships nor in his relationship with the greater America. If it wasn’t already clear from the anti-marketing campaign before Yeezus’ release, Kanye isn’t trying to be the same man he’s been on his past five LPs. 

These three factors of Yeezus—rejecting many qualities of “past” Kanye, confronting institutionalized racism, and using his relationships with women as another showcase for the violence of his mentality—are stirred together to create an album that brings out Kanye’s wrath in full force. Kanye distances himself from emotional connections with the women in his life, using objectification and dismissal often to make women the victims in his narrative. By paralleling his unstable sexual relationships with American racism, Kanye seems to use his treatment of women as a metaphor for the historical treatment of African-Americans by the white majority.  “Blood on the Leaves” best encapsulates this parallel: Kanye laments the trappings of his relationships with women in between the high-pitched sampling of Nina Simone’s “Strange Fruit”, one of the most poignant songs ever written about black suffering in the South. The synthesis of the two concepts both heightens the grotesqueness of Kanye’s own relationships and brings historical black suffering into a contemporary context. It seems he wants us to know that the lynching so tragically described in “Strange Fruit” has a contemporary relation.  Whether it’s appropriate for Kanye to relate his lady problems to “Strange Fruit” in such a manner is a question ignored; on this album, Kanye has control, and the more uncomfortable he can make us with the person he has become and the message he represents, the more effective his music is.


This is why Kanye's abandonment of his past styles is so important for his attack on the racist American narrative. Gone is the 'Louis Vuitton Don' who wove together his own sense of fashion with casual assessments of the American cultural landscape.  On Yeezus, references to clothing and consumerism are either absent or almost entirely oriented toward the black experience.  Perhaps (and of course, this is guesswork) he sees in his own status as a wealthy black American rapper too many indicators of the dangerous route set by institutional racism in the U.S., in which case he may believe the best way to solidify his hatred of the status quo is to reject the norms of his own status and of the music industry.  By reveling in his self-abdication, Kanye can create something larger than himself: an album that speaks not only to the flaws of a single man, but also to the contemporary system that encourages the exacerbation of those flaws. Money, clothes, and women are three of the largest pillars of mainstream rap, and rap’s common prioritization of the three perpetuates the type of racist philosophy that Kanye finds endemic to America on “New Slaves”: “You see it’s broke n**** racism, that’s that ‘Don’t touch anything in the store’/And it’s rich n**** racism, that’s that ‘Come in and please buy more/What you want, a Bentley, fur coat, a diamond chain?/All you blacks want all the same things’”. Only by rejecting much of what has helped define the persona of Kanye West in the past—fashion; money; smooth, bombastic production—can Kanye enable his album to speak from a perspective removed from the idea of ‘Kanye West, the individual’. He can speak with a voice louder than his own, one that is better suited to make such an indictment of the current American system. Thus, the treatment of Yeezus as a powerful critique depends on us hearing the speaker not as the Kanye West we’ve known before, but as someone different, whose internal perversion allows him to recognize similar perversions reflected in American culture.  Tell me I'm reading too far into this, but I'm seeing the new Kanye a figure unparalleled in his music's message in the current mainstream.

6.30.2013

Review: East Dallas Gallery Day from the perspective of an intern whose baseline panic level is pretty high


[The following is a last-minute writing sample I used to get an editorial internship recently but I promise our precious reader babies that my next review will be specifically written for this blog.]

Gallery Day is an annual event established last year in Dallas in an effort to encourage visitors to come out and look at art in spite of the summertime heat. The following is a recap of East Dallas Gallery Day, which took place on June 1, 2013, from the perspective of a social anxiety-prone gallery assistant/intern whose baseline panic level is pretty high.

The night before Gallery Day, I may have tipsily driven home at 1:00 AM from A-Kon 24. But I woke up early Saturday morning, without the help of an alarm and full of anxious energy. After stopping at Starbucks, avoiding eye contact with a girl I knew in the 9th grade, and audibly muttering, "please kill me" in response to the wait time in line, I am the first arrive at the gallery at 10:11. Luckily, I have a key (either because one time the director gave it to me and forgot to ask for it back or he trusts me - only time will tell). The floor is strewn with unpacked gift bags and the walls are bare. Gallery Day is set to begin in two hours.

My panic levels slowly decrease between 10:30 and 12:00 from "This is the worst thing ever, I'm going to pass out" to "OK maybe this will be OK." Artist Billy Zinser arrives at the gallery and miraculously installs 30 of his paintings in under two hours while I literally work up a sweat stuffing T-shirts and postcards into 250 gift bags. By 11:30, a group of very hip teens is gazing into the gallery, obviously having overestimated the difficulty of obtaining a free gift bag at noon. Someone who is less stressed out than me under the scrutiny of very hip teens jokes, "fucking vultures."

I make a trip out to deliver gift bags and try to convince myself that I'm not running that behind schedule. After having survived a terrifying experience in which my car nearly ran out of gas in old East Dallas, I arrive back at the gallery where things seem to be running smoothly. Small groups of visitors stream in and out of the gallery at a steady pace. Zinser's paintings, it seems, are attractive to collectors and casual visitors alike. They are small in scale and sensuous in color and texture (one gallery-goer referred to them as "juicy"), less traditional painting than curious art object.

A couple of hours later, we are making last-minute preparations for the opening reception. I buy ice from the liquor store across the street for what feels like the third time of the day and say "Hi again!" to the cashier. She does not smile back.

Throughout the day, I walk past The Common Desk (a new, hip "cooperative workspace" next door to the gallery) on my way to perform miscellaneous intern duties. They are having a party. Music is perpetually blaring out from their propped-open door while small groups of people loiter and drink beer on the sidewalk. Before the opening reception, I am sent to The Common Desk to make copies of a price list. I feel the same kind of apprehension I experience before I knowingly crash a party at school. Fortunately, rather than kicking me out, the receptionists politely respond to my request and help me make copies while I watch tipsy 30-year olds play beer pong.

At 5:00, the lone food truck that did not bail on Gallery Day for KXT Summer Cut rolls up in front of the gallery. Fortunately, it is an ice cream truck, and their menu says that two of their flavors are caffeinated. When I ask an ice cream truck employee to elaborate on this fact, she points at a sticker on the window that proclaims one scoop of caffeinated ice cream "equals" one energy drink. I don't drink energy drinks, but one time I had a quarter of a can of 4Loko at a Titus Andronicus concert and literally felt like I was going to die. I ask whether it is possible to get a "half scoop" of the caffeinated ice cream and am told that it is not. I eat a full scoop of caffeinated ice cream and wonder whether my heartbeat is speeding up or whether I am just being paranoid.

When the opening reception officially begins, it is my cue that it is OK for me to start drinking wine. The gallery fills up quickly. I recognize a lot of people - artists, art dealers, journalists, and collectors, people that I vaguely remember shaking hands with - that probably don't know who I am. I am a fly on the wall, watching a small portion of Dallas' elite milling about and schmoozing with hipsters bumming around for the free beer. Small colored dots appear on the wall next to Zinser's paintings, indicating that they have been sold.

I'm on my second glass (read: plastic cup) of red wine when the director appears before me and tells me to keep an eye on the paintings, because, apparently, three gallery-goers have "already touched the paintings." Evidence of one of these instances is a smudge of green paint on the back of the gallery's floating wall. I impulsively think, "Who the fuck touches paintings at an art gallery?" and must appear visibly disturbed, because the director shrugs and says, "I know."

Over the course of the next two hours, I "keep an eye on the paintings," drink more wine, and feel impressed with myself whenever I am able to help a visitor. You know what they say - time flies when you're buzzed at an art gallery. At 8:30, I excuse myself to go eat nachos and drink some more beer and then return to A-Kon. The party never ends.