Kanye West
My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy

Release Date: 2010 | Tracklist

Kanye West cares about himself, about money, about pussy, religion and black people. Unfortunately, after taking firm control of their output once more, they cheerfully fly the plane into the goddamn mountain, leaving nothing but a fragmented, gleaming pile of junk. It’s far from the worst thing they have ever produced, but even further fruch as ‘I treat the cash the way the government treats the AIDS, I won’t be satisfied ‘til all my niggas get it. Get it?’ Judging by the critical and commercial response, the answer is a resounding ‘yes’. Because it’s all self-consciously ironic, yeah. Like, the bit with the picture of his dick, yeah. That’s him making fun of himself, yeah. Yeah. Or, no. Or maybe it’s so obviously self-conscious that it is, in fact, gratuitous, infantile nonsense. And maybe his delivery on tracks like ‘Gorgeous’ anduch as ‘I treat the cash the way the government treats the AIDS, I won’t be satisfied ‘til all my niggas get it. Get it?’ Judging by the critical and commercial response, the answer is a resounding ‘yes’. Because it’s all self-consciously ironic, yeah. Like, the bit with the picture of his dick, yeah. That’s him making fun of himself, yeah. Yeah. Or, no. Or maybe it’s so obviously self-conscious that it is, in fact, gratuitous, infantile nonsense. And maybe his delivery on tracks like ‘Gorgeous’ anduch as ‘I treat the cash the way the government treats the AIDS, I won’t be satisfied ‘til all my niggas get it. Get it?’ Judging by the critical and commercial response, the answer is a resounding ‘yes’. Because it’s all self-consciously ironic, yeah. Like, the bit with the picture of his dick, yeah. That’s him making fun of himself, yeah. Yeah. Or, no. Or maybe it’s so obviously self-conscious that it is, in fact, gratuitous, infantile nonsense. And maybe his delivery on tracks like ‘Gorgeous’ andom their best.

The record is brimming with half-realised ideas that would require far more than three songs to reach their potential. Crisp, punchy riffs are shoved onto preceding sections with a workmanlike inevitability; occasional patches of noodling show up for s of wisdom such as ‘I treat the cash the way the government treats the AIDS, I won’t be satisfied ‘til all my niggas get it. Get it?’ Judging by the critical and commercial response, the answer is a resounding ‘yes’. Because it’s all self-consciously ironic, yeah. Like, the bit with the picture of his dick, yeah. That’s him making fun of himself, yeah. Yeah. Or, no. Or maybe it’s so obviously self-conscious that it is, in fact, gratuitous, infantile nonsense. And maybe his delivery on tracks like ‘Gorgeous’ and ‘All of the Lights’ is the stunted, rhythmless croaks of a buffoon. Some bands – hell, some genres – can sneak by with poor lyrics and poor vocal performance, but where they’re rammed to the forefront as they are here, you can’t ignore them and you can’t forgive them. Even the pleasant singing interludes suffer from a sense that they were ripped straight from a child’s first attempts at poetry. ‘Runaway as fast as you can…’ Aw, bless.

The tragedy of the record lies in its consistencies, or to be more exact, their war with one another. The consistent lack of quality in the lyrical department stamps heartily on the perfectly formed nutsack of the music, which never dips below average (althouguch as ‘I treat the cash the way the government treats the AIDS, I won’t be satisfied ‘til all my niggas get it. Get it?’ Judging by the critical and commercial response, the answer is a resounding ‘yes’. Because it’s all self-consciously ironic, yeah. Like, the bit with the picture of his dick, yeah. That’s him making fun of himself, yeah. Yeah. Or, no. Or maybe it’s so obviously self-conscious that it is, in fact, gratuitous, infantile nonsense. And maybe his delivery on tracks like ‘Gorgeous’ anduch as ‘I treat the cash the way the government treats the AIDS, I won’t be satisfied ‘til all my niggas get it. Get it?’ Judging by the critical and commercial response, the answer is a resounding ‘yes’. Because it’s all self-consciously ironic, yeah. Like, the bit with the picture of his dick, yeah. That’s him making fun of himself, yeah. Yeah. Or, no. Or maybe it’s so obviously self-conscious that it is, in fact, gratuitous, infantile nonsense. And maybe his delivery on tracks like ‘Gorgeous’ andd yes, it’s all a little too long, a little bloated and faux-grandiose, but it has some kind of character to it, a sort of victim-chic that draws you in as it bumps along. Indeed, the texture, austerity and taste in the instrumentation only makes the vocals seem even more bizarre in their blunt, malformed outpourings. The numerous guest slots add nothing worthwhile to the proceedings, with Rihanna phoning-in a performance whinier than she ever has before and Jay-Z being wheeled out of the old folk’s home to say some stuff about things that means nothing to anyone. If only it had been beautiful, dark and twisted, the record might have changed the world, or at least the world of mega-unit hip-hop. Sadly, any influence it may have will probably be tainted, dooming West to the horrors of incredible yet empty success.

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4.2 excellent

Rank: #3 for 2010