Kanye… *sighs*

With the release of Ye, the second in a series of LPs (or really amped up EPs, depending on how you look at it) to be released in June by GOOD Music, all helmed by Kanye at the producer’s desk, it seems like every major music publication has got their resident weary Kanye fan to get back to it and write another review of what they know to be some sort of indisputable masterpiece, in spite of the egomaniac who created it.

I know this because Kanye fans, even closeted fans, have some very clear, almost inevitable tells. The most important of these is going to be the ‘liking Kanye is so hard‘ argument that usually comes towards the beginning of the four-star (three point five if he’s a very resilient Kanye fan) review. The Kanye fan is a miserable soul, burdened with having to reconcile their appreciation for his unfettered genius with their disdain for literally anything he does other than make music. And there’s always something.

Stage-invading during the heart(emoji)felt acceptance speech of that everlasting cutie Taylor Swift at the VMAs to say Beyonce should’ve won that award is reprehensible to the Kanye fan but after a few years and in the right circles, understandable and forgivable. I mean, ‘why you gotta be so mean, Kanye?’ but still, even though it isn’t said, it is rationalised into Kanye’s public persona. We all know who Beyonce is. We all know who JAY-Z is. We sure as hell know who Kanye is. We understand these people in relation to each other. We know that Queen Bey being spurned for anybody (let alone bubblegum teen cuteness sensation Tay Tay) tickles Kanye in those regressive cultural meme centres where he is most vulnerable. Family. Loyalty. Community. Standing up for all of the above. This is the way Kanye operates.

Everything he’s ever done since has been rationalised internally (on the outside, it’s just not talked about because this is a review of the music dammit, not the person!) along similar lines. It’s violent and offensive but hey, it’s at least consistent.

Till it stopped being consistent. Till it began to get really hazy who Kanye West was really standing up for. Did Kanye stop loving you like he loved Kanye and end up only just loving Kanye?

There has always been some confluence between the (revolutionary, excellent and groundbreaking) music Kanye has produced and the strange things he does when he’s not producing music. Now Kanye wants to tell you why he’s been doing what he’s doing the way he knows best: couched between meticulously sampled, artfully placed beats and punchlines like “I love your t******s ’cause they prove I can focus on two things at once.” (which in spite of everything, you have to admit, is uproariously funny). So, business as usual.

But is Kanye West really the revolutionary genius he claims he is?

I – idk probably 

We can try and argue our way around this for sure but beyond a level we’ll hit the rock solid dry-wall of the fact that nearly every trend that has shaken hip-hop up since the early 2000s was engineered by Kanye. He brought sampling back in a major way with his production on JAY-Z’s Blueprint and we haven’t  quite been able to go back to the drums and keyboard soundscape since. His bright, funny and often bitingly ironic chipmunk soul made it okay to write songs about things other than bling…you know, like Jesus and spaceships and an unromanticised approach to drug-dealing.

And then there was 808s which was him singing really really really sad songs about his life falling apart and synthpop was never the same thing again. And also, it was cool not to write songs about your own emotional vulnerability. Go back in time and kill Kanye and Drake would still be consuming copious amounts of maple syrup (isn’t that what one does in Canada?) and The Weeknd wouldn’t be a thing.

The maximalism of My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy came and went, and suddenly strings-sections were literally everywhere.

We’re still ostensibly living in the post Yeezus epoch where precise, industrial beats and Daft Punk beep-boops form a nearly inalienable part of the modern hip-hop soundscape.

The Kanye West story is a fascinating one where a young man from Chicago wearing pink polo shirts selling his own beats-CDs from his backpack (think Ed Sheeran’s work ethic minus the faux-humility) came to redefine what can and cannot be considered good art in this genre.

The revolution with Life of Pablo is a little more complex and a little less influential. It is a mostly personal turnaround where a producer known for his perfectionism decides perfection doesn’t quite describe his own state of mind. It is a jagged and misshapen piece of work, highs jutted awkwardly with the lows. And the usual last minute changes reflected not the refinement to an impossible perfection they usually did but rushing out an imperfect album. Because Kanye’s mind is as volatile and fickle ref. his personal life. And his latest record Ye is very much an extension of that. So what’s the revolution there?

II – it’s still there but it may not be the music 

Kanye has a revolutionary new idea. A 7-track LP. Maybe a couple of tracks longer and more defined than an EP but three songs shy of the shortest possible average LP. And this push towards minimalism is definitely a trend. Since Yeezus, sparse, less-is-more tracks have always been a part of the Kanye sound. He now plans to do it by releasing five such LPs in the span of a month, one by him, one by him and Kid Cudi, one by Teyana Taylor (for which I am most hyped), one by Nas and the one that started it all, Daytona by Pusha T.

III – Daytona by Pusha T

I have to admit, going into this record, I knew very little about Pusha T. I had heard of his being given the reigns to the Kanye chariot, GOOD Music in 2015 but I had never taken the time to listen to any of his work and I don’t know if that matters. Probably not. The reviewers say his previous solo LPs (since his split from the duo Clipse with his brother) were full of staggering promise but the lows of those albums (purportedly a couple of detours into RnB fluff) dampened the potential of the highs. Daytona is like a continuous high.

If Kanye wanted to sell this 7 track concept to me, I don’t think he could’ve done it better than with this album. Pusha’s identity is based around this narcotics-peddling narrative which in this world of sci-fi mumblerap (New Freezer, anyone?) is charming in a very old world sort of way. He tells us he’s sold more dope than Easy E which is so cute because I don’t know if the rap audience that demands street-cred in such a streety sort of way even exists anymore. And this project is lovingly molded by the able hands of that delightful polo-shirt clad right-wing “genius” provocateur Kanye West who’s about as divorced from the street at this point as Brad is from Angelina.

Separate from its subject matter, Pusha’s flow is, though at first unobtrusive and rarely calling attention to itself, masterfully confident. He’s aware of the ‘sport’ of hip-hop being in the metaphors and he plays with a quiet, experiential grace. Not that you’ll listen to a lot of the specific words the first time around because this is without a doubt an Old-Kanye masterpiece. He doesn’t try to create a sound so much as perfect the sound that already exists around Pusha’s voice which reveals that he’s still got that appreciation for and skill with meddling in and around human vocals so few producers operating at his level have. There’s this nigh-indescribable smudge where crisp samples not only apt for their choice but for their precise placement coalesce with tight, sometimes mischievously rococo beats and a creamy wall of bass, all of which maneuvers carefully around Pusha’s voice, connecting one song to the next to make a 7 track LP that feels like a definitive, epochal hip-hop event.

The subject and grander thematic concern of it all is where this gets weird because that’s where this juxtaposition between him and Kanye gets really incomprehensible. ‘I’m real because I sell drugs’, as messages go, is in poor taste but perhaps less so than the ‘misogyny is my DNA’ his producer-boss has been toying around with for a good few years now. But Kanye’s the guy who wrote those very measured songs about how important it was to work your way up from there and all that. He seemed to start with ambitions to rise well above the street.

Pusha wants us to know how on-the-ground he still is. If you know him from the Drake feud, that’s a pretty significant part of the album. Which gets even weirder because the emotional sad-rap ostensibly disconnected from the black cultural and economic reality (or at least that’s probably how Pusha would have you see it) Drake got rich off of is on the firm foundation Kanye laid. Even when Kanye was last on the ground (which was probably eighteen years ago) his eyes were firmly heaven-bound.

This gets even weirder when you look at Kanye’s guest verse in the fascinating song, What Would Meek Do (which is a sort of meditation on his moral compass after he became a rap-star). Pusha’s own narrative of making a lot of money and buying diamonds and being the best would be simple, were it not for an opening line I may be reading a little too much into: “I’m top five and all of them Dylan.”

This is a reference to a Dave Chappelle sketch from the cancelled Chappelle Show where he plays an off-the-rails, egotistical Dylan who says the five greatest rappers of all time are all him.

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This is too clever to be a hollow chest puff. There’s something so delightfully tongue in cheek about prefacing your claim to GOAThood by saying you’re Chappelle-Dylan. I don’t think Pusha thinks he’s the GOAT. I don’t think he even particularly wants to be. But after he finishes his beautifully flowing claim to greatness, he defers to the captain of the ship, Kanye West who finally tells us what’s been going on with his life.

IV – what’s up, kanye? 

First of all, Kanye’s too smart for any of you peasants to even understand, apparently. Also, his MAGA hat is great ’cause he’s not stopped by the police for being black anymore so…yay. Also, what would Pac say? In case you didn’t know, Tupac is rap’s catch all  messiah symbol. Nobody knows what he’d say but invoking his name is like a finishing move. What is Kendrick Lamar unfollowing you on twitter and Chance’s obvious unsettled shame in light of Pac’s alleged posthumous support of whatever it is Kanye’s doing.

Also Kanye doesn’t want you to call him crazy as an excuse for what he’s doing because he’s basically going to do that to himself in his own 7 track LP.

V – ye 

That last sentence was offensive and unfair. Ye is not as hamfisted as I was then about dealing with its subject matter. It’s about Kanye being bi-polar and it’s awesome. Ye is seven tracks of decay, violence, ugliness, you-hate, self-hate and fear for his daughter’s life.

It’s very good. It’s nowhere near as finely tuned as Daytona but I don’t think Kanye wants it to be because it’s a spiritual sequel to Pablo in that it’s a glimpse into Kanye’s crumbling edifice of a mind (I guess). It certainly sounds like that sometimes. It’s convincingly poignant about the loops of hate and love he’s caught in. Written last week, apparently, it feels recent, responsive and spontaneous.

It’s also not really a very convincing excuse. Ye being an absolutely necessary portrayal of mental illness in an industry that’s still struggling to get over it’s anxieties about women is important but this whole project suffers from the baggage of having to address Kanye’s past couple of months and how all these things connect.

I was waiting for something musically revolutionary. Something that would reveal the past few months (especially hard on Kanye fans) to be a phenomenal, performance-art prelude to rap’s new genre-defining masterpiece. That didn’t happen. Like every reviewer says, it feels like a Kanye shrug.

And now everyone who’s been holding on will begin their own mental Wexit. It’s time to cancel Kanye.

VI – moving on 

Will this experiment change music forever? It might, to be honest. It can be very good when done right. I can think of a number of records that would’ve benefited from the 7-track chopping block. Maybe the Teyana Taylor album would reveal how this would work outside a strict rap setting.

His work on Pusha is important because he still understands the power of a unified, concise musical statement in the form of an album. He’s still one of the best there is at his job. Why Pusha is a question neither of them can seem to answer. Pusha’s even a little salty about how Kanye can hear him ‘only one way’. Kanye entered into this with his own agenda and in the process pushed Pusha up (hehe) into the upper echelons of the hall of fame, the sort of stuff that’ll be remembered. But he also wants to do his own thing with a number of voices including his own in a way he hasn’t done for years. It’s just shocking that this time, that confluence between his personal life and his music is just noncommittal and frankly more than a little sad.

Kanye West might have changed the course of the music industry again without needing to get any of us to like his own music.

A lot of things have changed though. Kanye is never quite going to be able to say an ‘I am the greatest’ speech again because that sort of thing is tainted by everyone’s knowledge that everyone’s going to take something like that again with several grains of salt. The emperor has been exposed for his lack of clothes.

And now there’s just me cradling pleasant memories of The College Dropout and Yeezus, feeling sad.

Recommended Reading 

The Pitchfork Review (it’s very sweet and I love it)

Ta-Nehisi Coates on Cancelling Kanye

Some stuff about Kanye’s influence

Some Cat Videos

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I Miss Old Taylor

Kanye West’s a heck of a guy. To blame the downward-spiral of the very talented Taylor Swift’s career and her degeneration to whatever one calls Reputation (‘selling out’ makes you wonder who she’s really selling out to and change-of-direction implies individual taste and preference that went into this which is just ugh) on Kanye West’s now hilarious and rather adorable interruption of her VMA acceptance speech and the chain reaction that that event triggered is to perhaps give West as much credit as he wants (which, as a rule of thumb, is always much more than necessary). But it makes me deeply uncomfortable to blame anyone other than Swift herself for this. Even Kanye West.

But, old Kanye-new Kanye. Old Taylor-new Taylor. Kanye’s new epoch is a nebulous thing. Post Pablo? Post Yeezus? Who knows. Who’s supposed to know. But with Taylor, this is where her discography shall now be cleft into two. The bisection starts here. The Old Taylor can’t come to the phone right now. Because she’s dead.

She seemed like such a fascinating artist, though. I was just listening to Speak Now. What a great album. Happier times, for sure. Until you realize they sorta weren’t. This was 2010.

2010. The year of Ke$ha’s Tik Tok. The Black Eyed Peas were a thing. Pitbull was a thing. Jason Derulo was a thing. Owl City’s Fire ‘The Whitest Song on Earth’ Flies was a thing. The DJ got us falling in love again, that year. This was not a year of quality music all around the board. If you look at what most publications considered the best albums of the year, the only properly big, commercial record on that list would be, ironically enough, Kanye West’s My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy which was apparently his attempt to get to grips with the bad PR the VMA incident generated. Which is not to say that BDTF isn’t a great album. It is. But we didn’t really have Kendrick Lamar and 2017 Beyonce back then. We had The Black Eyed Peas and Owl City on one side and Vampire Weekend, Laura Marling, Joanna Newsom and LCD Soundsystem (who?) on the other.

In this commercially bleak, mostly indie world, Taylor Swift made a mostly excellent record everyone seems to have overlooked.

I shall also remind you that if you were a kid, this was the general era of Disney Channel. You listened to Hannah Montana and early Justin Beiber. Ooh, and the Jonas Brothers. All of them grudgingly or otherwise. Taylor Swift wanted to leave the club around then, I think. But she did her break in a far more subtle, graceful fashion than her contemporaries. At least, up till Reputation. Speak Now in some ways reflects the start of that break. It’s delightfully unsure of itself. Is it piano-pop? Is it pop-rock? Is it guitar pop? How much country should it be? Can she ditch the country altogether? The answer to everything is yes.

The countryest song is probably that powerful liberation anthem Mean which is so clever because it’s about how she’ll eventually outgrow the ‘limitations of her roots’ and be ‘livin’ in a big ‘ole city’. And the bumpkin who wanted to hold her back is none other than Kanye West. Dressing this song about Kanye West (who probably embodies big city better than anyone else could) not letting a poor little country-girl enjoy her big break as a country banjo-rollicker about some uncouth alcoholic degenerate holding her back from the big city is deliberate genius.

There’s a lot of strings which is interesting because the other big album that experimented with orchestral instrumentation that year was My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy. Sometimes the strings are a bit much, like in Back To December where the pared down acoustic version is much better than the official recording.

But sometimes she’s very subtle with the strings like in Enchanted. This is a great song for several reasons (please don’t be in love with someone else) but I will point out a specifically great part. If you listen to the song, at around 1:55, when she’s launching into the first chorus and she sings ‘meet’, you can hear what is either a slide along a single string on a distorted electric guitar or a synthesizer with the pitch bent forwards on that single note in the background. Whatever it is, that is the sound of Disney Channel pop, distilled. Later, around 5:08, the same sound is played, but this time along with a violin. Nothing could represent a transition from kiddy-pop to grown up music better than that.

Dear John is interesting, given who the target of her ire is. The ethics of addressing these songs to specific people by almost spelling out who they are so as to essentially drop fuel into the fires of the press aside, if you’re going to write a breakup song about John Mayer, this is how you do it. I have never appreciated production in a pop-album more than Dear John. Just listen to Slow Dancing in a Burning Room . Dear John mimics sappy John Mayer better than he can mimic himself while being a perfectly credible Taylor Swift song at the same time. That little slide-bottle guitar between the verses. The electric guitar riffs that threaten to choke out the words, the way Mayer…er…yeah. The conclusion to the song is gorgeously anthemic.

She wrote all these songs herself. Which is amazing. No Ed Sheeran. No features from Future. Nathan Chapman, who produced all her previous albums, doesn’t return on Reputation and his loss is felt. There was a folk-beauty to every one of those albums, however pop they became.

I think that had something to do with the writing. The little things nobody else would even think to include in a song meant a lot in a Taylor Swift song. There’s that ‘you wish it was me, don’t you?’ in the eponymous Speak Now which reveals so much about how tongue-in-cheek the whole song is. Red isn’t nearly as good as Speak Now, but even there, you have moments like ‘indie-record that’s much cooler than mine’ from We Are Never Getting Back Together.Then there’s 1989′s ‘I’ve been there too a few times’.

I hope Old Taylor really isn’t dead. New Kanye’s weird but he’s still interesting. New Taylor isn’t. I wanted to do a solid comparison with Reputation but that would involve listening to it more than once and I don’t think I can. Its music is grating and without any of the grace that seemed to come so easy to Swift in the past. Other than hardcore fans, who is this record for? Disney Channel kids don’t exits anymore. Fourteen year-olds are weaned on Khalid and Halsey and other indie-pop/neo-R&B artists or at the very least, Sheeran. Those people from 2010 aren’t things anymore. So why did she make an album that seems to belong to 2010 better than Speak Now ever did? Is Reputation some sick, dark way of getting back at the world for some sort of artistic neglect? Is this payback for caring more about whose bed Swift shared than the quality of her music?

If it is, I truly am very sorry. I think the world could use some ‘hey Stephen I can give you fifty reasons why I should be the one you choose. Well, those other girls, they’re beautiful. But would they write a song for you?

Kendrick Lamar’s DAMN. : Wickedness & Weakness, Hopelessness & Damnation

Is it wickedness? Is it weakness? 

As Kendrick Lamar albums go, this one is his most subtle one ever, at least as far as large-scale album spanning concepts go. All of his work so far just has to be enjoyed as a total album experience rather than as individual songs that just happened to be released at the same time. Good Kid, M.A.A.D City tells a very obvious story of the titular good kid in a city which acts as a machine operating against him, whatever he does to rail against that. That sort of desperate totality of gang-life and the nothing-elseness of it is laid out in front of you plainly but with a lot of grace and subtlety. To Pimp A Butterfly could be one of the most important musical projects of our generation, using song after song, each one adding a couple of verses to a desolate but ultimately hopeful poem he had been reciting to Tupac all along.

DAMN. doesn’t wear it’s concept on its sleeve. Certain resonances through the fourteen tracks that make up this LP are obvious from first listen. Or even  first look. Similarly themed songs are put next to each other in pairs. BLOOD. and DNA. LUST. and LOVE. GOD. and DUCKWORTH.  And even though the story elements are less pervasive, they are there. The album opens with a parable of sorts that loops back in on itself in very interesting ways.

The real elements that tie this album together, though, are these little leitmotifs: these lyrics or lines that are occasionally shouted, whispered, growled, moaned and screamed in several odd places through this album:

Whatever happens on earth stays on earth.

and

ain’t nobody prayin’ for me

And that cements DAMN.’s place as the successor to To Pimp A Butterfly. TPaB was an album that reflected back to the burden of history on this race of people in America and also looked forward with cautious hope for a brighter future. This hope was very solidly placed in the context of his own faith.

When you know, we been hurt, been down before, nigga
When our pride was low, lookin’ at the world like, “where do we go, nigga?”
And we hate Popo, wanna kill us dead in the street for sure, nigga
I’m at the preacher’s door
My knees gettin’ weak and my gun might blow but we gon’ be alright

  • Alright, To Pimp A Butterfly

A few of those lines are heard in DAMN. as well but in an entirely different context. Kendrick samples a voice clip of Fox News’ Geraldo Rivera.

This is why I say that hip-hop has done more damage to young African-Americans than racism in recent years

Rivera says after quoting the aforementioned Alright lines. He excludes the part about being alright though.

Kendrick Lamar does the same thing on DAMN. This isn’t an album about being alright. This is an album about week knees and blowing guns, about lust as a vice and love as a crutch, about hardwired ambition and hardwired wickedness struggling for supremacy in very young, very malleable souls, about damnation, about curses, about punishment and about no buts. There’s no light at the end of the tunnel. There’s no hope for salvation.

There is only this all pervading sense of damnation. This is the forty years in the wilderness album.

Kendrick alludes to that himself in XXX., the most politically charged song of an already politically charged LP.

Donald Trump’s in office
We lost Barack and promised to never doubt him again
But is America honest, or do we bask in sin?

  • XXX., DAMN.

It’s easy to see how much has changed in the two years since To Pimp A Butterfly. XXX also reveals how conflicting faith has become for Kendrick Lamar since that other record.

Yesterday I got a call like from my dog like 101
Said they killed his only son because of insufficient funds
He was sobbin’, he was mobbin’, way belligerent and drunk
Talkin’ out his head, philosophin’ on what the Lord had done
He said: “K-Dot, can you pray for me?
It’s been a fucked up day for me
I know that you anointed, show me how to overcome.”
He was lookin’ for some closure
Hopin’ I could bring him closer
To the spiritual, my spirit do no better, but I told him
“I can’t sugarcoat the answer for you, this is how I feel:
If somebody kill my son, that mean somebody gettin’ killed.”
Tell me what you do for love, loyalty, and passion of
All the memories collected, moments you could never touch
I’ll wait in front a niggas spot and watch him hit his block
I’ll catch a nigga leavin’ service if that’s all I got
I’ll chip a nigga, then throw the blower in his lap
Walk myself to the court like, “Bitch, I did that!”
Ain’t no Black Power when your baby killed by a coward
I can’t even keep the peace, don’t you fuck with one of ours
It be murder in the street, it be bodies in the hour
Ghetto bird be on the street, paramedics on the dial
Let somebody touch my mama
Touch my sister, touch my woman
Touch my daddy, touch my niece
Touch my nephew, touch my brother
You should chip a nigga, then throw the blower in his lap

What I always loved about Kendrick was how, unlike other Christian rappers, he addressed the complexity of the world he lived in. But his religion was always  a stable anchor, holding him down while the storms raged around him. Now, even that is up in the air.

And what’s frightening, but also rather beautiful is that there is a totality to this concept. God in this album is the fire and brimstone God of the Old Testament and Kendrick and his kin are the Israelites, sinning, paying for that sin and going eye for an eye for that shit. 

All of this is a tad unnerving, especially for the faithful among us for whom Lacrae just doesn’t cut it and have been listening to Lamar with pride for years now. But, it isn’t very unbiblical. If you think it is, you haven’t been paying attention to your Psalms. In fact, that’s the most obvious vibe you can catch from this album: a man of God grappling with some frame of reference to put suffering into perspective. Job is mentioned once and the comparison is apt, though quite obvious.

Even the ‘blasphemous’ GOD. feels more weary and sarcastic than any real attempt a chest-puff.

But the overall message is what we’re all here for, yes? That’s what Kendrick Lamar does best. Tie fourteen tracks together to tell a story. A prose-poem. A novel in verse.

The leitmotifs reveal what I think he’s trying to say and the message is possibly one of the most complex ideas he’s ever grappled with.

Ain’t nobody prayin’ for me. He has been pushed up as the spiritual figurehead of a fallen, immoral generation. But who prays for the pastor? And what if the pastor doesn’t have any easy answer? What if the pastor himself feels like he can’t quite bring himself to turn the other cheek when his momma, his sister, his nephew, his niece, his cousin, his woman, his daddy or his brother is on the line.

Whatever happens on earth stays on earth. That is the only comfort this wounded, conflicted pastor has to offer. But he doesn’t quite come out and talk about the better place outside this earth. Because this album isn’t about that. This album is about earth and about wickedness and weakness and all of us struggling under the weight of random circumstances and souls and free will.

And he doesn’t give you this message through fuzzy old drums and synths intercut with friendly voice recordings or with comforting jazz and brass. He speaks in the language of 2017. Trap beats, Rihanna features, wickedness and weakness.

You can buy DAMN. here

Music Musings – Laura Marling’s Semper Femina and Kanye West’s Yeezus are two sides of the same coin

 

Chill.

Fans of either artist who read this (lol, who am I kidding, I pray every night for more than one person to read these scraps of nonsense also thank you mom) will go through the whole tearing their hair out, sackcloth and ashes routine.

A more likely question to be floating around in your noggin right now, dear reader (mom), would be: “Why are you talking about that chauvinistic egomaniac freak in 2017 and also who the fuck is Laura Marling?”

To answer your first question, because he’s interesting. We have more than enough bland reflections on life and the inner journey pumped out year after year by independant record labels and listened to by pubescent girls in their chokers and winged eyeliner pretending that abhorring Justin Bieber, Drake and those four Irish boys with peculiar hair whilst adoring electronic indie trite (OH WONDER) ridden with more ‘piercing the fabric of the intellect’ platitudes than  the bedroom of an educated stoner. Where’s the edge? Where’s the balls to do something properly different in the confines of pop-expectations? Kanye stole all of the balls.

Who’s Laura Marling? Laura Marling is the only one all the critics took seriously from the whole Communion group that we called nu-folk that was taking over London in 2010. She’s also the one who’s been most artistically consistent out of the whole lot. Noah and the Whale wrote a break up album and then disappeared. Mumford & Sons remodelled themselves into a rock outfit and wove out and then back into my heart. But Laura Marling has been singing about the same things she’s been singing about since she was seventeen. Melancholia and the burden of womanhood.

Only, with her, you could always buy that. She always looked burdened by something very elusive. Maybe she didn’t know it was femininity when she was sixteen. But this has been a sort of touchstone for almost every album she’s ever done. The juxtaposition (I love that word, can’t you tell) between so many different emotions, all relating to womanhood has been something she’s been obsessed with. The power it brings, the responsibility, the frailty, the fickle nature, the vulnerability, the demand to deny that vulnerability, &ct. Her feminism is always heartfelt and earnest.

So is Kanye’s masculinity. This is where things get a little un-PC because I’m going to have to defend Kanye’s chauvinism. I like to think of it more as violent masculinity, though. And that violence permeates the album Yeezus from the word go. It is abrasive and hostile from the beginning to end. But, there’s something very insecure in the middle of all of this as well. The art isn’t insecure, for certain. And it isn’t overcompensating, whatever that means. People who make claims like that don’t really understand Kanye as an art form.

Kanye as a person, I’ll be the first to admit, even I don’t understand. But Kanye the artist is undeniably extremely talented. We could talk for hours here about his production skills (and Miss Marling’s guitar skills) but let’s cut right to the chase and explore what both these artists are all about and also what they have in common. Which happens to be the same thing.

If you pick apart all of Kanye’s oeuvre for a theme, the best answer would be identity. That identity is a  fluid concept is something Kanye knows all too well. There is something very self obsessed with Kanye’s sense of identity but that is what is so genius about the whole thing. In the framework of rap, introspection (and it’s leaner, meaner cousin narcissism) rarely ever stand out. To brag is the norm. And that basically gives Kanye a ticket to explore every facet of his own psyche and identity he wishes to from his Christianity to his heartbreak to his race and sex.

Race and sex happens to be what Laura Marling is interested in as well, only she’s a lot more soothing than Kanye. So soothing that you’re tempted to almost stop listening to what she’s saying and hear legit the most beautiful voice on the planet overlaid with Blake Mills’s sweet sweet production. Ah. Eargasms. But if you actually listen, what Marling’s trying to do with femininity is interesting. As a concept album, the guist of it is that it is about women from the perspective of men, only written by a woman. So it goes sort of like the Ouroboros. How much of the album is written to herself, I do not know. But, buried under the standoffish subtlety that has come to define Laura Marling, you have a healthy vein of introspection that is most Kanye like.

The first song from Semper Femina is a song about sex. Soothing (arranged like an inevitable, tribal doom ritual) follows a protagonist who is forced to grapple between her reluctance to allow someone to enter her life and her burning lust for this person. That’s what the album title is all about. The Virgil reference. Woman is fickle and changeable always.

Most of the songs from Yeezus are about the same thing. The pressures of married life choking away his previously vibrant sex life. This may seem terrifically banal and gauche compared to Marling’s contemplative reflections on womanhood but scratch the surface and you’ll find he’s railing against the same thing. It isn’t a entirely societal, the expectation for male promiscuity. It is something deep rooted in our collective psyche and he feels the need to live up to that. But he also wants something rich and meaningful from his marriage, as Bound 2 shows us.

Both of them are railing against norms put on them by things they do not fully comprehend. And both speak their pieces beautifully.

But you know what they say. Speaking about music is like dancing about architecture. So I’ll leave you with these:

 

 

Coming To Terms With Mumford & Sons

I began looking for music when I was fourteen. I spent two years listening to Taylor Swift because I rather liked the sound of an acoustic guitar and really heartfelt, cookie-cutter emotions I could project on to my own life. But I got bored eventually. Miss Swift released her album Red which didn’t have much acoustic guitar. And the emotions were not as heartfelt. And there was not much left for me to project. Coincidentally, her new unabashed pop album won big at the Grammy’s and I like it. In a way.

So there I was. Young, lonely and without any real type of music to call my own. Most people my age where I grew up spent their time listening to this new wave of hip-hop/pop/R&B which I didn’t really get. Eminem was okay. Coldplay was okay too. But I wouldn’t have called myself a fan.

And then, like lightning from a clear sky, like sunshine on a rainy day, like any other weather based simile I’m not really able to remember as of now, along came Mumford & Sons.

Why I fell in love with Mumford & Sons becomes very clear very quickly. I liked acoustic guitar and I liked cookie-cutter emotions. And M&S offered that to me in a big way. Added to that was the fact that I was really full of myself back then so I thought their lyrics were profound reflections on life and faith. In addition to that, I thought I was drawing on this huge counterculture well of folk music and social messages and things like that. I got myself a lot of Bob Dylan and Emmylou Harris and Joan Baez. But beneath all that fluff, I just really liked their music. The slow buildup. The explosive choruses. The unsophisticated and excessive banjo-bashing. The kick-drum. I loved every last minute of it.

There’s this section in Roll Away Your Stone where after one of those explosive choruses there is dead silence save for some initially quiet 3/4th drum beats that just rise in intensity until the song soars into this strange waltz-verse that begins with, of all things

“ Stars hide your fires
These here are my desires
And I will give them up to you this time around
And so I’ll be found
With my stake stuck in this ground
Marking the territory of this newly impassioned soul”

And all of that worked. I think that was one of the first times music ever gave me the chills.

See if it works for you too. But you might have to set aside some deep rooted prejudices that this band just might deserve.

But let’s get to that later.

I memorized every word of every line of their debut album Sigh No More and then got their sophomore album Babel and burned through that as well. There was a time, maybe six months or so, when Mumford & Sons was all I ever listened to. Nothing else. All those Bob Dylan’s Greatest Hits volumes I had lying around picked up the dust. I listened to a little Laura Marling every once in a while when I needed something a little quieter but it was always Mumford & Sons.

There comes a point when we begin judging music based on how cool it is. Nobody I knew ever listened to Mumford & Sons so I was confident in the knowledge that they were super cool. They were one of the greatest bands ever. Their lyrics were more profound than anything else I had ever heard.

Then came my tryst with reading music reviews. Sigh No More had mostly positive reviews. Babel was almost universally panned. Or, to be more precise, shelved very deeply into the ‘mediocre’ section. And I was outraged, as any good fan should be. Didn’t these writers get it? Didn’t they understand just how powerful this stuff was? How good it made you feel?

And then I grew up.

I understood the criticism. Behind the wall of banjo and deliciously thick acoustic guitar there was nothing more than a pop band. Verse-chorus-verse structures abounded. All their songs had a very similar buildup and wind-down. Almost all their songs had the words heart and hand in them. The songwriting was about as cookie-cutter and accessible as any other pop outfit, only far more grandiose with the constant references to literature and scripture.

Then there was something else. Something that trumped all that. They weren’t cool anymore. Everybody knew about Mumford & Sons. And almost everybody hated them. Their lyrics didn’t feel as profound anymore. They just felt big and empty. I began scrutinizing their musicianship and like most major music publications of the time, found it lacking.

Slowly and piece-by-piece, I fell out of love with Mumford & Sons.

I listened to a lot of cool music. Kendrick Lamar’s Good Kid, M.A.A.D City became a favourite of mine. I still love that record, by the way. Even more than his excellent To Pimp A Butterfly. I listened to Coeur De Pirate. I listened to Stromae. I finished listening to Bob Dylan’s Greatest Hits and picked out around twelve of those songs which I loved listening to.

In many ways, this period was very good for me. It made me realize that I didn’t really want to listen to a lot of cool music. It was good the next day when I talked with my music pundit friends about which part of Valley of the Shadows I liked the most. But it was hard falling asleep to that stuff. It was hard sitting in trains listening to rhythmic beeps and boops as the landscape sped past me.

So I listened to The Avett Brothers. I listened to The Punch Brothers. I listened to Iron and Wine. I listened to CHVRCHES.

After a month of seeking substitutes to fill the ever growing hole in my heart, I was finally forced to come to terms with something I had been running away from for a little over a year. That hole was banjo shaped.

So, full of shame and remorse, I waded back into the depths of my Walkman MP3 player until I found the little folder where I had put my favourite M&S songs.

I went out for a walk.

I hit play.

And in the course of an hour and a half, that hole was slowly filled. I recognized Mumford & Sons for what it was. But this time, I revelled in it. I revelled in its cheesy, earnest bombast. I fell back in love with that solid double-bass rumbling in the background. The subtlety of the piano keys. The violin. The way they compensated for not having drums.

I felt more chills in that hour and a half than I ever felt throughout my cool music phase.

And I walked back home, happy and satisfied.

Their third album came out last year and by then I was used to the drill. Everybody hated it. And I unabashedly loved it.

It was loud and nowhere near as sophisticated as it tried to be and the lyrics were as earnest and bombastic as ever and I loved every bit of it.

Where I grew up, a story wasn’t worth it if there was no moral at the end. So what’s the moral here? Critics are often right. There is something disingenuous about four British, private school educated twenty-somethings dressed like this:

And I think they sort of got that as well. Now they’re dressed like this:

So here’s the moral:

Music transcends coolness. If Vivaldi fills the hole in your heart, listen to Vivaldi. But if Billy Ray Cyrus really fills that hole, no amount of Vivaldi can change that. Snobs are going to tell you that the music you listen to isn’t as awesome as the music they listen to. And they might probably be right. But listen to it anyway.

Because music transcends social status. The music you love is the music that comes to your mind when you fight with someone you love. The music that comes to mind when you lose a job. The music you listen to to get some sleep.

In my case, that music happened to be Mumford & Sons. And slowly, over a period of four years and an unholy amount of iTunes purchases (read PirateBay downloads), I came to terms with that.