Album Review: "Ye" Reveals What It’s Like Being Kanye West... and Yikes

On Ye, Kanye makes it all about himself, and for once, it’s in the good way.

Kanye West is no journalist. We learnt that in 2005, on "Diamonds from Sierra Leone", when he reframed the blood diamond trade as a personal struggle to justify his jewellery.

We were reminded he’s no journalist this year, when he defended "half" of what Donald Trump does, without naming specifics, and then went on TMZ to suggest slavery was "a choice".

Getting your news from Kanye is like getting your hip-hop from InfoWars: not nearly as funny as you'd hope.

And yet, on the practically self-titled Ye (which comes with cover art he photographed in Wyoming, where the album was recorded), he’s a war correspondent, coming to you from the front lines of the emotionally fraught battle inside himself.

Now, Ye reporting on Ye? That’s where he’s a Viking.

(Coarse language warning.)

His eighth album steers clear of his recent enraging political tweets, focusing inward. (There’s weight to the theory his comments are part of an elaborate performance art stunt. Then again, Yeezus used the language and imagery of slavery to rage against his inability to sell sneakers. With that in mind, his latest complaints are pretty on-brand.) 

How inward? Ye’s cover art reads, "I hate being Bi-Polar it’s awesome", in the wake of a public breakdown and time spent in hospital. He declares his new diagnosis a "superpower" on second track, "Yikes", and touches on what may have become a fatal Fentanyl addiction. Ye also mercifully leaves off the unlistenable early tease "Ye vs. the People" featuring T.I. (making T.I., unexpectedly, a more compelling presidential candidate), and "Lift Yourself", which ruined an industrial beat with his trolling lyrics, "Poopy-di scoop", meaning Ye is friendly territory, sonically and lyrically, with reliable appearances from old mates Kid Cudi, Francis and the Lights and Nicki Minaj (via voicemail).

This familiarity will come as a relief to hand-wringing fans, and as a disappointment to those who needed something world-shaking to ever consider listening to him again. Unfortunately, you can't separate the art from the artist. In fact, on Ye, the art explains the artist. West wants to be a "free thinker", and, fully free, he spends all 24 minutes of his short album rapping about himself, making penis puns, reminding everyone he loves Meet the Parents and joking about his brother-in-law. Miss the Old Kanye? Seems he was hiding in Wyoming.

(Coarse language warning.)

Despite producing the entirety of Pusha T’s own Wyoming production DAYTONA, Kanye leans on hit maker Benny Blanco here, along with regular collaborator Mike Dean. The most innovative they get is with a spoken-word poem on the menacing, early-Tyler-the-Creator-esque opener "I Thought About Killing You", where Kanye's modulated voice mulls over murder. "I think about killing myself, and I love myself way more than I love you, so…" he muses. It’s kind-of a joke, but also, I believe him.

If you’re scanning through this review to see when he makes his apology, you’re not going to get it. Kanye’s regret refractory period is infamous, so you’ll have to hop in line behind Taylor Swift. He saves his sorries for wife Kim Kardashian—without uttering the word "sorry"—marvelling at how she stayed by him during the rollout for Ye on "Wouldn’t Leave". Nonetheless, it can’t be a coincidence that the title, sample and opening words of the next tune are "No Mistakes". Both deploy The Life of Pablo’s gospel choirs alongside the chipmunk-soul samples and drum-machine claps of The College Dropout.

Penultimate song "Ghost Train" is the highlight; a fuzzed out and sparse heart-pounder that comes closest to the triumphant release of the breakdown to "Famous", on which West sang, "We never gonna die". That said, the message on "Ghost Train" is quite the opposite, with Kanye reflecting on his near-death experiences, and with scene-stealing guest 070 Shake crying, "I put my hand on a stove, to see if I still bleed/ Nothing hurts anymore, I feel kinda free." Cudi, who has wrestled with his own mental health struggles, gets a mournful refrain: "I've been tryin' to make you love me/ But everything I try just takes you further from me." It’s the saddest sing-along of the year, and Ye’s singular moment of transcendence.

Closer "Violent Crimes" is basically Kanye's slow realisation his baby girl will one day grow up to be a Kardashian. Imagine John Mayer’s "Daughters", reimagined as a rap-lullaby, which should sound like the literal soundtrack to hell, but is actually just fine. However, it inches uncomfortably towards racial respectability politics—perhaps a lingering influence of Candace Owens, of whom Kanye is a fan, and was maybe first floated on the 'bootstraps' anthem "Lift Yourself"—and calls on the regressive idea that men can only appreciate women after they’ve sired their own. At least on "Violent Crimes" and elsewhere, Kanye’s copping to his flaws: "Father, forgive me, I'm scared of the Karma." Oh, I guess he does apologise. Now the question is, will fans stay, like Kim, or leave?

3.5/5

Ye is now available.

(Coarse language warning.)

Photo: GOOD Music