“Yeezus”: The Minimal Review | If you will….
Well, the mark of what you seem to know as the “Ye complex” has arrived, and has taken full affect. I have never offered my words, or thoughts of the artist’s rapport on this diary, but of course, when social tempo changes, when there is a shift, I feel as if I must present, my perspective or repose. There has been so much already stated about Mr. West’s new album, composition of sounds, foreignly built and cohesively constructed sonically, but what there seems to be a lack of, is the singularity, the recognition of the independence of this album.
One thing, well one of the many aspects of analysis, which places an immense distaste in my mouth, is the method of comparing an artist’s present work to that of their former pieces, as if the recent presentation, lives in the shadow of the work done before. As modern as we seem to believe we are, we find ourselves stuck in modes of comparison, locked in positions of understanding the anatomy of an artist’s full body of work, than what he/she has to say now. Such feelings, well thoughts, existence, hurts the progression of art. As avant as this may feel, you may believe, the understanding today, is progressively marking/pushing artist’s to new heights, I dare to say it is not. We are scarred by the categorical imperative, we are whipped by finding relativity, mauled with the desire, for the new creations to follow in the steps of the old. But what is the concept of new without acknowledging the precedent, the one before you, who knows… What I do know, is that West’s new composition has fallen to the pangs of such idea, as many critics find it probable and feasible to compare, the artist’s previous albums to the brash, industrial, manic, alert, wide-eyed symphonic mode of Yeezus.
Recent interviews, have shed light on Kanye West’s, contextual formula for the album: Chi-town humanitarianism, anger, architecture, Parisian influence, and last but not least masterful anecdotes of producers finding themselves in the room, creating what will seem as, melodies composed from the depths of the last ring of Dante’s Inferno. To critique, the composition by lyricism and sonic production, seems to do little justice, as each element enhances the thesis of the album’s creative director: “A big f*ck you” as told by Kanye; when delivering the two, there is a distinct measure between what is being said and what is being heard.
On Sight: “Yeezy season, approaching fuck whatever, y’all been hearing, fuck what, fuck whatever y’all been wearing, the monster about to come alive again” – Kanye West..xx
Murky, in-depth, beat intrusion, monochromatic drum patterns, easily rub the back of ‘Ye’s prose throughout the album, as the verbal assault, periodically glances back to, make sure, the sonics are doing the right techniques, to ease the presented knots of impulsive snares and horns. Okay, maybe less romanticism, and more drug-fueled, lights, screams of anxiety and pains of social rumination of where to go creatively, this album shrieks contemplation, with the wealthiest of tools: music. The album’s standout tracks are few and far in between, simply because each piece is another pillar of the statement, an essay, or article of retention, freedom artistically, spiritually and oppression, layered into a ten part, renaissance of rage.
My particular favorites are: “Send it Up” the horns, fail to waive, demanding as much attention as the verses of both King Louie, West and the coveted Beenie Man sample from his, 1995 classic, “Stop Live In A De Past”. “Guilt Trip”, mainly because of the synths, oozing the cry of a wailing melody, provided by Kid Cudi, on the other hand, this has to be the third time, I have heard the Young Chop/Mike Dean assisted: Blocka composition, used in a volatile manner. “New Slaves” of course hits home, lyrically but the minimalism, so intricately infused into the origins of the album, stares at you, grabbing your hand, tightly in a masterful grip, with the spoken word of ‘Ye’s nepotism, his communal relativity with the issues of the world and the color black.
Maybe this was a rant, who knows, and even this review will never serve as a complete statement of understanding of the dynamics of Yeezus, but the manner in which you begin to understand the equation, of using time as a rule of thumb but not a margin of relativity, I may be denoting a theory of some philosopher, scientist somewhere in the world. But, when it comes to art, the vein of creativity, let the moment stand as history and the past serve as the foundation…xx