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Apple Music

Kanye West’s ‘ye’ Is Mystifying– For Better Or Worse

Ye is a haze of puckish and juvenile beliefs and a haphazardly put together sonic structure.

Kanye West broadcasted the "new album" signal late Thursday night (May 31). WAV Media would be the ferryman bringing fans to Wyoming, through Gorilla Glass screens and iPhone stereos. After a couple of unsuccessful attempts, I downloaded the application, wary of the company’s small Twitter following.

Turning it on, signing up, then logging in, I was greeted to a sight out of Harmony Korine’s Springbreakers — a sea of nameless, vibrant souls moving in unison to an exultant Kanye record, unheard, and unflinching. Celebrities, tastemakers, and, writers of any publication that Kanye felt he could sway with airfare flew to catch the livestream premiere of Kanye’s new album, ye in the wee hours of Friday morning.

The public’s umbrage that was birthed by Kanye's ignorance and circus-like political antics prior to the release of the project seemingly dissipated into thin air. Over the course of the next hour, I watched the crowd intently; 2 Chainz, Teyana Taylor, and a few other paragons trying their hardest to appear jubilant as ye played.

Since then, I’ve been flipping it forward and backward, searching for the bread crumbs to bridge together autonomous ideas. I’ve come to the conclusion that ye is a thorny, shambolic mix of ideas that don’t completely gel together like he believed they would. It’s a haze of puckish and juvenile beliefs and a haphazardly put together sonic structure.

For starters, we didn’t know the album was named ye until after it dropped. Kim Kardashian-West revealed that the cover for the album was shot on the way to the super-secret listening session. Also, the title was rumored to initially be LOVE EVERYONEye appeared to be a last-minute resolution.

This confusing mess only strengthens the delusion of what’s going on with the album, the (whether purposeful or not) disorientating mess masquerading as a united release. But when it looks like a duck, acts like a duck, and quacks like a duck, it’s not suddenly, a swan.

Ye is a character study of a middle-aged man who, both knowingly and unknowingly, admits to his flaws and, through stream of consciousness-like raps, acknowledges that which he does not understand. While all of this is happening, the absence of more than surface layer lyricism reveals even more about Ye then the album does itself. But that’s the good nature of Mr. West; he makes everything easy to see, whether he realizes it or not. And connecting the dots is as easy as 1, 2, 3.

Ye is eldritch- point blank. The album’s opening lines “I thought about killing you,” meant to be avant-garde (later confirmed by him pondering if the “cool” thing to do would be to say something that counterbalances the phrase’s darkness) are repeated a near endless amount of times, looped as if some grand valiant statement were being made. Then it gets to the one of the more prevalent themes that runs through the course of the album which is mental health, for better or worse.

“Yikes” starts off with a list of Mad Lib adjectives and menial observations, making clear the anxiety that Yeezy seems to deal with before breaking into an effervescent Ye track that wouldn’t sound out of place on My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy. But for as loud and explosive as it is, it comes across as pyrrhic— like the majority of the energy went into the shock factor of the anxiety. He even yells senseless nothings toward the end, I’m guessing as an ad-lib of sorts, that have little to no impact.

Ye is a haze of puckish and juvenile beliefs and a haphazardly put together sonic structure.

Without any segues, ye often switches subjects at the snap of a finger — sometimes in the midst of songs. He starts the album on an introspective kick — then he jumps into the rockiness of his idealistic marriage to Kim Kardashian. “No Mistakes” bridges this gap, with Ye reflecting on his growing frailty both physically and mentally (he references the grey strands in his beard) while the chorus apologizes to Kim for the stuff he’s put her through — I use stuff in place of a certain, less than honorable term because, boy, has he subjected Kim to some filth.

“Wouldn’t Leave” is about as Kanye of an apology as Kim will ever receive publicly. On it, he reflects on his ill-minded quip about slavery being a choice. As absurd as it sounded to the public, Kim, whose career has been built off of the perception of the public, is the one who had to break it to him that he’s damaging her brand as well as his. But of course, we’d never see those conversations public. So Ye gives us his side of their talks which, by the somber production and PARTYNEXTDOOR ‘s over-the-top vocals, must have been pretty serious.

When he exclaims her fear of him “losing it all” for the both of them, echoes of her anguish can be felt through his voice. But through it, the sincerity becomes questionable. His tone on the chorus, explaining how he told his wife that she could leave him but she wouldn’t, sounds snarky, matter-of-factly even.

Perhaps what’s most astounding about it, aside from the zoned-out vibe of it, is the complete absence of the political Ye that’s been a Trump supporter for the better of two years. Ye first endorsed the commander-in-chief in a rant at a Saint Pablo Tour in San Jose back in 2016. Soon after, he posed for a photo op at the Trump Towers, manifesting some serious negative energy from his community of fans.

 We were misled into thinking that the inquisitive rapper who questioned his beliefs would explain himself — the album just proves that Ye, still, doesn’t know the politics he was anxious to understand.

He recently went full fanatic with his support, posting a picture in the "Make America Great Again" hat and seemingly aligning himself with the man at the helm of much of what’s wrong with America. The timing was impeccable. Kanye's new album had to reference it. The closest we got? A tongue-in-cheek reference to his slavery quote about it being a “choice,” which, even after listening to the album, seems random.

Of course, at seven tracks, it’s concise, to a fault even. But we get the full range of veteran Kanye here, conditioned to the game, yet still prone to the same mistakes. We were misled into thinking that the inquisitive rapper who questioned his beliefs would explain himself — the album just proves that Ye, still, doesn’t know the politics he was anxious to understand.

If there’s one, unexplored takeaway from the project, is that Kanye's a big picture guy now, much like rap’s new age prospects. His production is as dauntless and peppy as ever — it’s the message that has changed. It’s more wide and obtuse, not meant to be picked apart and analyzed. And there are no hidden strings…it’s just flat in front of you.

“Violent Crimes” is plain face talk about the fear Ye experiences when he thinks about his daughter North growing into a woman. In plain speak, Ye reflects on his own dealings with women who he didn’t believe to be worth the time of the day and how that’s changed since he now has a daughter. As problematic as it is, we read it for face value, because, that’s all there is to it. No intelligent commentary about the jacked-up connotations that he, along with the many rappers before him who have echoed the same sentiment, has brought to the table.

It's akin to the cringeworthy scene in Atlanta (Robbin Season) where a woman of color confronts a white woman for having a black boyfriend. While this conversation is absolutely necessary, it’s been treaded a near limitless amount of times — without bringing new context to the situation, the conversation is meaningless. Because of this, the idea of respecting women is extracted from the song, but not read at more than the surface level (side bar: you should always respect women).

Ye's sporadic nature is at odds with its concise appearance. For it to be a Kanye album, we expect a narrative that can be extrapolated from the music — not implicitly stated, but present through the concepts presented throughout the songs.

Graduation chronicled the maturity of Ye as a celebrity and adjusting to the tenants of fame, 808s and Heartbreak reveled in turmoil and despair that reflected Kanye's darkest period in his life. Ye may reach for making sense of mental illness, but it jumps randomly to other subjects without any warning. We spend equal amounts of time analyzing his wife’s reception and their rocky marriage as much as we do appreciating his newfound appreciation for women. Somewhere in there, he analyzes his own mistakes. If it sounds longer than seven songs, it can feel like it — even if a few cuts have one verse and last less than three minutes.

Daytona made the most use of its concise structure, while ye feels restrained by it. There’s some hefty ideas here that could have been fleshed out into entire albums. Admittedly, I came into Ye looking to learn more about the inquisitive Ye in “Ye Vs. The People.”

He exposed himself as less than the deity he believes himself to be. T.I.’s conversation on The Breakfast Club painted the track as a throwaway that wouldn't make the album. Due to its hefty subject matter, I can see why. On a thematic level, it would have made more sense due to him bleeding himself dry emotionally.

The end result — a messy journal filled with Kanye’s incessant scrawls, exposing the aspects of his personality that need the most tuning — was the same, anyway.

The brief flashes of sagacity that permeate the album’s spine come in the introduction, and a few guest contributions that align in such a way that they burst through the emptiness that Kanye creates both knowingly and unknowingly.

But the musical brilliance that comprised seven of the eight albums in his discography (sorry Ye, The Life of Pablo didn’t quite meet the mark) appears to be waning with age. There’s a good album somewhere in the scraps of what we’ve gotten and what was left on the cutting room floor, but the expansive sound and exuberant palette of emotions that he tries to portray fall flat. Maybe, next time, Kanye should make a longer album. That’s probably the first time in history that anyone has ever said that.

Trey Alston is a Virginia-based journalist that loves the raw energy of hip-hop. When he's not writing editorials across the web, you can find him on SoundCloud searching for the next best thing. Follow him on Twitter at @treyals.

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Review: Jessie Reyez’s Expressive EP Proves There’s Beauty In ‘Being Human In Public’

Jessie Reyez’s recently-released EP Being Human In Public proves that the Toronto musician’s fiery exterior comes with a cool, introspective center. Her 2017 EP Kiddo introduced her to the world as force who was willing to “go there” by singing about major issues like sexual assault and emotionally abusive relationships. This time around, Reyez muses about the softer side of love, displaying her flexibility within the overarching theme.

Much of her latest EP, which dropped Friday (Oct. 19), pertains to the wide range of emotions that come with romantic appreciation. Thanks to her animated performance ability, Reyez encapsulates the complex gamut of the strong emotional state; there’s longing, anger, confusion, confidence and so much more. The 27-year-old songbird’s vocal versatility has gained fans like Kamikaze collaborator Eminem and Aerosmith’s Steven Tyler, and her attention-grabbing abilities are showcased throughout the multi-dimensional seven-song project.

Reyez’s true vocal gifts shine through when paired with more demure production, evident by the EP’s starting track “Saint Nobody” and the stand-out love anthem “Apple Juice,” produced by Tim Suby and Fred Ball. Her effortless falsetto notes at the duration of the aforementioned song are a melodic combination with the strings that finish out the track.

Perhaps the song that best displays Reyez’s tender core is “Sola (Interlude),” which is sung entirely in Spanish. She coos over an acoustic guitar to a lover about how she’s not necessarily the type of woman they should be with—she would be better off sola (alone). The result? A heart-wrenchingly relatable track that could have served best as the EP's stunning finale.

“I'm not the type of woman that your mother wants to see you with,” the lyrics translate to. “I could never please you...I'm an eagle, flying alone.”

While the content throughout Being Human In Public is rather profound in nature, Reyez makes sure that her signature unapologetic delivery to tackling topics through her songwriting is also highlighted. Thanks to assistance from budding music sensation Normani and Grammy-nominated R&B singer Kehlani on the “Body Count (Remix),” all three singers’ stances on body positivity, sex positivity and all forms of love are highlighted.

Additionally, the straightforward “F**k Being Friends,” which is slightly reminiscent of her quirky Kiddo track “Shutter Island,” deals with the occasionally murky divide between courtship and friendship. “My p***y beat better than my heart do?” she sings, “so why you p***y-footin’ on this part two?”

“In every aspect—in my music, in my life—I’m going to be straight with you, and I tell people too, I’m like that,” Reyez told VIBE in April about the importance of being upfront. “I need you to just tell me direct, because if the roles were reversed, I’m the type to tell you direct.” Love is one of the things that connects all of us as people, and if you can’t be real with that, what can you be real about?

Reyez makes sure that her honesty on wax is as plain and simple as it is in her personal life, and Being Human In Public is an audibly-pleasing extension of her personal beliefs and values.

READ MORE: NEXT: Behind The Extraterrestrial Voice, Jessie Reyez Is Human Like The Rest Of Us

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Lupe Fiasco performs as part of the benefit concert, 'Power To The People' at Coliseo Jose M. Agrelot on March 18, 2018 in San Juan, Puerto Rico. (Photo by Gladys Vega/Getty Images)
Photo by Gladys Vega/Getty Images

Lupe Fiasco Eschews Label Drama And Controversy For Ambitious 'Drogas Wave'

In the early 2000s, JAY-Z called Lupe Fiasco “a breath of fresh air” for rap. Most of the hip-hop world agreed. He delivered a standout verse on Kanye West’s “Touch The Sky,” and a well-regarded Food & Liquor studio debut that led rap fans to saint him as an imaginative, skilled lyricist, adept at weaving storytelling, social commentary, sustained metaphors and technical precision together in an A+ package. Unfortunately, it didn’t take long for that figurative breath of fresh air to become a sigh.

While crafting his third album Lasers, he began having creative differences with his former label Atlantic Records. Though the album was eventually released — after his fans literally petitioned for it — the struggle derailed what seemed like his inevitable trajectory to the heights of music that stylistic peers like Kendrick Lamar and J. Cole now occupy.

Lupe’s known in part for his sophomore album, The Cool, but it seems like a good stretch of his career was more defined by the frustration. In 2018, though, Lupe’s finally on the right wave — the Drogas Wave. Lupe dropped his first independent album last week, a 24-track conceptual piece dually exploring the drug trade and the transatlantic slave trade that cap-stoned his own trade of Atlantic Records for artistic freedom.

I really only did this album for solid Lupe fans. The PhD’s in Lupeism. It’s in no way for new fans, the casual listener, record sales, the year 2018 or radio. Just the core fans to have a ball with. https://t.co/N76F5YAeDJ

— “DROGAS WAVE” NOW PLAYING (@LupeFiasco) September 26, 2018

He’s always been a master of conceptualization, weaving thematic, if not narrative-driven connections from verse to verse and song-to-song on albums like Food & Liquor, The Cool, and Tetsuo & Youth. Drogas Wave is among his most ambitious work in that regard. The album, which he’s said was made specifically for his “core fans,” ideates what the rhymer called an alternate, fantastic history of the slave trade in which a group of Africans jumped off a slave ship, survived underwater, and spent their new lives sinking subsequent slave ships.

But he still delves into the reality of what happened on songs like “Manilla,” where he sheds light on the currency that European countries used to purchase slaves from West Africa to build so much of the western world. Looking to unite black and brown people across the Americas, Drogas Wave shows him representing for three communities of African descent cultivated in spite of western colonialism: Latinos, West Indians and Black Americans. He rapped fluent Spanish on “Drogas.” He collaborated with reggae royalty Damian Marley on “Kingdom” and rhymed in patois on “Gold vs. The Right Things to Do.” On the thrilling “King Nas,” he dedicates some of the project’s most impeccable rhyming not to God’s Son, but his two young nephews King and Nas who are coming of age in a treacherous environment for all black people in America.

The album was well-crafted and laden with thought-provoking, research-worthy bars examining the scourges that plunder black and brown communities, but it wasn’t flawless. He utilized over a dozen different producers on the project, which resulted in a few compositions that are less compelling than others. There are also choruses by Nikki Jean on “Down” and Troi Irons on “XO” that felt a tad too eager for mass appeal. But even on those tracks, the invigoration and dedication that Lupe rhymes with make them worthwhile listens.

Drogas Wave shows Lupe on the right track. While so many of his fellow rap veterans were ravenous publicity hounds this year, he spent his online time on Instagram Live, dropping what he called “super facts” about the fallacy of white supremacy and the music industry. He also apologized to people he’s insulted like former President Obama, Childish Gambino, Kendrick Lamar, and others. Throughout that March apology session, he ended his statements with variations of, “I should have kept that to myself.” Perhaps he’s now in a space that he should have been his entire career: independent and letting his incredible lyricism speak for him.

Lupe always has wisdom to impart, but like his Chicago comrade Kanye West, he doesn’t always communicate his thoughts in the best way. Over time, he developed a reputation for being an easily agitable presence on Twitter. He’s gotten into arguments with Kid Cudi, Azealia Banks, and several others. In 2013, he derogated Donald Glover as a “Black” instead of a “n***a” for arbitrary reasons.

In 2014, when Australian rapper Iggy Azalea was being accused of cultural appropriation because of her put-on “Atlantastralian” accent and racist lyrics, he defended her by saying she had “a space” in hip-hop. That comment made him one of the first victims of the dreaded social media “cancel,” and he lashed out with his own tweetstorm. He tweeted, “b***h I been here on the rooftop screaming in the ears of these brainwashed a** more money on they feet than in they pocket a** n***as,” and also proclaimed, “I'm here...kick pushing you ignant a** n***az and fast trout mouth a** b***hes all the way to the promised land kicking and screaming h**.”

His retorts were based in truth, but sometimes, brutal honesty is just brutality. The tweets typified why Phonte infamously likened Lupe to The Newsroom as a “technically brilliant show that would be a lot smarter if it stopped trying to show people how smart it was.” Compared to Q-Tip’s thoughtful hip-hop treatise to Iggy, Lupe came across like a know-it-all. But at the base of his anger was a frustration with being misunderstood. He incredulously groused, “I thought I was one of the good guys.”

The son of a Black Panther, Lupe had always delivered anti-establishment messaging in his music that hampered his budding status as the “Superstar” he rhymed about in 2007. In 2011, when most of mainstream hip-hop was deifying Barack Obama, Lupe was telling CBS that “the biggest terrorist is Obama and the United States of America” based on America’s warmongering throughout the Middle East, South America and Africa in particular.

His ire toward the country’s tyranny inspired an awkward, 30-minute rendition of the Obama-critical “Words I Never Said” at an inauguration party in D.C., which the show’s organizers called “a bizarrely repetitive, jarring performance that left the crowd vocally dissatisfied.” Songs like his “American Terrorist” series display his analytical acuity when it comes to diagnosing the roots of systemic oppression and its consequences, but at that point he seemed unable to properly convey his intellect outside the booth.

Lupe has said that he felt he was “immediately blackballed” after his Obama comments. While Lasers had sold 204,000 copies in its first week, 2012’s Food & Liquor II: The Great American Rap Album was Grammy-nominated, but sold just 128,000 records overall as of 2012. His aforementioned Twitter antics were overshadowing his lyrical gifts, his attempts to drop knowledge were being mocked or misunderstood, and worst of all, he couldn’t release music on his own volition.

He told Power 106 in August 2014 that he was “worn down” by the “nonsense” of dealing with Atlantic, and that “we’re just trying to get albums out just to get off the label.” Months earlier he told Torae that, “I don’t have a 360 deal,” so “since they can’t eat off my merchandise or my publishing or my touring they treat me like a third-class citizen.” Still, he resolved, he’d ”fight through it.”

That determination defines him. While discussing “Mission” from 2015’s Tetsuo & Youth, he reflected, “I’ve been inspired by those who are surviving, thriving and fighting.” Just like he’s been fighting to thrive, in spite of label woes, the backlash from subversive beliefs, and self-sabotage that collectively tarnished his mainstream standing. Others artists have let the industry consume them, but Lupe’s still here, rekindling a musical brilliance that his fans knew he was capable of.

On Drogas Wave’s “Jonylah Forever,” a poignant song that ideates 6-month-old Jonylah Watkins, shot dead in 2013, as an adult, he rhymed about how “the coolest thing is when they offered you that high paying slot, you replied ‘they need me in the hood,’ and that's where you reside.” He then talked about her saving a shooting victim, rhyming, “and in that moment, where you gave your help/I bet you didn't know that you saved yourself.”

That powerful summation also applies to him, as an artist who helped others see the light while vying to keep his own spirit alit in a music industry that he mentally “quit” on a decade ago. He told Billboard in 2015 that “I'm happy being that somewhat sophisticated, overly deep weird guy making powerful music — but just two or three degrees away from the center of attention.”

Einstein once mused that, “creativity is intelligence having fun.” It didn’t seem like Lupe was having much fun as a major label artist. But after fulfilling his obligations to Atlantic with Drogas Light, and releasing Drogas Wave independently, he’s revitalized for the next chapter of his career — on his terms.

He recently stated that there would be no interviews for this album cycle because, “I’ve never seen myself as a star and I still don’t.” That makes sense. Stars can’t see themselves, it’s only us spectators who experience the fascination of watching them hover.

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Jack McKain

When It Comes To Both Sound And Sartorial Matters, Masego Has Upgraded To Silk

With his new album 'Lady Lady,' Masego strides into grown and sexy territory.

Masego is a silk man now, or so he tells me. He’s just shaken off the water from his body length PUMA coat, where a committed Reykjavik crowd braved an Icelandic “summer” rainstorm for him. Plastic bags are tied securely over his flashy sneakers, because he isn’t messing them up in the visible mud puddles cratering the city’s Laugardalshöll sporting grounds.

It’s a far cry from when we first met in Brooklyn, New York two years ago, where the then-22-year-old was pigging out at Peter’s Since 1969 before a packed Webster Hall show (R.I.P.), dressed in a multicolored velvet robe, busy blue Hawaiian shirt and basketball shorts that matched neither.

He’s almost embarrassed at the memory. “Why did you allow that?” he asks now, shaking his head. “I wanted the cover of The Fader and that's what I thought it would take. I was trying to out-weird n***as.” Masego, now 25, has not only learned from his sartorial flubs, but has overcome the mild insecurities that inspired them. “I was in this weird battle with people I didn't know and then I started to get more comfortable,” he says. “Get that silk.”

Masego 2.0 is upon us, and his grown and sexy debut album, Lady Lady, is the proof in the pudding. Right from the jump of the 13-track project, released on Sept. 7 (an admittedly somber day for music lovers), the “Silk…” opening instrumental makes it crystal-clear that his intention is to soothe and to woo.

His charm and playful sensuality come to the forefront on smooth tracks like “I Had A Vision,” the SiR-assisted “Old Age” (which also features Instagram comedian Renny) and the freestyled “Queen Tings” featuring SiR’s cousin, Tiffany Gouche. However, hip-hop and trap fans aren’t left out of the equation. Cuts like “Shawty Fishin (Blame The Net)," and “Lavish Lullaby” pair slick bars with enough knock and bass to soundtrack road trips as well as coax wallflowers onto the dance floor with a partner.

In the time between the release of his 2016 freebie project, Loose Thoughts, and now, Masego has seen some world. Frequent exposure to different pin drops across the globe and the creatives who live there bolstered his sound in exciting ways, giving way to some of Lady Lady’s standout selections. It’s an understatement to say that the LP’s instrumentation and production handiwork magnify his spotlight.

Take a look at the album’s supernova of a single “Tadow,” brought into full fruition during a jam session with French multi-hyphenate musician, FKJ. “I feel like the overseas travel is the inspiration. It kind of builds up and then when I get a chance to sit down, it just comes out,” he says. “I knew I was going to South Africa and then I sat down and we just free-styled, planted some beats, making stuff and then ‘Queen Tings’ was just freestyled. With ‘Tadow,’ on the plane ride to Paris I was watching a Fresh Prince marathon. You know the one where he slept with Janice? That was mad funny to me so that was the last thing in my spirit.”

Then on the album’s slow-burning title track, full-bodied lyrics are an afterthought. Instead, sensual scats and truncated mutters carried along the notes of his sax dim the lights, while velvety vocals crook the finger at his lady-to-be. "If you classy but you're reckless/Then you gon' get choose a necklace, lady lady," he coos, no stranger to slick talk.

“Everything kind of goes back to my uncles,” he says, reflecting on how the idea for “Lady Lady” came about during a family visit. “After going to Jamaica, I understand why they're so cool naturally. My Southern uncles, they got this Southern respect and there's a more pimp-ish side to my father's side and so that kind of comes together with ‘Lady Lady.’ It’s like ‘Lady Lady’ could mean… it’s like almost saying, ‘Hey love.’ It could be a potential love on that level or 'this my girlfriend,' you know what I'm saying?”

Within his short career, Maségo has remained unmarried to just one scope of music. The singer-songwriter and saxophone savant floats between jazz, hip-hop, and R&B (and the occasional trap) from song to song as freely as he pleases, but he's in his bag the most when they meld together. In his eyes, Lady Lady is the perfect cocktail of that, showcasing his creative maturation and slight pivot from the Pink Polo EP-era Masego fans are used to. “After my glow up stage is done, I want to just go off wherever Adele is chilling right now,” Masego jokes. “I want to like just be in the thick of things. I think [Lady Lady] is going to be lovely in the sense of it’s going to give you that next threshold."

READ MORE: Quincy Jones Gives Masego Advice On How To Become A Living Legend

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