After the high-profile claptrap of Rick Ross, Tyler, the Creator, Drake, the Weeknd, Kanye West, and others, there's been a renewed push-back by listeners.
Kanye West's latest, Yeezus, was supposed to be his statement-making, punk-infused noise-rap record: A rousing, leather jacket-sporting, Saturday Night Live appearance premiered the incendiary "Black Skinhead" and a fascinating New York Times interview (in which Kanye reminded readers of his connection to dead prez), seemingly prepped listeners for a burst of realer-than-real talk from a wildly popular rapper without a whole lot to lose at this point.
Instead, Yeezus is a relentless spleen-vent against the women in his life — the women he's fucked or wanted to fuck or who fucked him over or lied to him or whatever, that's occasionally provocative thanks to political asides that West has done more with more nuance and humor in the past. Frankly, even calling Yeezus (particularly it's lumpier second half) a "spleen vent" mischaracterizes its wounded bro rage. This intends to be a raw, ugly album, and it is. When Rick Rubin tells the Wall Street Journal that much of the record was completed in just two days, it makes a lot of sense. Yeezus sounds like an album knocked out in less than two days.
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