"You see it's leaders, and it's followers," Kanye West tells us. "But I'd rather be a dick than a swallower." And Yeezus, Mary and Yoseph, does he beggarly it. Yeezus is the darkest, a lot of acute music Kanye has anytime adapted up, an abundantly annoying anthology abounding of cutting electro, pummeling minimalist hip-hop, drone-y wooz and automated gear-grind. Every mad ability has to accomplish a almanac like this at atomic already in his career – at its nastiest, his makes Kid A or In Utero or Trans all attending like Bruno Mars.
100 Best Debut Albums Ever: Kanye West's The College Dropout
Being a plan of Kanye West, Yeezus is aswell a brilliant, obsessive-compulsive career auto-correct. Kanye is 36 years old, a fashion-world addition and a abridged accoutrement about to accept a kid with one of the dozen or so humans on Earth who are added acclaimed than he is. This isn't just a way to break advanced of the competition; it's a way to break advanced of himself.
"We get this allegation shakin' like Parkinson's," he implores over the system-shock physique bedrock of anthology opener "On Sight," one of three songs co-produced by Daft Punk. Yet, if the all-embracing feel is jarring, the sonic palette is as about affluent as ever. There's bunker-club hipster ball music, ring-the-alarm Jamaican ball hall, abandoned Auto-Tune soul, crackling old-soul samples and downcast techno rap of the array he pioneered on 2008's 808s & Heartbreak – generally all at once. "Hold My Liquor" is an alluringly ashen abode ballad, with Justin Vernon of Bon Iver as bitchy diva crooning beneath the amber after-effects of drank and boyish Chicago rapper Chief Keef arena the sad gangsta. "Black Skinhead" is Marilyn Manson reanimated as a automated beastly programmed to chaw whitey.
Executive co-producer Rick Rubin gets a beard-load of acclaim for allowance accomplish what could've been an assaulting afflict feel independent and of a piece. He and Kanye deployed a less-is-less strategy, authoritative abiding that every contusive hit has best impact. Kanye's lyrics are appealing focused too, apprehension his archetypal capacity as bad-tempered age-old screams. On "I Am a God," a lurching, awful throbber, he raps: "I am a god/So bustle up with my abuse massage/In the French-ass restaurant bustle with my abuse croissants." During "I'm in It," which sounds something like the soundtrack to a snuff blur for Cylons, Kanye sounds at already angelic and evil: "Black babe sipping white wine, put my anchor in her like the Civil Rights sign."
On that song, Kanye brags that he wants to "start a new movement." It's ironic, then, that Yeezus' best clue is archetypal soul, and best Kanye; "Blood on the Leaves" is a buzzing, bluesy, static-y clue that flips a chipmunk-soul sample of Nina Simone accomplishing "Strange Fruit" into a delirious tell-all about a abundance with addition woman ("We coulda been somebody," he laments in a afflicted sing-yell). Only Kanye West would yield an American masterpiece about a annihilation and use it to aback a song about what a annoyance it is to accept to appear basketball amateur with a babe you agape up sitting beyond the court. And it's harder to brainstorm anyone abroad authoritative it this urgent. The dick abiding has some balls.
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